Chapter 50 – Isabella
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER
“ Y ou don’t have to help me,” Ilya said gently, as the SUV rolled to a stop.
My protective, caring phantom, he’d tried so hard to make me go to the hotel room. And when that didn’t work, he tried to persuade me to stay at the hospital.
But I needed to see this through.
Staring at the house, I set my shoulders. The strength bolstering me while waiting for the surgeons to work their magic was fast ebbing, but I could be strong for a little while longer. “I have to pack his things.”
We both knew I wasn’t talking about Alonzo’s personal effects.
Silently, I followed Ilya into the mausoleum. His large form shielded me from the body still lying in the foyer. A faint stench, like meat going bad, wafted in the air, tickling my nose. Breathing through my mouth, I turned abruptly to ascend the stairs.
Where the strega’s dead bodyguard still lay slumped in the hall.
Crap. I hadn’t spared Cecilia one single thought this whole time. She could be alive, stirring up trouble—or worse, escaping justice.
Gripping the banister, I called down to my spectre. “Check the second room to the right. I left the don’s bitch of a sister in there.”
Those grey eyes lifted to meet mine. Ilya gave me a short nod.
Giving my jailer a wide berth, I went straight to Gio’s room. I was prepared for the overwhelming burst of emotions at seeing his things. But it was the unpleasant smell of teenage boy that hit me the hardest. The mixture of smelly body spray that couldn’t cover the dirty laundry and leftover food hit me straight in the chest.
I stood transfixed on the threshold, staring at his worldly possessions and failing to see anything sentimental in the pigsty of a room.
The low whistle behind me had me dashing away the moisture clouding my vision. I cut a look over my shoulder to see Ilya grab the bodyguard’s legs and drag him into the spare room between Alonzo’s bedroom and Cecilia’s.
Once Ilya shut the door on the corpse, he looked over at me. “Your handiwork, I presume?”
A small smile twitched on my lips. “Yeah. I got tired of him staring at me for hours on end.”
Ilya’s gaze thinned. “You don’t have to tell me anything now, but I’m going to need to know everything that happened to you.”
As he spoke, he closed the distance. I took a couple of steps to fold into his embrace. “It wasn’t very exciting. My privacy was taken away, and I was constantly watched, but until Alonzo burst through the door, nothing happened around here.”
“But you knew about….” Ilya’s voice grew hoarse right before he stopped talking.
Swallowing past the heartache, I whispered, “Yeah, Cecilia showed me the picture of Gio’s body.”
The grip around my body tightened. “Alonzo said it was fast. He didn’t suffer long.”
“Did he say how it happened?” I croaked.
“Cosimo got carried away. Nicked an artery,” Ilya rumbled. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.”
My heart throbbed painfully. “You listen to me, phantom. You did everything you could—”
“I could have done more,” he insisted.
But I shook my head. “You knew what my brother meant to me, and I know you made Cosimo pay for his crimes.”
Ilya let out a rough bark. “That wasn’t me, either.”
Confusion flickered through me.
But before I could ask, Ilya set his shoulders square and jerked his chin to the room. “What do you want to take?”
“Some of his shirts to make a blanket,” I gulped. “The watch my papa gave him—it was our grandpa’s. The Bible mama gave him at his First Communion, although I don’t think he looked at it since. And his stupid video game console.”
Ilya rubbed my spine. “Anything downstairs or in the attic? There are a few boxes of your parents' personal effects.”
I smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on his chest. “You haunted the shit out of this house, phantom. You know about my parent’s boxes.”
“Mhmm, I did.” After another tight squeeze, Ilya let me go. “I’ll run up and grab their boxes. You can wait for me to grab Gio’s things.”
I shook my head. “We need to hurry.”
Ten minutes later, my spectre found me loading Alonzo’s philosophy books into a suitcase.
“Did Cecilia escape?” I asked, going to the wardrobe for some spare clothes. I pulled open his drawer and covered my mouth. There were dirty movies and magazines inside.
Ilya came up behind me. “Didn’t think the kid knew about that stuff.”
I shook my head. “Alonzo is full of surprises.”
“The don’s sister is dead. Broken spine by the looks of it,” Ilya answered my other question.
“Good,” I breathed. Someday, decades down the road, when I was old and fragile, I would have my last confession, lay all my sins bare. But pushing Cecilia would never be one of them. That death was purely self-defense. There was no thread of guilt, and time wouldn’t change that.
Once the items were gathered, and Ilya lifted the zipped luggage off the bed, I followed him into the hall, where my own luggage already waited.
“I’m sure there will be things I wish I grabbed,” I confessed as we trudged downstairs.
“I’ll replace them,” the spectre promised.
I smiled. “The things that can’t be replaced are what matter, silly. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
Ilya remained silent tugging the bigger, heavier bags out the front door. But I paused on the threshold. There was something left to do. I tugged on my finger, taking one last look over the house of horrors.
“Goodbye,” I whispered to the good, the bad, and the ugly memories. My fingers uncurled; my gaze shifted to the dark, reassuring presence walking down the front steps. The circular object fell. The small metallic plink was my own personal strepitus.
Ilya’s head snapped toward the noise. I watched him stare at my engagement ring sliding over the floor. When his gaze met mine, I smiled.
“We’re done here,” I said with finality.
As I walked down the steps, there wasn’t even the slightest temptation to look back.
I waited beside the trunk for Ilya to rearrange the boxes. This was the start of a new life. How many people were lucky enough to say they had a second chance, a do-over on a clean slate, I couldn’t say. But I was blessed to be one of them. We were leaving the East Coast—for good! Somehow Ilya’s connections to the criminal underworld made it so the doctors didn’t file a report on Alonzo’s gunshot wound. We would stay in a hotel for the next few days, and when my friend was released, he would come with us to the Windy City, where Ilya said we’d care for him, his recovery, and his rehabilitation as an amputee.
“The Scorso Mafia will be here any minute. I hate to rush you, but it’s time to go, siren.” Ilya slammed the trunk closed.
“No, rush. I’m ready!” I moved to the front seat.
The Scorso Famiglia agreed to dispose of the bodies, file the necessary paperwork to sell the house, and transfer any assets. For freedom, I was handing them the scraps and rubble that was once my family’s empire.
They could take it all. I was done with the Rinaldi legacy.
Not because there were only broken ruins that I had no interest in resurrecting. But because there was nothing for me here. My future was in the West, the promise of a new life and a fresh start. So long as Alonzo and I never came back, we were safe.
“I’m free,” I whispered. A single tear trickled down my cheek. Sorrow was bound to come, and I would spend the next season of my life grieving. But I would also have the space to heal. There was always spring after the winter. “Let’s go, phantom.”
Ilya laced his fingers through mine, starting the engine. He didn’t move to kiss me, and I was tired of the distance. Unbuckling, I leaned over to fist his shirt in my hands. Something gold sparkled on his chest. I blinked. Slowly, I pulled his shirt to the side. It was a gold circle, the center missing. A Latin phrase from my favorite poem was etched into the metal.
The pendant—my pendant.
“I wore it every day since you left it in Chicago,” Ilya confessed, voice the texture of velvet, rich and luxurious.
My heart fluttered in my chest. “I haven’t seen it on you.”
Ilya shrugged. “Just because you didn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
Just like him.
That steady grey gaze watched me with unwavering intensity. He was right here, right now. But he wasn’t moving to close the distance.
“I love you, phantom,” I breathed, finally having the space for those words to fly free.
Ilya reached up, cupping my cheek in his palm. It was large, warm, and protective. It was right. “And I love you, Isabella, my sweetest siren.”
“There’s no need to treat me with kid gloves,” I promised. “I’m not going to break.”
My mouth crashed against his, cutting off his response. The kiss was hard and hungry. My tongue delved into his mouth, searching for relief as my body buzzed with a silent plea for more. Ilya held me tight, fingers pressing firmly against my body. I embraced the dark and everything he brought me, knowing my nightmares could never touch me again.