Chapter 18
Jude
“Glad to see you all finally made it. I was starting to worry you’d never get here in time,” Gio greets with a warm smile when we pull up at Casa Bella. “The family is already inside waiting for you. FYI, don’t comment on Lucky’s and Enzo’s get-up. I don’t want to encourage the rascals.”
“Oh, my God, what did those dipshits do now?” Stella asks, taking the birthday presents out of Dom’s trunk and handing them off to Marcello.
“Oh, you know, the usual.” Gio chuckles with a shrug. “Just don’t laugh. You know they live for that kind of thing.”
“Oh, I doubt I’ll laugh. Murder? Maybe. But definitely not laugh at the pair of idiots.” Stella rolls her eyes.
“How about we go one dinner without you threatening to kill your brothers? Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” Gio counters with an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Fine. As long as they don’t ruin Annamaria’s party, I’ll let them live.”
“How generous of you.” He chuckles. “Now, be a good girl and go inside with Marcello. I need to talk to Dom and Jude for a second.”
She doesn’t kick up a fuss, too focused on making this the best night for our baby sister. Once Stella and Marcello are no longer within listening range, Gio’s happy-go-lucky face falls, and in its place rises the Outfit’s consigliere’s stern expression.
“So, Mikhailov decided to shit on our turf, huh? Fucker must have a death wish.”
I turn my attention to Dom, hating that he alerted Gio before I could.
“Have you told my father yet?” I ask, knowing the answer already since Gio and Vincent are as tight as thieves.
“Couldn’t keep such information from him. The sooner he knew, the faster he dealt with it.”
“I could have dealt with it.” I point to my chest. “I’ve been dealing with it. It was my men who found the container. My men who tracked down Igor. And I’m the one who got the intel that it was Dimitri behind it all.”
“From what I heard, it was Marcello who got Igor to talk, not you.” He cocks a brow.
“I was getting to it,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, I’m sure you were.” Gio smiles solemnly at me. “But you didn’t, Jude. You spent the better part of the day trying to pry the information out of him while Marcello got it in less than five minutes flat. Don’t think your father doesn’t know that shit either.”
My jaw ticks at that.
Fucking great.
I can only imagine the fucking earful I’m about to get for having Marcello do my dirty work.
“Still, this information came to us on the wrong day. Vince was already in a mood, and finding out that the Bratva had the balls to traffic women right from our own docks didn’t improve it any.”
“Why was Vincent upset before?” Dom asks, curious.
“Crane called him today,” Gio explains, and I try not to shrink under both my fathers’ scrutinizing gaze.
Motherfucker!
Fuck me and this fucking day.
Ever since I came home from England five years ago, the Outfit’s relationship with the London Firm has been strained at best.
All because my father believes Crane tried to poach me before I left. And to my utter shame, I let him believe that for my own gain.
I told my father that I would consider leading the Firm if he insisted on refusing to induct me into the Outfit. It was a calculated move, even if a desperate gamble on my part, but one that paid off and ended with me being made.
Unfortunately for me, Vincent didn’t take kindly to my blackmail.
Instead of unleashing his fury on me, he turned it on Crane. And, to my deep regret, I allowed it to happen.
I’ve lived silently with the guilt of knowing that Victor didn’t deserve my father’s wrath. Aside from being my mentor and showing what it means to be a made man , in that instance, Victor was only trying to be my friend in giving me a choice. A choice my own father was reluctant to offer me.
I never told anyone about Mina though, or that Victor offered me her hand and the possibility to be his heir. Because if I did, they would see it written on my face that I was closer to taking Victor up on his offer than I first insinuated.
No. That secret shame is only mine to bear.
“What did Crane want?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as I can, shoving my hand into my pocket and rubbing my favorite keepsake—a tether to my past.
“I think I’ll leave it to your father to fill you in on the details himself,” Gio answers, “But enough about that. Tonight is our dolce angelo’s birthday. Let’s celebrate!” Gio pats Dom’s and my shoulder to usher us forward.
We walk into Casa Bella, unsurprised to see the whole place empty except for the large round table in the middle, where my family is seated.
I bite down on my cheek when I see everyone elegantly dressed while Lucky and Enzo are wearing bright yellow jumpsuits, round goggles, and blue overalls, mimicking the iconic Minion grin, capturing the playful and whimsical nature of these beloved Despicable Me characters.
Only those two make me want to laugh right now.
“There you are. We were about to start eating without you,” my mother sing-songs playfully, looking absolutely stunning in her Versace dress.
Since we’re the only ones here—besides the staff who are paid handsomely for their discretion—both Dom and Gio walk right to her, each leaving a tender kiss on her lips before taking their respective seats. I, too, walk toward her and place a kiss on her cheek in greeting.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry, we’re late.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just happy you’re here now,” she replies, with a loving smile and a sad tinge in her emerald eyes.
I pretend not to see it and make my way to the birthday girl, but not before slapping Lucky and Enzo upside their heads.
“Hey! Watch it, stronzo ,” Lucky groans.
“Jude! Come on, man! It took me ages and a ton of gel to spike my hair this way.”
“You two couldn’t dress nicely for your baby sister?” I pretend to reprimand sternly. “You just had to pull a stunt on her birthday?” I wink at the rest of the table from behind them, Marcello and Gio having to look away or risk ratting themselves out by laughing.
“You tell ‘em, Jude. Kick their asses!” Stella laughs excitedly.
“Language, children,” my father interjects, his gaze failing miserably to hide his amusement.
“You two disappoint me,” I add to the twins, shaking my head just to fuck with them more. My knees almost buckle to the floor when they actually start looking contrite.
“Don’t be cross with them, Jude. They’re only wearing that get-up as a birthday surprise to me. They wanted to make me smile,” Annamaria interrupts softly, looking like a true mafia principessa in her pink dress and golden locks.
“Is that true?”
The twins nod in unison, but something tells me Annamaria is covering for them. Like she always does when any of us get in trouble.
I leave them be and walk over to the girl of the hour, bending on one knee to place her dainty hands in mine.
“Buon compleanno, dolce angelo,” I congratulate before kissing her cheek.
“Grazie, fratello,” she says , bowing her head to conceal her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.
If my brother Marcello dislikes being in the limelight, then Annamaria absolutely despises it. They both breathe easier when someone else takes center stage, neither wanting to be the star of the show. I suppose it’s all by celestial design that they’re built that way, especially with few loud egos sitting at this very table, who not only welcome the attention but thrive on it. The twins come to mind, as does my rebellious sister, Stella.
After wishing a happy birthday to my baby sister, I move to the vacant seat next to my father, knowing he had saved it on purpose.
Now that everyone is fully seated, the staff emerges from the shadows to fill the table with Annamaria’s favorite dishes.
“I heard that you ran into some difficulty with our Russian friend this afternoon,” my father says discreetly, ensuring that neither the waiting staff nor the rest of my siblings are listening.
“It won’t happen again,” I retort, since those are the only words my father will accept when faced with failure.
“Did you thank your younger brother for doing your job, or will I have to?” When my lips thin and I stare straight ahead into the distance, he lets out a long-winded exhale. “I didn’t think so.” He flips his napkin open before carefully placing it over his lap. “You’ve nagged me constantly to give you more responsibility, and yet even after I’ve made you my underboss, you keep disappointing me at every turn.”
My molars grind so tightly that I fear I’ll pop a tooth if I don’t ease up. And still, I know that when the boss talks, all I can do is listen.
“I’ve made up my mind,” he says poignantly.
“About?”
“At the end of the month, I’ll bring Marcello into the fold and induct him into the Outfit.”
“Is that what he wants?” I ask, amazed that he is actually considering such a thing.
“You tell me? Did your brother not look the part this afternoon?” my father counters knowingly.
It’s true. At his age, I was a terrified little shit who would cry for days after my first kill. But not Marcello. He was born for this life.
When he’s on a job, he transforms into someone else entirely—cold, calculating, devoid of emotion. He becomes a soulless machine with a singular purpose—to kill, kill, kill.
What scares me most isn’t his brutality. It’s the fear that if that switch stays flipped for too long, the sensitive, shy brother I’ve always known will be lost forever, swallowed whole by the monster lurking inside him.
I then gaze at my mother sitting beside Marcello, the two cheerfully laughing at something they said.
“Have you told Mom yet? Does she know what you are planning to do?”
This is when the boss leaves the room, and the devoted husband and father enters.
“No, not yet. Truth be told, I’ve been trying to avoid the conversation.”
“She won’t like it.”
“No, no, she will not.” He places a fatherly hand on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “She feared this day would come when I finally relented in inducting you to the syndicate. To see her children in this life is Selene’s worst nightmare come true.” He lets out a sigh. “But we both opened that door together and now neither one of us will ever be able to close it.”
“He’s her favorite, Dad,” I try to bargain with him.
“And people say that you are mine.” His gaze softens in my direction. “One day, you’ll see that a parent loves his children unconditionally and exactly the same. It will hurt me just as it will hurt her. Maybe more.”
His gaze then flickers to a smiling Marcello, anguish and a whole lot of guilt embedded in his eyes.
“Have you told him? Have you told Marcello? Have you asked him if he even wants this?” I plea on behalf of my brother.
My father then lowers his head, incapable of meeting my eyes, and replies, “Your brother asked for this life when he was barely ten,” stunning me silently with his words.
My mind struggles to piece together what was happening in Marcello’s life at the time, but then it hits me that I was already in London. That’s when he started to change. He grew distant…quieter, slipping further into his darker self.
My soul is already painted black, polluted by the weight of guilt and regret. Not being there for Marcello when he needed me most will always be the deepest, most indelible stain that no amount of time will ever wash clean.
“Dad, he’s just a kid.”
“He’s eighteen, Jude.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad—”
“Enough. My heart grows weary of the topic, and I do not want to sour our Annamaria’s night.”
Accepting his words as the end of this conversation, I tread lightly while broaching the topic I’m truly curious about. “Gio told me that Crane called you.”
“He did,” my father replies ominously.
“I thought you two weren’t on speaking terms,” I state flatly, hoping my father will end my misery and tell me every detail discussed in that phone call.
“Your mother called him a few years back, and let’s just say we came to an understanding,” he continues to explain cryptically.
“Mom called Victor?” I ask, surprised, my gaze going straight to the source of my bafflement when my father nods in affirmation.
This time, I find my mother laughing away as the twins do a little song and dance for Annamaria.
Why did she call Crane?
Did she talk to Mina?
Does my mother know what happened between us?
The table before me is filled with joy and laughter, completely unaware that my heart is rattling away in the cage I locked it in. At any second, I fear it might break through the iron bars I so carefully hammered around it, just to be trampled on the floor under my brothers’ black minion boots.
“Wh… at,” I begin to stammer, needing a minute to collect myself. “What did they talk about?”
My father tilts his head to his side, staring at my mother like she hung the moon and stars for him.
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Fuck!!!
I breathe through my nose and place an aloof grin on my lips.
“Fair enough. And will I also have to ask my mother why Crane called you today, too?”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” my father rebukes, having very little patience with my insolence.
My father is a good man. An honorable man. One of the best men I know. But test his patience with insubordination, and the ruthless syndicate boss comes out.
Good.
Maybe he’ll finally tell me what I want to know.
My father pinches the bridge of his nose, a tell-tale sign that he’s trying not to lose his shit. My mother would raise hell if his bad mood ruined any of her children’s birthdays. My mother might love my father with all her heart, but mess with her cubs and the lioness will emerge.
“Come with me,” he orders, pulling back his chair and walking to the bar.
I fall in line and step away from the table, too.
“Where are you going?” I hear my mother call out.
“Our boy and I are just going to get something stiffer to drink, Tesoro. We’ll be right back.”
She offers him a nod and returns her attention back to her kids.
“I thought you said we don’t lie to each other,” I goad, requiring the boss to remain present.
“Boy.” He grits his teeth before snapping his fingers at the bartender.
In one minute flat, the bartender places two tumblers with a double shot of an eighteen-year-old Macallan.
“Have I taught you nothing? Do you get some sick thrill from testing me at every turn?”
“That’s not true,” I counter, lifting my glass to him. “You taught me loyalty is like a good whiskey—rare and worth a fortune. I pay attention, Father, even if you think I don’t.”
I clink his glass with mine and then take a long swig before placing it back on the counter.
“Fair enough,” he says before taking a gulp of his own.
He then leans back, perching his elbows on the counter while keeping his sights on the family.
“The reason Crane called is because, for the last few years, his Bratva problem has escalated.”
My heart drums madly in my chest, recalling the last time a Russian placed a Crane in danger.
“And?” I probe, urging him to hurry and tell me everything he knows.
“And they’ve had to get creative in getting the intel they need to keep a boot on the Russian’s necks.”
“How creative?” My father just smiles, and I can tell he fully respects whatever solution Victor came up with.
“Crane managed to get some of his men to infiltrate the organization, working the Russians from the inside. It’s worked for him so far, but one operative went silent on him a few months back. Crane was worried that somehow the Bratva got onto him and killed him.”
I release the breath I was holding, relaxing the instant my father confirms that we’re talking about a captured being a male spy and not a woman as I feared. Nevertheless, I shove my hand into my pants pocket and rub on my keepsake, needing it to keep me grounded.
“Thankfully, the operative was able to send word he was alive but had been sent stateside. Sent to Chicago to be more precise.”
“You think this spy infiltrated Dimitri’s crew?” I ask, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle in place.
“That thought did cross my mind. Soon, we’ll know if Crane’s agent knows anything worthwhile.”
“Does that mean Crane asked you for help? Does he need us to make some sort of rescue mission to get his man out alive?”
“In a way,” my father replies. “He’s sending his underboss and two enforcers to deal with the problem. If they need backup, they know they can count on us.”
“He’s sending Felix?” My brows knit together.
“No.” My father shakes his head. “He’s sending Mina Crane, his daughter. And I believe his two nephews as well.”
My grip tightens around the queen’s chess piece—the one I carry with me at all times—my chest constricting at the sound of her name. It’s been an eternity since I last heard it, and yet, it still cuts like a blade.
“When?”
My father tilts his head back, draining the last of his whiskey before setting the empty tumbler down with a decisive thud.
“Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow …
The past I tried to bury with all my might is digging itself out.
And it’s coming for me.
Mina is coming for me.
And God help me, tomorrow can’t come soon enough.