Chapter 16 #2
‘Handle my wife better than your phone, fratuzzo. She thinks you ghosted breakfast.’
I grunt – no comeback.
He clamps my shoulder and squeezes. ‘I’ll say it again, frate. Don’t die.’
‘Nah. Bad for business.’
Sofiya
18:10 – H?tel de Paris, Eighth floor
I knock once on Maddie’s suite.
I hear faint grumbling ten seconds before the door yanks open. But it’s not my sister who fills the doorway.
Umberto ‘Fist’ Lazlo, built like a thousand-year-old sequoia, with the ancient, dead eyes to match, scrutinises me like he doesn’t know who I am.
The bodyguard – and cousin of the Salvatore men – used to be Cesare’s shadow. But lately, he’s glued himself to my sister, probably at the behest of her possessive and unhinged husband – definite family trait, that – who can’t leave his wife’s sight for more than two seconds.
‘Out of the way, Fist. I told you I’d get the door. Get in here, Sof,’ Maddie says, more than a little irritably. After another long second of dead-eye staring, the gentle-until-provoked giant shifts. Towards me.
I glare and step out of his way before I’m steamrollered.
Maddie’s barefoot, her massive bump wrapped in a racing tee. She shuffles backwards to let me in, one hand bracing the small of her back. ‘He’s driving me insane,’ she mutters, shooting Fist a glare. ‘Apparently I can’t turn a doorknob at eight months pregnant without adult supervision.’
Fist grunts something about ‘protocol’ and stations himself at the balcony doors.
I follow Maddie to the sofa, where she lowers herself with a soft groan. Her belly pushes the team-logo tee into a perfect dome. She pats the cushion beside her. ‘Sit. Surprise of the day – you showed up before I had to hunt you down.’
I drop onto the edge, pulling a throw blanket over my lap more for something to do with my hands than warmth. ‘Thought I’d say goodbye properly.’
‘That’s new.’ She smiles, but there’s a faint wobble under the tease. ‘I’m glad, just… shocked. You used to ghost out between dessert and coffee. Hurt my feelings, in case you never noticed.’
Guilt pricks. ‘I noticed.’
Her gaze searches mine. ‘What changed?’
I shrug. ‘Trying something different.’
Maddie tilts her head, brown eyes sharp. ‘Different or dangerous?’
‘Both, maybe,’ I admit, staring at the flecks of half-finished pain au chocolat from Le Gemir, Maddie’s favourite bakery, on a plate on the coffee table. ‘But necessary.’
She studies me a moment longer, then sighs. ‘Cesare says Rafa’s wheels-up too. Any idea where he’s off to?’ The question is feather-light, but she watches my face like a hawk, waiting for a slip.
‘The heir doesn’t share family secrets with me, remember?’ I deflect, forcing a neutral smile. ‘I have no fucking clue what Rafa’s up to.’
‘Hmm,’ she murmurs. ‘Still’ – her fingers find mine – ‘if you do know, you’ll tell me he’s not dragging you into something that’ll get you killed… right?’
I squeeze her hand. ‘You know better than that.’ Half-truth, half promise. It’s all I can manage.
She exhales, shoulders easing, then brightens as if flipping a switch. ‘Fine. Lecture over. Can we hug without the world imploding?’
We hug, her scent of vanilla lotion and baby powder wrapping around me like childhood. She whispers at my ear, voice wobbly again, ‘Come see me in New York before the baby arrives. Promise?’
I nod against her shoulder even though the promise sits heavy. I want to believe I’ll make it, but I don’t know what the hell the Enforcer is dragging me to or into. Besides, with one race down and five more to go, my future remains precarious. ‘I’ll try, sis. I really will.’
She leans back, eyes damp but shining. ‘Trying is a start. Love you, Sof.’
‘Love you more,’ I say – truth, for once, unvarnished.
I stand, brush her hair from her face, and step towards the door.
Fist opens it without a word.
I glance back. Maddie’s hand rests on her belly, her thumb stroking a slow circle while she watches me leave.
In the corridor I exhale, the weight of her worry and hopes pressing between my shoulder blades. If Rafa pulls the trigger on Nonno – or if my grandfather strikes back first – New York baby showers might remain a sweet idea, never real.
But hope tastes better than guilt.
So I tuck Maddie’s request next to my flickering conscience and head for the elevator, where the Enforcer’s shadow already looms.
Rafaelle
19:12 – Gulfstream G650, Thirty Thousand Feet Over the Med
The cabin lights dim after we level out, the engines a low growl of background sound.
Sofiya is strapped in across from me, arms folded. She refused the chilled water the steward offered. I dismiss the attendant and hit the privacy switch.
She’s quiet and watchful. A beautiful snake circling Adam. I’m down for eating her apple.
I feel a smirk tugging at my lips at the twisted interpretation just as my phone vibrates. Swear to God, if it’s Cesare with more words of fucking wis—
Nightowl. A single, maddening line fills the screen.
Two serpents, hidden baskets; only one knows the venom.
A chill skates my spine. What basket? And what the fuck is his fixation with snakes? I fucking hate snakes.
Fucking clarify. Which serpent?
I thumb back, knuckles whitening.
Three dots… then the exact same line repeats. No explanation, because apparently Nightowl isn’t in the mood. I stare at the message.
Then at Sofiya.
Am I dealing with a warning? A taunt? A secret sitting five feet in front of me, pretending to nap?
Snakes. Secrets. Betrayal?
Heat floods my veins, half fury, half dread.
It’s the mother of all Hail Marys topped with conjecture, but I pocket the phone and lock eyes on her.
My pulse jumps. My cock jumps higher.
She’s waiting, watchful. Like she knows a secret. All the fucking secrets.
‘You have El Topo’s coordinates, don’t you?’ I murmur.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react at all. Which for a woman who blushed when I go anywhere near her pussy is disarmingly unsettling. And impressive.
‘How long have you known?’ I press.
A beat. Then, ‘Six days. One of my father’s bookkeepers leaked supply invoices – food and meds – headed to the exact village.’
Fuck! There’s that loathsome feeling galloping in my chest again. Like I’m hurt? ‘And you neglected to share.’
Her chin lifts. ‘I had to vet the source.’
‘Bullshit. You wanted to keep Grandpa breathing.’ I lean forward, elbows on knees. ‘You expecting a family redemption arc? He tried to vaporise your own sister. At her fucking wedding,’ I seethe.
Colour drains from her cheeks, but she doesn’t drop her gaze. ‘I was weighing options. So shoot me.’
‘Don’t fucking tempt me.’
Now she flinches.
‘You had that in your back pocket while we were burying traffickers?’ I snort. ‘While I was eating that beautiful cunt?’
Her colour rises, sure as sin and clockwork.
The plane lurches through mild chop; neither of us blinks.
‘I’ll make this clear, bedda,’ I say, voice low steel.
‘If you want to take a hacksaw to our baseline trust, that’s fine by me.
We land, we hunt. If Bonafacio draws first breath in my scope, I squeeze.
You can walk away or stand beside me.’ I lean forward into her space, let her eyes rush over my face, linger on my mouth.
Savour what she’s throwing away. ‘But do not – ever – play me blind. Capisci?’
She inhales, fists clenching on the armrests. ‘If I walk away, who drags your gorgeous corpse out?’
Despite myself, a grin slips. Possessive heat coils under my ribcage – raw and inconvenient. ‘So you do remember some things.’
‘When it suits me.’
‘Three days and I’m accustomed to your noise.’ I reach across, my thumb brushing her wrist pulse. ‘Don’t add silence to that elective list. Silence and deception piss me off. Makes me a little… deranged.’
She shivers but not out of fear. There’s fire behind her eyes. The same fire that arced through her when she came on my tongue.
The cabin feels smaller, the air charged.
I imagine tugging her into the double bedroom at the rear, starting by pressing her against the door, showing her what lying and withholding from me earns.
But it’s a short flight, and I can’t imagine she’ll be in the mood to come on the cock of the man who intends to take out her grandfather.
The man who will happily paint her body in the blood of her family.
A spike of regret bites.
I shake it off.
The mission hisses in my head – focus, kill, clean.
She breaks eye contact first and stares out the oval window at nothing.
I recline, my fingers drumming the armrest, mind juggling Nightowl’s new message and the old vow etched in bone: make a Mancinelli bleed for my mother.
Out the window, lightning flickers on the horizon. There’s a storm building over Sicily, violent and inevitable.
Perfect weather for a reckoning.
And if the woman across from me thinks she can soften the blow…
The corner of my mouth lifts in a promise more lethal than any bullet.
Tonight, the orchard gets salt, and the serpent loses its head.