Chapter 22
NICO
I haven’t left my bedroom since she walked out.
The shirt she threw on the bathroom floor is still there. Through the open door. White cotton. Soaked through in places. I haven’t moved or touched it.
The bed is unmade. The sheets still smell like her. Like us.
The smell of her hits me low, an ache that has nothing to do with grief and everything to do with wanting her back in this room, her weight against mine, her breath on my neck. My chest goes tight for a different reason than guilt.
I’m sitting on the floor.
Back against the wall opposite the bed. Knees drawn up. Hands hanging loose between them.
I’ve been here for hours.
The light through the curtain has moved from gold to white to the pale gray of afternoon.
I heard her in the hallway.
Humming.
Tonkaya Ryabina.
The lullaby.
Yelena’s lullaby.
The same song Yelena was humming when she died.
I heard Mila hum it as she walked away from me.
She doesn’t know what that song does to me.
I heard it three years ago in a concrete room while a woman bled out six feet away.
I’m the reason she needs it.
I double over and my hands go to my head and my chest is breaking open, and I cannot find the bottom of it.
I can’t breathe.
The sound that comes out of me is not a sound I’ve made since Moscow.
Raw. Broken.
I’m bent over my knees on the floor of my bedroom and I can’t stop shaking.
Yelena.
Mila.
God. Mila.
Three years I told myself she was dead.
Three years I stopped looking. Then I found her. And I didn’t tell her.
I marked her last night with my teeth.
While knowing.
I love her.
She knows what kind of man I am now.
There’s a knock at the door.
I don’t answer.
The door opens anyway.
Gia. My twin.
She walks in without permission. Closes the door behind her.
She sees me on the floor.
Her mouth presses into a line. She crosses the room. Sits down on the floor next to me. Back against the wall. Shoulder to shoulder.
We sit like that for a long time.
Then she speaks.
Quiet. Doctor voice pulled tight over something that wants to crack.
“I just came from her room.”
I don’t move.
“She has new wounds. Fresh. Her skin is raw. Red. Like she was trying to scrub something off.”
My chest stops.
“Her hands are shaking. She won’t speak. Not even to Sofia. Not even to Nonna.”
She stops.
“I gave her pain medication. And a sedative. She needs to sleep. Her body can’t take much more of this.”
My jaw tightens. My hands press flat against the floor.
Giada’s quiet for another moment.
“What did you do, Nico.”
It’s not a question.
I tell her.
Not everything — not the parts that belong to Dante first. But I give her Moscow. I give her Yelena. The extraction plan. The concrete room. What I watched happen in it. The promise I made on a floor covered in blood.
I watch her face while I talk. She’s a doctor. She keeps it still. Her hands come together in her lap and she holds them there.
The lie I told Dante. The three years of carrying it. Finding Mila. Recognizing her from the hum in the hallway. Not telling her.
Gia goes very still.
I wait.
“She hummed it?” Her voice is quiet. “That’s how you knew.”
“Yes.”
She looks at the floor. Her thumb runs over her knuckles.
“And you said nothing.”
“No.”
The clock in the hallway marks the silence.
“Nico.” Soft. The way she says my name when something is really wrong. “She must be shattered.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
I don’t answer.
She already knows.
Then she says the thing I don’t deserve.
“You have to fix this.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“She’ll never forgive me.”
“Maybe not.” Giada’s voice is hard now. “But you owe her the chance to decide that for herself.”
She gets up.
Walks to the door.
Stops.
Turns back.
“Nico.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve watched you disappear for three years. Since Moscow. Since whatever happened there that you won’t talk about.”
She stops.
“I watched you smile and charm and entertain and be everything this family needed you to be. But you weren’t here. Not really. You were gone. Somewhere else. Somewhere none of us could reach.”
Her voice cracks.
“And then she came. And you came back.”
I look up at her.
“For the first time in three years, my brother was back. Present. Alive. I could see you again.”
She wipes her eyes.
“So yes. You fucked up. You lied. You hurt her. And maybe she’ll never forgive you for it.”
“But she brought you back from wherever you’ve been for three years. And if you let her walk away without fighting for her, you’re going to disappear again. And this time I don’t think you’ll come back.”
My throat closes.
She knows.
Three years of pretending and Gia saw through every second of it and she waited because she’s Gia and she was never going to stop waiting.
I look at the floor.
“Gia.”
She stops.
“She made me want to be here again.” My voice goes wrong. “I didn’t know I’d stopped wanting to until she walked in. I didn’t plan it. I’m in it. Over my head. Terrified I won’t get the chance to try.”
She looks at me.
“I know,” she says.
She walks out.
Closes the door.
I sit on the floor.
Giada’s right.
I can’t survive losing her.
There’s another knock.
Harder this time.
Marco doesn’t wait.
He walks in. Folder under his arm. Small brown package in his right hand.
I’ve seen his face this way once. Low. Capo voice.
“This came at the outer gate.”
I stand.
My legs barely hold me.
I cross to Marco. Take the package.
It’s light.
Too light.
The string is dark gray. The knot is clean. Square. Moscow courier.
“We got it this morning,” Marco says. “International. No return address. Hand-tied.”
I cut the string with my knife and unwrap the paper.
Something small falls into my palm.
Wood.
Dark wood worn smooth at the edges.
A cross.
Hand-carved.
Small.
I stop breathing.
I know this cross.
I held this cross three years ago in a concrete room in Moscow.
It was at Yelena’s throat when she died.
Resting in her blood.
I left it there.
It’s in my hand now.
There’s paper folded around it.
I unfold it.
Sharp handwriting. Economical. A killer’s hand.
I read it.
Hello, Martin Leclerc.
Or should I call you Nico Santoro?
A pleasure to finally know who you are.
Now it all makes sense.
That stupid bitch Yelena was selling us out to the Cosa Nostra? I knew it.
You took something of mine, Nico.
I think you’ve forgotten what kind of man I am.
Let me remind you.
Tell Milochka I have not forgotten her.
My hands start shaking.
I read it again.
He knows my name.
My real name.
He knows I’m Cosa Nostra, and where Mila is.
He called Yelena “that stupid bitch.”
He kept her cross.
A trophy.
A threat.
I’m coming for her.
The control I’ve been holding for three years.
Gone.
I throw the chair into the wall and the wood explodes.
Not enough.
I punch the wall.
Once.
Twice.
My knuckles split open, blood hot on my hand.
A hole in the wall.
Still not enough.
I can’t breathe, my chest is crushing, my vision blurring, and he knows who I am and where she is and he is coming for her.
I’m on my knees.
The cross is still in my left hand.
Blood from my knuckles dripping onto the floor.
I can’t fucking breathe.
Marco’s voice.
Sharp. Capo command.
“Dante. Now.”
He’s already moving. Running down the hallway.
I’m on my knees. Yelena’s cross in my hand. A hole in the wall. Russian on a piece of paper next to me.
Footsteps.
Multiple.
Fast.
The door opens.
Dante.
He sees me on my knees, the blood on my knuckles and the hole in the wall and Yelena’s cross in my hand.
He crosses to me and drops to one knee in front of me, his hand going to my shoulder.
Firm. Steady.
“Breathe.”
I can’t.
“Nico. Look at me.”
I look up.
His eyes are the eyes of the Don.
Calm. In control.
“Breathe. Now.”
I breathe.
Once.
Shaking.
“Again.”
I breathe again.
He doesn’t move his hand.
“What happened.”
My voice won’t come.
Marco hands him the note.
Dante reads it.
His jaw tightens.
Once.
That’s all.
He sets the note down.
Looks at me.
“He knows who you are.”
“Yes.”
“He knows where she is.”
“Yes.”
Dante’s hand on my shoulder tightens.
“Then we end this.”
He stands.
Pulls me up with him.
I’m still shaking.
He doesn’t let go of my shoulder.
“Marco. Get everyone. Back room. Five minutes.”
Marco’s gone.
Dante looks at me.
“You’re going to tell me everything. Not later. Now. In the back room. Everything you’ve been carrying for three years.”
I nod.
“And then we’re going to protect her. Together. As a family.”
He stops.
“He wants war with the Santoros? He gets war. But he doesn’t touch her. Not while we’re breathing.”
The back room.
The entire family is here.
Dante at the head of the table. Cassia next to him. The folder of intake open in front of her. The bump full under her silk robe. Her hair down.
Renzo across from them. Pants pulled on fast. White t-shirt. Hair still shaped like the pillow. His mouth is hard. Pulled out of bed for war.
Giada at Cassia’s right. Scrubs. Hair tied back. She’s been with Mila.
Marco at the door. Arms crossed. Capo stance.
Izzy next to Giada. Laptop open. Hair in a knot. Sleeves shoved. She’s already running traces.
The cross is on the table in the center.
Yelena’s cross.
Bloodstained.
Everyone can see it.
I look at the room.
Renzo pulled from bed, jaw already set. Here anyway. Izzy’s fingers moving before Dante has spoken a word. Giada, who was just upstairs with Mila, three seats from me. Marco at the door like he’s been standing there for hours.
Three years I kept this from every person in this room.
They came anyway.
Dante speaks.
“Nico. Tell them.”
“Yelena Zakharova. Moscow. Three years ago.”
I tell them.
Moscow. Yelena. The extraction deal. Alexei finding out. The concrete room. Her death. The promise I made. The threat Alexei made. The three years I spent burying it.
Finding Mila in the Benedetti basement. Recognizing her. Not telling her.
I don’t give them details. I give them enough.
Dante listens. Doesn’t interrupt.
When I’m done, the room is silent.
Renzo’s right hand goes to his pocket. To Mama’s rosary.
He’s looking at the cross on the table.
“He kept it three years.”
“Yes.”
“As a trophy.”
“Yes.”
His jaw sets once.
“He’s already dead.”
“Renzo.” Dante’s voice. Low.
“He’s already dead, Dante.” He doesn’t look up from the cross.
Dante doesn’t argue.
Cassia’s pen moves once across the folder. She doesn’t look up. “Your girl. She knows?”
“She knows Moscow. She knows I didn’t tell her who she was.”
“Then she deals with you after. We deal with him first.”
Izzy closes one window on the laptop and opens another. Still hasn’t looked up. “He’s been running surveillance on this property for at least two weeks. That’s the first trace I can confirm. Probably longer.”
No one speaks.
Then Dante speaks.
“He knows who you are. He knows where she is. We end this.”
Renzo’s quiet for a long moment. The hand stays in the pocket.
“We’re at war.”
Dante sets his hand on the table. “We’re at war with one man in Moscow. And anyone he brings with him.”
He looks around the room.
“Lock the compound. Lock Casa Lucia. I want doubled security at every entrance. I want eyes on every road leading here.”
He looks at Marco. “Flights from Moscow. Every inbound. I want to know who’s landing and where before they clear customs.”
“Done,” Marco says.
Dante looks at Cassia. “Cancel intake. All of it. Call every patient personally. Tell them the clinic is closed for the week. No exceptions.”
Cassia nods.
Dante turns to Renzo. “Your perimeter. Your men. No one gets within a mile of this house without us knowing.”
“Done.”
Dante looks at Izzy. “Digital surveillance. I want pattern tracking on every Moscow connection we have. Bank transfers. Shell companies. Known associates. If Alexei moves money or men, I want to know before he does.”
Izzy’s fingers are already moving on the keyboard. “I’m on it.”
Dante looks at Giada. “Your girl stays sedated. Keep her sleeping. We need her safe and we need her calm.”
“She’s not going to stay calm when she wakes up,” Giada says.
“Then you keep her from waking up until we have a plan.”
Giada nods.
Dante looks at Marco. “Tell Nonna. Household stays calm, fed, working. She knows what to do.”
“Done.”
Dante looks at me.
“You are not on the perimeter. You are with her. That’s your post. You don’t leave her side. You don’t let her out of your sight.”
I nod.
“Even if she won’t speak to you. Even if she hates you. You protect her. That’s the only thing that matters right now.”
“Yes.”
He stops. Looks at all of us.
“We protect ours. Anyone who touches one of us answers to all of us. That’s how this family works. That’s how it’s always worked.”
He looks at me.
“He wants to come for your woman? He comes through all of us first.”
Cassia speaks.
“The second leak,” Marco says. “Andrei was reception. This one is inside the group itself. Romanian. One of the women from Tuesday group. Alexei’s network took her cousin three weeks ago. They’ve been threatening the cousin for intel. She gave them what she had.”
“Pull her in,” Cassia says. “Medical hold. Giada handles her. The cousin goes to Naples under the same shell that took Andrei’s sister.”
“Do it,” Dante says.
Marco’s gone.
The meeting moves to logistics.
Perimeter. Surveillance. Intake. Medical. Household. Comms.
I sit at the table and listen.
The cross is on the table in front of me.
Yelena’s cross.
Bloodstained.
Hand-carved.
The last thing she wore.
Now a declaration of war.
I look at Dante.
The man who just mobilized an entire family to protect a woman I lied to.
He catches my eye.
Nods once.
We got you.
I nod back.
The meeting continues.
This time I’m not alone.