Chapter 26 #2
I open my mouth, but Cesare speaks before I can.
‘Maddie and I decided. We want you two to be Nico’s godparents.’
Shock holds me still, then I swallow hard, adrenaline kicking in. ‘What? No, not him!’ I throw a thumb Rafa’s way. ‘He’s a psychopath.’
Rafa’s expression says ‘ouch’ so clearly my chest aches. He shrugs, half-laughing. ‘Takes one to know one, tigra.’
Maddie’s eyes widen, then go speculative, like she’s calculating what’s going on and coming up with way more than I want her to.
I rush into speech before she can drill where there’s no gold. ‘Fuck off with that, Maddie. If I’m not pissing on him if he’s on fire, I sure as hell am not co-god-parenting with him.’
Rafa’s voice cuts the tension like a scalpel. ‘Now there’s an image I won’t be getting out of my head anytime soon.’ He grins, deep relish in his tone.
‘Mind your language in front of my son,’ Cesare growls.
‘You mean the son who’s neck deep in a milk coma?’ Rafa asks, nodding down at the baby at her breast. We all watch, arrested, Nico’s blissed-out face, his eyelids fluttering as he drifts towards post-milk nirvana.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Cesare warns, voice low. ‘Studies show they pick up all sorts of things even from birth.’
‘You’re gonna be one of those parents, aren’t you? Jesus fucking—’
‘What was that?’ Cesare demands.
The Enforcer freezes – probably more terrified right here in this room with these feral newborn parents than he’s been on a kill mission – then tosses both his hands up in mock surrender.
After a moment, he clears his throat, smoothing a stray hair back from his forehead. ‘I think he’s saying it’s time he left,’ I slide in, wondering why I’m bothering and totally not wanting to know.
‘Trying to get me alone, tigra?’
It’s my turn to curse. ‘Jesus, do you ever stop?’
Rafa throws me a mock-offended look. ‘For you? Never.’ He winks, and I can’t help the smile tugging hard at my lips. Even if my heart hammers with guilt and pride all at once.
Cesare’s gaze swings wildly between us, attempting to decipher the undercurrents of our situation.
‘We’ll take it as a yes to the godparenting, shall we?’ he rasps.
I clench my jaw, a new terror unravelling through me.
What if I ruin it? What if I taint this perfect little thing with the curse of being mine?
I’ve never protected anything without maiming or blood, never been trusted with a future that didn’t come with crosshairs attached.
The thought of holding that title – of being someone’s safe place instead of their shield – twists like panic in my gut.
But Maddie is extending a trembling hand to me. ‘Sof? Please. Will you do it?’
I meet her gaze, see her unwavering trust and love. Her belief. And, throat clogging, I nod. ‘I’ll do it. For – I mean, with him.’ I nod to Rafa, who looks far too smug, if a little green at the gills.
Rafaelle
Two Days Later
I enter the hospital wing near midnight and pause in the dark corridor.
Outside the family area off the private suite, I hear the lieutenants and capos gather, murmuring.
The news that Sofiya and I will be godparents has already rippled through the family like wildfire, and this is as good a time as any to take the pulse of that revelation.
Luca ‘Two-Fingers’ Moretti whispers to a hovering capo, ‘Mancinelli as godmother? Salvatore as godfather? The kid’s destiny is sealed – international gangster or fugitive.’
‘Shut up, Luca – he’s only two days old,’ the other capo mutters.
Luca just shrugs, unfazed. ‘Beware what you set in motion.’
I enter the room, the presents I brought for Mommy and baby tucked in my back.
It takes a second before they see me.
‘You got opinions on things, Luca?’
He sputters before he hauls his three-hundred-pound body upright. ‘N-no… um, no boss.’
I smirk. ‘Didn’t think so. And don’t knock things you’ll never get to try in this lifetime.’
I smile harder at the ominous silence I leave behind as I head to the door at the end of the corridor.
A quick knock and I enter at Cesare’s tired, gruff order.
Maddie’s asleep, impossibly fresh-faced considering the eight-hour labour she’s just been through.
Cesare’s beside her, cradling Nico like he’s holding the whole damn world. The kid’s barely the size of a loaf of bread, but my brother looks like he’d shiv God Himself if anyone so much as breathed wrong near him.
I place the gift bag quietly on the table – a baby-sized racing onesie and a gold charm bracelet Maddie can add to with every win, every milestone.
Sentimental as fuck, yeah. I’m blaming the hormones in the air.
Cesare doesn’t take his rapt attention off his son. ‘You gonna keep staring like a creep or say something useful?’ my brother rasps.
‘Just trying to figure out how you made something so… clean.’ I nod towards Nico. ‘With that mug of yours.’
He snorts. ‘Maddie’s genes did the heavy lifting. Obviously.’
There’s a long beat of silence. One of those rare ones where it feels like we’re just brothers again, not two men carrying too many bodies between us.
‘You’ll be good at this,’ I say quietly, surprising even myself.
He glances at me then. Something soft and ancient flickers across his face. ‘I already am.’
Of course he is. Smug prick.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. ‘He’s gonna change everything.’
‘Already has,’ he murmurs, rocking Nico gently. Then, glancing at me sideways, ‘Speaking of change… You and Sofiya.’
I stiffen. ‘What makes you think there’s a me and Sofiya?’ I counter sharply.
He lifts a brow. ‘Right. Let’s roll with that. Pretend like there was no Maddie and me once upon a time too. Look, you’re a dumbass, but you’re not blind. And I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Like she might actually believe in you.’
I snort. ‘Poor taste.’
He chuckles low, then he grows serious. ‘I know what I said before about not wanting a war. But…’ He looks over at his wife, and something wild and toxic and – yep, it’s fucking jealousy – grips my insides. ‘The war might be worth it. If she’s the one,’ he finishes on a softer tone.
My mouth goes dry. I don’t want to think about that. Don’t want to name whatever’s happening between me and Sofiya.
Because naming it means I have to acknowledge it. Analyse and, fuck, maybe protect it. Keep it alive.
Love it?
The door opens, tearing my attention from that concussion-causing thought.
Orazio strides in like he owns the hospital; probably has the administrator deep in his pocket.
Cesare looks up, grins. ‘Nonno, come meet your great-grandson.’
Perfect exit cue.
I’m already halfway to the door when Cesare says, not unkindly, ‘Think about it, Rafa. Don’t let fear dress up as purpose.’
I grunt, non-committal, and disappear down the hall before I’m forced to admit he might be right.
I don’t start the engine right away when I return to my car.
I sit there, hands locked on the wheel, the silence pressing in like a loaded gun to the ribs. There’s still a trace of baby powder on my sleeve, and I’m not sure why I’m fucking staring at it instead of removing it.
My jaw tightens. Once. Then again.
One breath in. Slower on the way out.
Get it fucking together.
Since when does a baby throw you for a loop?
Since I started to imagine a different baby… a different mother that looks exactly like Sofiya Mancinelli.
Cristu.
I tap the steering wheel twice, willing the return of calm long fled, and keep my eyes fixed on the dark street ahead.
For a second, the streetlights smear. I blink. Meticulously list why that single, infuriating, searing thought is right up there with aliens on Mars. Or world fucking peace.
When I reach two dozen, I start the engine. Pull away.
I don’t get three blocks before my encrypted line pings.
Nightowl
Fractures saints and short shadows lingering.
I stare at the message, a chill bleeding through the heat crawling under my skin. I read it again. And again. It means fuck all. Looks like Nightowl is back to his cryptic best, leaving twisted breadcrumbs from a ghost who likes dangling strings I shouldn’t follow.
‘Fuck.’ I slam my fist against the dash, breath snarling through my teeth.
I need to hunt something. End something. Or fuck someone until the noise in my skull cuts out. But there’s only one person I want beneath me. Around me.
I know the source of my dark and morbid mood. I don’t even need to look at my phone to know she hasn’t replied to any of my texts.
For two fucking days, Sofiya’s gone dark.
Two days. No calls. No replies. Not even a fucking read receipt.
Maybe it’s time to dig out the cuffs again.
And maybe this time, I won’t bother bringing the keys.