Chapter 47
47
Roman
“ W e found Vercotti. He’s in our custody.”
Kolya’s words should be music to my ears, but it’s weirdly anti-climatic. I thought I’d have to hunt him down, but no.
It’s over.
“Your man Leon came straight to us with the security footage from the hospice. The bastard was there, clear as day. Didn’t try to hide his face until he was outside the building, so the camera at the gate caught him just fine. He was limping, too. Is it true you ran over his foot?”
“Yes. I could have done worse.”
“Fair enough. You got married, correct?”
“Yesterday.”
“You didn’t run it past me,” Kolya says, a hectoring tone creeping in. “I suppose you think you can do whatever you want?”
“Can’t I? I’m not a komissiya member only because I turned it down. You would have agreed to the wedding; besides, it was urgent. Look what happened. Silvio tried to kill my wife, for fuck’s sake.”
“That is secondary. There is a more pressing matter at hand. Do you remember Don Fredo Familio of Sicily? He came to live in New York to be near his grandchildren.”
“Sure. He was a mean old fucker, but a legend in his time. What about him? I thought he was dead already.”
“He is now. The poor man had dementia and was a resident at Two Pines; he had no chance of escaping the fire. He’d only been there two weeks while his son moved him to a better facility.”
Woah. Back in the day, the Familios and the Vercottis were friendly. Don Fredo’s son is Bernard Familio, a long-standing mob lawyer and a senior mafia commission member since I was a kid.
“I’m calling you as a courtesy, Roman,” Kolya says. “The komissiya and the commission agree; Bernard has the last word on what happens to Silvio Vercotti. The idiot denied everything until he was confronted with the footage and broke down. He claimed he was targeting your wife; a man called Ricky Lubomski corroborated it all. Don Fredo’s death was accidental, but that will make no difference to the outcome.”
“What outcome?” I ask. “I just want the piece of shit dead.”
“Vercotti is a broken man,” he replies. “We ordered him to cede all his assets to us, and the mafia commission agreed. They will not shelter him. Bernard will fly Vercotti to Sicily this evening, where the extended famiglia will give him the welcome he deserves. Don’t worry—he’ll be gone from the face of the Earth.”
“Let me do it, Kolya. I’ll pay anything Bernard wants.”
“No way, kid. I knew you’d say that, so I already asked him, and he’s not prepared to sell you his revenge. Accept it. You still get what you want; go live your life.”
I hang up. I shouldn’t end the conversation with the head of the komissiya so abruptly, but I don’t know how to feel. Quinn is staring at me.
“Is it over?” she asks.
“Yes.” I frown. “Somehow, it is. I was gearing up for a war, and there won’t be one. Vercotti went down without a fight.”
“That’s good, right?”
I feel robbed. It’s not only that I wanted to be the one to take Silvio down. I wanted to make him understand that he chose this.
It could have been different if he had only backed down and lived for more than vengeance. I hate him for going after Quinn, but I know the man had the potential to be someone else, someone better.
I have that potential, too, and a reason to fulfill it.
“Yeah, rusalka . It’s good.” I hold my arms to her, and she melts into my chest.
“I really want to go home,” she whispers. “Can we?”
“Sure. No one called about your apartment, and with Silvio out of action, it’ll be safe now.”
The man guarding Quinn’s place looks exhausted and grateful to be leaving. We head inside, and she sinks into her couch with a sigh.
“Will it always be this way?” she asks. “People out to hurt us?”
“For Silvio, it was personal.” I sit beside her, and she rests her head on my shoulder. “I have enemies, but it’s usually bratva business, and that’s different. That I can handle. Now,” I turn to look at her, “what does my wife want?”
“Breakfast.” She smiles. “I have nothing to cook, and I’m starving.”
“We can do that.” I kiss her. “I mean, what do you want in life? Do you have a dream I can grant?”
“I always thought I’d like to lose forty pounds, but since meeting you, I’ve changed my mind.”
“You will not be doing that. In fact,” I pat her belly, “I’d like to see you get a lot bigger over a few months if you catch my drift.”
“Cool your jets, Roman. We’re less than a week into this relationship. I’ll be staying on the pill for a little while longer.”
“Damn, you kept that quiet. We can put a pin in it, but this is not over. You want to be something more than my hot pregnant wife?” I arch an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“My mom wanted to be a professional pastry chef,” she begins, snuggling closer. “She was such a great baker, and my best memories are of her in her apron, diligently kneading and piping. It wasn’t to be; she married my father, they had me, and then life dragged her down and down until she couldn’t claw her way out.”
“No wonder you like to bake,” I say. “My mama was similar, but with her, it was bread. The house always smelled of it.”
Quinn squeezes my arm, and we bask in the warmth of this unexpected moment of connection.
“I’ve always wanted to train to be a patissier,” she says. “Mom is part of me; it would be a great way to feel close to her. I miss her so much.”
“ Moya zhena , there is nothing in this world you cannot do. I will find the best school, the best training?—”
“What if I’m not good enough, Roman?” Her voice is suddenly shaky. “It’s not just the money. You need to help me believe I can do it.”
“What did I say?” I grab her chin and turn her face to mine. “You can do anything, and it’s not because I can make it happen. You are a powerhouse, Quinn. A woman of strength and determination. Think about what you’ve had to do to survive, not only recently but for your whole life. You think you’ve been cowering in the shadows?”
I press my forehead to hers. “No way. You were down but never beat. It takes guts to fight for yourself, but you did every day. And you kept your compassion and heart.”
I mean every word, but I make a silent promise—I will find her uncle and keep an eye on the bastard. If he finds himself on the wrong end of some scumbag’s shank, that will be a happy coincidence, of course. And as for the killer of Quinn’s parents, I will find them, too.
“I messaged Katrina and told her what happened to Sugar Rush.” Quinn sighs. “She was such a good baker and now she’s out of a job.”
“When we open your new bakery, it’ll be three times the size. You can have Katrina on your staff.” I smile at her wide-eyed surprise. “As you want it, my love. I promise.”
She throws her arms around my neck and dives on me, smothering my face with kisses. “You’re the best, Roman,” she says.
“I know. Now, what do you want to eat? I’ll order it in.”
“Waffles, coffee, and fresh fruit salad.”
I frown. “Okay. But I want a pistachio and cardamom cinnamon bun, and my usual place isn’t doing them right now. Show me how to make them?”
“The dough needs time to rise. Twice.” She laughs at my exaggerated sad face. “Don’t look that way. I’m adaptable. I know a recipe we can throw together in half an hour, and luckily for you, I have everything I need.”
I pull her mouth to mine. “Me too,” I murmur.