Chapter Twenty-Nine Larissa #2
He slowly nods at the mention of my brother.
“We’re the ones who started trying to figure everything out before he disappeared.”
Tyler’s eyes remain blank as I continue.
“The thing is, Ciro wouldn’t let us see anything that could damn him or his guests. Ever.”
“So how do you know that was the case?”
When I stall, I feel his irritation start to brew and decide to give him what I can. “You’re raiding his mansion, right?”
He slowly dips his chin.
“Then you’ll soon find it’s not a fortress for no reason.
Also, when certain people would come, he would dismiss the staff and lock Iggy and me up in our rooms from the second their chauffeured cars hit the driveway until they were long gone.
Some stayed for days. Our rooms were guarded during that time, and we were locked in. ”
“To protect you?”
I snort. “To protect them. Ciro never protected his children, remember?”
His eyes lower to my lips briefly before bolting back to mine.
“Ciro isn’t just any don, he’s the don you go to for favors, and not only in the Godfather sense, though he did those too—rigging heavyweight fights, getting some asshole politician’s kid’s grades fixed for college.
For other shit, much darker shit only a mob boss could grant.
Everything Tula despises about the mafia and outlawed for the DiGiovannis when she started her rule.
But it was clear Ciro was doing it all, because, as the years passed, he became more and more paranoid.
To the point he started collecting more men to be stationed at his compound in exchange for his most prized possessions, his death dealers—le Ombre Nhagria,” the Shadows of Nhagria, “AKA i Corvi Neri—”
“The Black Crows,” he finishes, and I nod as his eyes lower to the lick of my dried lips.
“He started dealing in everything after Nonno, my grandfather, died.”
“I know what ‘nonno’ means.”
“Why don’t you ever speak it to me?”
“Tell me more,” he prods.
“You tell me … something in Italian.”
“Jesus,” he sighs.
“That doesn’t count, it’s universal.” I grin, which earns me another slight lift of his lips. When the air between us starts to charge, he shakes his head in annoyance.
“Why did you come, Larissa? If you truly mean no harm and have no plans to take us down—”
At this, I turn to fully face him. “Because you needed saving, Marine.”
“Right.” He rolls his eyes as I jerk my chin, forcing his focus back to mine so he can read the truth there.
“Would it really kill you to have a little faith in me?”
He stills for long seconds before uttering his reply. “It might.”
“Right,” I say through an exhale. “Well, while I can’t tell you who exactly is after you, or give you specific names of—what I am certain of is that his secrets are tucked away in that fucking house, which is the key to the map you’re looking for.
But before you burn his kingdom down, comb that mansion.
And know that once you light that match, it can’t be undone.
You’ll be starting a war by discovering what he’s been barricading for decades.
And you and I both know the people he’s protected and who have protected him will go to any fucking length to keep their secrets and identities buried.
So, before you strike that match, know you’ll be engaging in a very different kind of war. ”
“This I’m good at,” he admits, but there’s nothing boastful about it. If anything, he sounds weary.
“Tyler, hear me. My thoughts are that they’re so deeply embedded—woven into the fabric of everything—that if you manage to corner any one of them, you won’t be able to trust a word they say. Ever.”
His tempering gaze covers me for long seconds before his eyes threaten to metal.
“Ask,” he demands, his expression going granite. “Fucking ask me, Larissa.”
“There’s no point,” I counter evenly, “you won’t tell me.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I know who you are, keeper of secrets.” I wet my lips again as he turns onto his back and I take in his chiseled profile and ridiculously long, curled lashes. The sight of him like this, frustrated but still relaxed in my presence, has my chest seizing with every second I drink him in.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Larissa.”
“Then it’s a good thing that I do.”
“Window, no sound,” he reminds me.
“But if you only saw what I did, and still do,” I whisper as his lashes flutter down. Adam’s apple bobbing before he rolls his head slowly back toward me.
“How can you see anything of value in me after …” He trails off, his eyes carefully weighing every one of my tells and micro-expressions, as I do the same.
“You forget, I’m a soldier too. Built differently.”
“Fucking understatement … Jesus. I thought my w—” He stops himself before chuckling, which confirms what I’ve suspected since the first time he slipped. He looks over at me. “Speaking of hindsight, it occurred to me … Daniello trained you, didn’t he?”
I grin proudly. “Started three months after I got to Barga.”
“No wonder you beat the shit out of me, thrice.” His chuckle fills the air, rumbling his chest while warming mine. “I won’t ever admit this out loud again to anyone alive or dead, but you almost knocked me the fuck out.”
His smile demands the lift of my own lips as respect reflects clearly in his eyes.
A side of him I never thought I would glimpse.
Becoming even more jarring when I’m graced with my very first full, unguarded smile since the night we collided.
A smile which slowly fades as he inches closer, and I lift my head slightly on my pillow in response.
In invitation. One he doesn’t accept as his minty breath hits my lips with his whisper. “You’re pretty tough, little mobster.”
Lost in the way he’s regarding me, I lower my guard fully and stare right back at him just as my eyes threaten to grow heavy.
“Do you think you can manage to eat some broth?” he prompts, and I nod.
“I’ll be back.”
“You could have just let me die, Marine, and saved yourself the trouble. Why didn’t you?”
He stills where he now sits at the edge of the bed, one of his boots in hand. Keeping his back to me, he pushes into it before pausing again. “Maybe I want to believe you, Larissa.”
“But you don’t,” I say as his shoulders roll forward.
“I can’t.” He glances back at me, implication clear. “There’s a difference.”
When he stands, I follow his movements until my eyes slip closed.
Sometime after, I hear the muddled clink of silverware, along with a softly whispered “shit.”