Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Dante
Alejandro hangs from chains in the center of the room. His wrists are raw where the metal bites into skin. His head droops forward, chin against chest. The bullet wound in his leg has stopped bleeding, but the flesh around it is angry and swollen.
He looks smaller than he did in his office. Stripped of his guards. His guns. His power.
Just a man now.
We share blood.
He's family.
I think about my mother. The way she used to sing while she cooked. The way she smelled like lavender and fresh bread. The way she screamed when the bullets tore through her.
I think about Lucio. Seven years old. Still afraid of the dark. Still believed in monsters under the bed. He never knew the real monster was standing in our living room with a gun.
I think about my father. The man who hid me in that closet. Who told me to stay quiet no matter what. Who died protecting a son that wasn't even his by blood.
Alejandro killed them all.
He pulled the trigger. Watched them fall. Stepped over their bodies and walked away.
I never said I was a good man.
I roll up my sleeves.
The door behind me opens. Footsteps echo across the concrete. I don't turn around. I know who it is by the sound of their walk. Bruno's heavy, deliberate stride. Nico's lighter, more precise steps.
They stop a few feet behind me.
"You don't have to be here," I say.
Bruno moves to stand beside me. His jaw is tight. His eyes are fixed on Alejandro's hanging form.
"Yes," he says. "I do."
Nico takes position on my other side. He doesn't speak. Just watches. Calculates. Files everything away in that analytical mind of his.
Alejandro stirs. His head lifts slowly, like it weighs a thousand pounds. His eyes find mine through the dim light.
He smiles.
"Little brother." His voice is hoarse. Cracked. "Come to finish what you started?"
I step closer. My boots echo against the floor.
My hand moves before I can think. The punch connects with his jaw. His head snaps to the side. Blood sprays from his split lip.
He laughs.
"There he is." He spits blood onto the floor. "There's the monster Giuseppe made."
"Giuseppe didn't make me." I grab his chin and force him to look at me. "You did. The night you murdered my family. The night you left a twelve-year-old boy hiding in a closet, listening to his mother die."
"You won't kill me." His voice wavers. Just slightly. "I'm your blood. Your brother."
"You stopped being my brother the moment you pulled that trigger."
I press a blade against his chest. Not deep enough to kill. Just deep enough to hurt.
He screams.
The sound echoes off the warehouse walls. Bounces back. Fills the space with his pain.
I drag the knife down. Slow. Controlled. A thin line of red follows the blade.
"This is for my mother."
Another cut. Parallel to the first.
"This is for my father."
A third cut. Deeper this time.
"This is for Lucio."
Alejandro's screams turn into sobs. His body jerks against the chains. Blood runs down his chest in rivulets, dripping onto the concrete below.
I step back and examine my work.
Three lines. Three lives. Three people who deserved better than what he gave them.
But I'm not done.
I set the knife down and pick up a pair of pliers.
"You're going to tell me everything," I say. "Every job Giuseppe gave you. Every family you destroyed. Every child you orphaned."
Alejandro's eyes widen. "I don't remember—"
I grab his left hand and position the pliers around his index finger.
"Then I'll help you remember."
The snap of bone echoes through the warehouse.
Alejandro screams again. Louder this time. More desperate.
Behind me, Bruno shifts his weight. Nico remains perfectly still.
Neither of them tells me to stop.
I move to the next finger.
"Start talking."
Marina
The movie plays on the screen, but I stopped paying attention twenty minutes ago. Sophia sits cross-legged beside me on the massive sectional, her spoon scraping the bottom of her ice cream container.
"You're going to lick that clean," I say.
"Don't judge me. I'm eating for two." She sets the empty container on the coffee table and reaches for mine. "Are you done with that?"
I hand it over. "Help yourself."
Sophia digs in without hesitation. The movie continues playing, but neither of us watches. The compound is quiet tonight. Lorenzo is somewhere with Bruno, probably discussing business I don't want to know about. Dante left hours ago with Nico.
I don't ask where they went.
"So." Sophia licks her spoon. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"
"Tell you what?"
She gives me a look that says she's not buying my innocent act. "What happened. With Dante. Because two weeks ago, you hated him. Now you're sharing a bedroom and looking at him like he hung the moon."
I pull my knees to my chest. "I didn't hate him."
"Marina."
"Fine. I thought I hated him." I stare at the screen without seeing it. "But I was lying to myself. I've been lying to myself for two years."
Sophia sets down the ice cream and turns to face me fully. "What changed?"
Everything. Nothing. I don't know how to explain it.
"I had every reason to let him die. Every reason to call 911 and let the police deal with it. But I didn't. I called you instead."
"Because you're a good person."
"No." I shake my head. "Because some part of me knew. Even then. Even when I was furious and terrified and convinced I wanted nothing to do with any of this—some part of me knew I couldn't lose him."
Sophia is quiet for a moment. "That's not nothing, Marina."
"I know." I press my palms against my eyes. "I tried to fight it. I told myself it was trauma bonding. Temporary insanity brought on by stress and fear and proximity."
"And now?"
I drop my hands and look at her. My best friend since kindergarten. The woman who married into this world and somehow found happiness in it.
"Now I know I can't fight my heart," I say. "I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life wondering what he's doing when he leaves at night. Wondering if he's safe. Wondering if the violence will follow him home."
Sophia's expression softens. "But?"
"But the truth is, I trust him more than I've ever trusted anyone.
" The words come easier than I expected.
"I love him, Soph. Really love him. Not the fantasy version I tried to convince myself didn't exist. The real him.
The man who watched his family die and still learned how to be gentle.
The man who tracked me for two years because he couldn't stand not knowing if I was okay. "
"That's either incredibly romantic or deeply concerning."
I laugh despite myself. "Both. Definitely both."
Sophia reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I'm happy for you. Terrified, but happy."
"We're both broken," I admit. "We both have trauma that isn't healed. Probably won't ever be fully healed. In the beginning, I thought that meant we'd destroy each other. Two damaged people crashing together and making everything worse."
"What changed your mind?"
I think about the shower. About holding him while he cried. About the way he laughs on roller coasters like a kid experiencing joy for the first time.
"I realized we can help each other," I say. "Not fix each other—that's not how it works. But help. Support. Be there when the nightmares come and the memories get too heavy." I pause. "Also, the sex is incredible."
Sophia's eyes go wide. "Marina!"
"What? It's true. The man is—"
A pillow hits me square in the face.
"Stop!" Sophia is laughing now, her cheeks flushed. "I do not need details about Dante's—"
"I wasn't going to give details!"
"You were absolutely going to give details. I know that look."
I throw the pillow back at her, and she catches it, still laughing. The sound fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels normal. Like we're back in school, staying up too late and talking about boys who didn't carry guns or have body counts.
But we're not in college anymore. And the boys we love are dangerous men.
The laughter fades, and I study Sophia's face. She looks better than she did at the funeral—the color has returned to her cheeks, and the hollow look in her eyes has softened. But there's still something fragile underneath.
"How are you?" I ask. "Really?"
Sophia sighs. She pulls the pillow against her stomach, her hand resting over where the baby grows.
"When I thought Lorenzo was dead..." She trails off, swallowing hard. "I was convinced I'd lose the baby. The stress, the grief—I could feel my body shutting down. Like it knew there was no point in continuing."
My chest aches. "Soph."
"But then he walked through that door." Her voice cracks. "And I couldn't even be angry. I wanted to be. I wanted to scream at him for putting me through that. For making me bury an empty casket while I carried his child."
"Did you? Scream at him?"
"For about three hours." A small smile crosses her face. "Then I cried for another three. Then we didn't leave the bedroom for a very long time."
"Okay, now who's giving details?"
She throws the pillow at me again.
We settle back into the couch, the movie still playing forgotten in the background. Sophia leans her head on my shoulder.
"I can't forget what they went through," she says quietly. "Dante, Vittoria, Lorenzo—they watched all of us fall apart. They carried that weight while we grieved something that wasn't even real. The guilt on Dante's face when he told us the truth..."
"He thought he'd lost us," I say. "All of us. He was prepared for everyone to hate him."
"I could never hate him. Not after what he did to protect this family." Sophia's hand finds mine again. "He loves you, you know."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"Good." She squeezes my fingers. "Because if he hurts you, I'll have Lorenzo kill him."
"Sophia!"
"What? I'm a mafia wife. I'm allowed to make threats."
I pull her into a hug, holding her tight. She smells like vanilla ice cream and the expensive shampoo Lorenzo buys her.
"I love you so much," I whisper against her hair. "So, so much."
Her arms wrap around me. "I love you too. Even when you disappear for two years and don't return my calls."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." She pulls back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Just don't do it again. I need you here. This baby is going to need their Aunt Marina."
The word hits me somewhere deep. Aunt.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise. "Not anymore."