Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Giovanni
I take the stairs fast, hand skimming the rail, the old wood thudding under my heels. I don’t bother with the last two steps—I cut them, drop to the foyer, already reaching for keys.
I know where she is. I know, and it’s the only thing keeping me vertical.
Luca steps out of the parlor to my left, phone still to his ear, palm half raised like he means to slow me. We speak over each other.
“Cristiano squealed,” he says. “It’s—"
“Adriano Russo,” I say.
“Not Leonardo?” Antonio asks, coming into the foyer after Luca.
“No, Adriano,” Luca says, voice flat, eyes on mine. “Gabe Russo’s father.”
Elena’s breath catches from the doorway behind him. “Gabe?” Her face drains of color, arms tightening around Alessandra as if instinct tells the body to shield the child first. “The one who—” She cuts herself off. Her eyes flick to Luca and then to me.
The one who attacked her only months ago under this roof, in the bedroom she shares with Luca.
The one she had to kill.
“The same one,” Luca says, already closing the distance to her. He curls an arm around her shoulders, hand at the back of her head, drawing her close enough that the baby’s soft hair presses against his jaw. “They aren’t coming near you again.”
I don’t have time for the rage that surges up at the thought of that night. I tuck it beside the rest and keep moving. “I know where he’s keeping Bianca,” I say, my body already moving out the door. “Right at his own damn house.”
“Wait.” Roberto’s voice comes from behind, steps quickly, coat unbuttoned, tie loose, sleeves neat because he can’t not be neat. “Think critically.”
“For what?” I snarl. “Permission? A committee vote?”
“A plan,” he says. “Two breaths. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Two breaths could be the difference.”
“It’s a trap,” he adds. “You know it is.”
“I don’t care if it is,” I say. “And I don’t care who you think Bianca is. I believe what I believe. I don’t think she’s there by choice. Trap or no trap, I’m not sitting around another second.”
Roberto plants himself at my side anyway, the way only a brother can—close enough to take a fist if I swing one. “Stop and think for a second.”
“Move,” I say.
He doesn’t.
“Gio,” Luca says calmly, stepping onto the lawn. I don’t look. I’m two inches from my car and only seconds until I’m out of here.
Antonio and Nico drift in from the parlor like they were standing just out of sight for the last minute, which they were. All three turn to Luca with the same look: your call.
He looks at me. He looks at Roberto. He looks at Elena, who has set the baby down somewhere and joined our little party on the lawn. Luca drags a breath, lifts his chin a fraction.
“Giovanni’s right,” he says, looking at me. “I didn’t trust your instincts before, Gio, and that was wrong.”
The twist in my chest loosens. I don’t move.
“But Roberto is also right,” he finishes. “This is a trap, and we handle it like one. Smart. No heroics for the sake of them.”
“I’m not interested in heroics,” I say. “I’m interested in Bianca.”
“Then you’ll listen long enough to make sure you get to her,” Roberto says. “Alive.”
I take those two breaths he wanted, and I stare at him while I do it.