17. Galena
GALENA
W hen I woke up, I tried not to overanalyze the hot kisses that I’d shared with Ilias or the fact that I now had a wedding ring on my finger.
There were all sorts of feelings swirling around inside me about that, but surprisingly, they were all good ones.
In fact, I was more than a little disappointed that Ilias hadn’t pushed for more.
I’d gone to bed feeling achy and unsatisfied.
Then I felt guilty. He hadn’t wanted to get married either. Maybe I shouldn’t be pushing him?
We just needed to clear the air and have a conversation to re-establish our boundaries and understand what each of us was thinking.
There was nothing I hated more than miscommunication.
I might be younger than he was, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t mature enough to handle a relationship, even if it was going to be platonic.
We’d already let each other in on the fact that we were attracted to each other. It didn’t mean that we had to act on it, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t either, right? Feeling better about where my head was at, I went downstairs to find something to eat.
I made myself a bowl of plain yogurt with fruit and granola, drizzled with honey to start the day.
My stomach was already feeling a little queasy just thinking about looking at more pictures.
I was glad to get it over with, but seeing the pictures of the men from that day, when I had felt more powerless than I ever had in my life, made me sick.
By the time that Ilias and Kostas showed up, I had retreated to the library with a book, trying not to look like I’d been up since early morning, freaking out about what the day was going to bring.
I was looking forward to getting it over with, but freaking out a little inside that I was going to have to look at more pictures.
Kostas balanced a tray of coffees in one hand, with his laptop tucked under his other arm. Ilias was right on his heels.
“Good morning, liakáda.” Ilias’s eyes flicked to mine as he entered behind his brother, as if he were checking on me.
Everything about him was unapologetically solid, drawing me in like a dark beacon.
I had asked him last night what that meant.
He’d told me that it meant sunshine in Greek.
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
I struggled a lot of days not to be depressed, so it surprised me that was the word he was choosing.
He said that it fit me. That I was the sunshine for his darkness, which was sweet.
Kostas dropped the tray of coffees on the low table and grinned. “Hope you don’t mind. I guessed your order. I got caramel in yours.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks.” No way would I be drinking plain black coffee. Load me up on the sugar and the cream.
He opened the laptop and booted up the software, as if he’d done it a hundred times. "So," he said, cheerful as ever, "today we’re narrowing the field. Just Scarpato's crew, since we’ve got that first match, gives us somewhere to start.”
Last night had eased something fundamental in me that I wasn’t sure how to name, but a knot had loosened.
I wanted to push forward and identify the other two men, then let them proceed with their plans to catch and punish them.
I wanted to move on, or at least get back to something that resembled a normal routine instead of hiding or worrying that people were going to rip out my tongue.
I’d lost the family that I’d had, and it seemed like there was one that I could build here. There was still that temptation inside to keep letting myself be stuck in this rhythm of pain, but I wanted to push past it. I missed life.
Kostas had organized the photos so I could look at each one individually. “You go ahead and scroll at your speed.” He gave me a nod.
Taking my time, I carefully examined each photo.
I knew right away when the screen filled with images that I’d recognize the men responsible—there was no doubt in my mind.
The attack was ingrained so deeply that I’d never forget their faces.
An hour passed, and then two. I knew that the first man was part of a certain mafia.
Ilias had said they believed that there was a chance all of them were in the same one.
Could one mafia be so big as to have so many men? I asked the question.
“Well, after you found the first attacker last night, we went ahead and pulled every known associate,” Kostas explained.
“We included people who might just be associated, but not necessarily made men. We wanted to be thorough. They’re all connected in some way or another.
They might just be corner boys, or even run a delivery once in a while. ” He shrugged.
“Gotcha.” That made sense to me. They were clearly thinking that the attack was planned and intentional.
All the politics that might have gone on behind the scenes regarding the reason for the attack weren’t something I could do anything about.
The one thing I could do to help was figure out the ‘who.’ I returned to the photos and the search, and then fourteen minutes later, I hit pay dirt.
“There,” I murmured, pressing my fingers to the screen.
Kostas clicked to isolate the image. A man in a charcoal suit, broad and balding, standing outside a steakhouse with a cigarette in his hand. The camera had caught him mid-smirk. It was oily. Familiar. Gold ring.
“Second guy,” I whispered. “He was part of it.” My stomach pitched.
Ilias leaned in slowly, his arm resting near mine. Today, he wore a short-sleeved polo that stretched and moved over the muscles on his chest, making him seem imposing yet impossibly attractive at the same time. “Alright.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry, but my hands didn’t shake. Not as much this time. "He laughed. I remember his laugh. He thought it was funny. Wanted a turn.”
Kostas jotted something down, then leaned back and gave a low whistle. “Ruben Bello. One of Scarpato’s lieutenants. High up. That tracks."
Ilias was already sitting back and texting, his fingers flying over the screen in clipped bursts as I tried to process what this meant.
“Sending it to Conall and Angelo,” he said without looking up. “Maxim too.”
I swallowed hard and clicked the touchpad again to advance the screen, falling back into the rhythm of the photos, trying to ignore how the yogurt churned in my stomach.
“Let’s keep going.” The memories of the sharp pain of booted feet and the taste of concrete were coming back to me in flashes behind my eyes. I closed them hard and then refocused.
The doorbell chimed not five minutes later, and after a glance at the security camera by Kostas, the front door swung open with a heavy thud.
“It’s your brother,” Ilias explained.
Heavy footfalls echoed in the stairwell, and within seconds, Maxim rounded the corner. He strode into the library like a man on a mission, his jaw clenched.
I straightened instinctively. Maxim was my brother, yes.
But he intimidated me a little. Ilias radiated safety to me, especially after last night, but I hadn’t spent as much time with Maxim.
I knew that would change, but it would take time.
Ilias had placed his hand on the nape of my neck, moving his thumb in slow, soothing circles.
“You found another one?” he asked without preamble. “I saw the message.”
Kostas turned the screen of his laptop to face Maxim. “Ruben Bello. Another Scarpato associate.”
Maxim’s eyes darkened as he looked at the photo. “I know him. Talked to that fucker with Scarpato.” He pressed his lips into a tight line as if keeping himself from saying anything else.
“Thought you might,” Ilias said. “We’re running the rest of Scarpato’s crew today.”
Maxim turned to me then, his eyes searching mine. “ Sestra , you okay?” He tore a hand through his hair. “Of course you’re not. Stupid question.” He slumped into a chair.
“As okay as I can be. You guys know who these people are, right? You think you can find them? ”
“Both of them work for another mafia here in town. We’ll be able to find them,” Kostas said with confidence. “You ready to keep going?” He didn’t press. Just sat on the edge of the other couch, balancing his laptop.
“Yep,” I said with false confidence. I wanted this part to be finished.
The photos blurred together after a while—faces I didn’t recognize, names that meant nothing.
Kostas kept the rhythm easy, never pushing too hard.
Ilias stayed close, occasionally leaning in to point out someone he wanted me to look at again.
Every once in a while, his arm would brush against me so I could lean into him.
I would have preferred he just stayed close beside me, touching like that, so I could leech off his body heat. For some reason, I was freezing.
The two men in the diner who had come in were also mixed in with the pictures.
The one with the scar and the suit. Ilias and Maxim just tensed and made a note.
It wasn’t like they were at the attack, but I wondered if they had been watching me at the diner on purpose—if they’d known all along where I was. The whole thing gave me hives.
It wasn’t until we reached the final row that my hand froze. On the right side of the screen was a mugshot of the same man, and on the left was a candid. It was him, the leader of the trio, who had attacked us. Cold. Sharp. Familiar.
“That’s him,” I said, barely above a whisper.
The room went still. Ilias’s hand came to my shoulder, reassuring and solid as I tried to look away from the screen. “The final guy?” The words sounded as if they were coming from a distance.
I nodded, unable to look away from the screen. "That’s the one who was in charge. The others helped, but this guy was the one giving the orders.” I dry heaved a little at the memory, my hand coming to my mouth.
Maxim stood slowly, his fists clenched as he took a few steps in one direction, then turned on his heel and paced the other way.
“I’m going to get my men on surveillance.
We’re going to catch these fuckers. I promise you your revenge, Galena.
I swear it.” The words were spat out furiously, as if he needed me to believe them.
I wanted to give him what he needed—reassurance that I knew he’d follow through—but I was numb.
I couldn’t reassure anyone right now. Actions. That’s what I needed.
“Name’s Dino Scarpato,” Kostas said softly, giving me the information I needed. Names held power, and I wanted to gather as much of it as I could. “Don of the Scarpato family.”
Ilias looked between us, then moved in front of the screen, blocking the photo gently. “That’s enough. Kostas.” He gave his brother a sharp nod. “Get out. Everyone.”
I could hear them arguing and shuffling as they left, until he gently pulled me to my feet, as if I were something precious. And for the first time since I’d seen that man’s face again, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
“You’re alright. You did so well today,” he soothed the words flowing over me as he stroked his fingers through my hair.
“I’m so mad all the time. So scared.” My voice trembled on the confession, a rasp slicing through the silence. “But I also… I feel like I’m the one who should have died. Like maybe that would’ve been easier.”
Silence.
And then, very quietly, he answered, “Maybe it seems like it would be easier, but it takes courage to live. You’re honoring your mother by surviving.
You’ll honor her every day. She would want that.
” Something raw and vulnerable cracked open in his voice, and it made me lift my head against his chest. His hair was a little tousled, like he’d raked his fingers through it one too many times.
He didn’t move, but his gaze held mine. “I know it hurts,” he said.
“And it’s going to keep hurting, but you’re not alone anymore. ”
Something in me cracked, and the tears came fast. Not a quiet trickle, but a sudden, overwhelming torrent.
I couldn’t stop. My shoulders shook. My chest heaved.
And I hated it—how messy and unguarded I was.
I swayed as the storm of emotion made my stomach clench.
I felt dizzy and breathless. For a second, I thought I might collapse again.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Let it all go. I’ll catch you.”
I pressed my forehead into his chest as the sobs broke open again.
His arms wrapped around me, with one hand protectively cupping the back of my head, while the other stretched wide across my back as if he could physically hold my broken pieces together.
His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath my cheek.
His breath brushed through my hair. “You were brave today,” he said into the silence. “I’m super proud of you.”
I let out a broken laugh, bitter and wet.
“I didn’t feel very brave. I felt like I was being pulled apart from the inside.
” Still, the words made me feel better. I shouldn’t need the praise for doing the right thing or seeking any kind of justice.
It was weird that a part of me did appreciate that he thought I was a little brave.
“Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t break into pieces,” he said. “It means you keep showing up even when you do.” His shoulder gave a little shrug. “That’s what I think anyway. “You just keep trying.”
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Just keep picking up the pieces and I’ll be alright.”
His arms didn’t loosen their hold around me. “You got it.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
I don’t know how long we stood there. My tears slowed, but I didn’t pull away. I wasn’t ready, and for once, I didn’t feel guilty for needing comfort. I didn’t feel like a burden or a problem to be fixed.