Chapter 19
Mina
My fingers drum absently against the seat’s armrest as I watch the approaching sea of glittering lights beneath us through the window of our private jet.
Chicago—home of the Outfit.
How many times had I imagined flying over this city? How many times had I wondered what it would feel like to finally set foot in the place that stole something so precious from me? How many times had I dreaded this moment?
“Hey,” Remus’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he drops into the seat beside me. “Are you holding up okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I flash him a tight, artificial smile.
“Shit. So that’s a no.” He frowns before turning his head. “Hey, asshole! Leave the stewardess alone and get over here. Help me talk our cousin down off the cliff.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder and eyeball Rolo to stay exactly where he is.
“Don’t you dare get out of that seat. I’m fine ,” I say the last part through gritted teeth.
“Go and do some work, pet. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Rolo wipes a smudge of lipstick from his mouth, then gives the flight attendant a light tap on the ass as she rises from his lap, sauntering toward the back of the plane. “What’s up?” he asks as he plops into the seat behind us, draping his arms over our headrests and sticking his head through the gap between the seats.
“What do you think? Mina’s spiraling,” Remus announces, throwing a knowing look at his twin.
“I am not spiraling ,” I grit out.
“Yeah, she’s spiraling,” Rolo confirms with a chuckle. “She’s got that look in her eye.”
“What look?” I grumble.
“Oh, you know,” he drawls. “The one that says you’re torn between puking your guts out or maiming a bitch. That look.”
“Maybe I should maim you,” I snap at him.
“Ah, there she is.” Rolo slaps my headrest in excitement. “That’s it, cousin. Tap into that shit. Get all murderous on us. Way more fun than feeling sorry for yourself.”
Remus rises from his seat just to smack Rolo upside the head. “Tact, asshole.”
“Queens don’t feel sorry for themselves. They get even,” I mutter in annoyance.
“I hear that,” Rolo retorts, dragging his hand over the spot where his brother hit him. “But come on, aren’t you the least bit curious to finally meet the Romanos? I sure as shit am.”
I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek instead of giving him a response.
From everything Jude told me, I feel like I already know them. Like they’ve been a constant part of my life. But the truth of the matter is, they’re complete and utter strangers to me, just as I am to them. Just like the man who once laid beside me for hours, telling me stories of each and every one of them with longing in his voice.
“It will be interesting to see if Vicent Romano’s ruthless reputation holds up,” Remus says beside me.
“You think he won’t?” Rolo counters.
“Can’t know for sure. But if he’s anything like his firstborn, I think we’re in for a world of disappointment.”
I don’t miss how Remus purposely leaves out Jude’s name, knowing my nerves are already frayed. If I were to hear it now, so close to seeing the man himself, it might push me over the edge.
“Damn it. I was really hoping he’d be as badass as Uncle Victor makes him out to be.” Rolo pouts as if Remus just rained on his parade. “What about the Red Queen? Come on, she’s got to be worth the visit. The woman single-handedly prevented a coup, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t call her that in front of the Capo dei Capi. I heard he hates the nickname,” I warn gravely.
“Heard from who?” Rolo interjects in confusion, but he gets the hint when he sees me thin my lips. “Ah, right. He who shall not be named. ” Rolo rolls his eyes. “Will at least one of you tell me what went down so I can hate the fucker too?”
“You hate everyone. You don’t need a reason,” Remus reminds.
“Fair enough.” Rolo shrugs, not even caring to deny it.
I lean back in my seat to stare out the window, thankful that getting my heart broken by the Outfit Prince isn’t common knowledge. Aside from my father and Remus, no one else knows that I got my heart trampled on and thrown away like yesterday’s trash.
When the pilot announces we’ll be landing in twenty minutes, my anxiety shoots straight into the heavens, wondering how the hell I’ll survive the next few weeks.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Rolo says before getting up and strolling down the aisle to the back of the plane. “You better be on your knees before I get to you, pet. Daddy is on the clock!”
If I didn’t want to hurl before, hearing Rolo refer to himself as Daddy might just seal the deal.
“That idiot better be on his game when we land. I can’t afford any mistakes on this trip,” I scold.
“Don’t worry. Rolo and I have your back. Just breathe, cousin. We’ll get the job done and be back on this plane flying home before you know it,” Remus tries to console me, patting my knee.
I don’t say anything in return. Instead, I lean my head back on the headrest, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
I’m not like this.
I’m usually the epitome of calm.
I have learned over the years that being level-headed in moments of crisis goes a long way when it comes to my family’s business. And I found that I like being the one in control. I like knowing all the variables in a situation and predicting their outcome. Picturing the worst-case scenario and planning accordingly works for me. So much so that over these last years, I started gaining favor with The Firm’s old guard—the same men who once upon a time wanted nothing more than to see me fail.
But this… is different.
This isn’t just business for me—it’s personal.
I open my eyes to glance down at the engagement ring on my finger and exhale.
I should have taken it off by now.
But something inside me wouldn’t let me.
I want him to see it.
I want him to hurt.
I even want to see him bleed.
The same way his deep cut to my heart left me bleeding for him.
When the pilot announces for us to resume our seats since we’ll be landing in ten minutes, Rolo comes running toward his seat, still fastening his belt buckle.
“How you can satisfy a woman in less than ten minutes is beyond me,” I taunt accusingly.
“Never had any complaints.” He winks before stretching out in his seat, looking far too relaxed for my liking. “Now, who do we think will be on the tarmac to welcome us?”
“Who do you think?” Remus quirks a brow.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep his name from popping out of my mouth.
But Remus is right.
There’s no way he won’t be there.
Not when he hasn’t seen me in five years.
Why would he even care?
He doesn’t love you, remember?
“Hmm, I doubt it.” Rolo shakes his head. “By the way you two have been hating on him, I’d say the coward doesn’t have the stones to show up.”
“Stupidity trumps cowardice every time, brother,” his twin reminds him with a poignant glare.
“Wanna bet?” Rolo counters, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’m game if you are?” Remus smiles sinisterly.
“Ten thousand pounds sound good to you?”
“Why the fuck not?”
My cousins shake on it while I simmer in my seat.
As always, everything is a game to them.
Only this one I have no interest in participating.
“I don’t care who’s there to greet us,” I say, my voice clipped. “What matters is that we have a job to do. My father expects results, and that’s exactly what he’ll get. The Firm’s relationship with the Outfit has been on shaky ground for these last few years, which means we have to be on our best behavior. Every move we make reflects back on the organization. My father made that very clear. So, no games. We get in, we get out. Understood?”
“Yes, boss,” they say in unison.
I’m not the boss.
Not yet, anyway.
However, it has been made crystal clear that once my father steps down at the end of the year, I’ll be the one taking his place.
Heading the Firm was never something I sought out when I was younger.
Unlike Jude, who spent most of his life chasing his birthright.
Every family has its own way of doing things, I guess.
My birthright was never in question.
While Jude needs to constantly prove he’s worthy of his.
Once the indicator light flicks on, we fasten our seatbelts, bracing ourselves for landing. I keep my eyes locked on the view outside, counting down the seconds of our descent. My fingers curl around the armrest, my nails sinking into the leather upholstery as the plane’s wheels finally hit the tarmac.
I take one fortifying breath before schooling my expression to look impassive.
This is it.
The moment I’ve been dreading.
Unlike my cousins, I have very few doubts about who’s waiting for me on the other side.
Jude would never allow anyone else to greet me on his turf.
Not when he’s just as much of a sucker for punishment as I am.
He might have made his choice, but that doesn’t mean regret doesn’t follow his every step.
No.
He’ll be there.
Even if only to show me that losing what we had wasn’t in vain.
My cousins are the first to step off the aircraft, moving with the ease of men who don’t carry the weight of the past on their shoulders like I do.
I take a moment for myself before following them.
When I reach the door, my heart stops.
Three men stand on the tarmac—Jude is front and center.
I keep rooted to the spot, just to take him in at a safe distance.
He looks so different from the boy I once knew, and yet the same.
He looks bigger to me, somehow.
More hardened.
Sadder.
He runs his fingers through his cropped short hair, his body taut with tension, but it’s the way his hazel eyes burn into mine that is so achingly familiar to me. As if they’ve always had the power to see straight through me, uncovering everything I’ve tried to hide or keep buried.
For a brief moment, nothing else exists.
Not the city. Not my cousins. Not my engagement.
Not even the job I was sent here to do.
Just the pull—that all-consuming, relentless pull that always drew us together. The all-too-recognizable bond that still pulses between us. One that I thought time, distance, and betrayal had severed.
But it’s still here.
Throbbing.
Pulsing.
Desperate.
I hold my head up high for him to see that he didn’t break me.
That his lies and empty promises never made a dent in my heart.
My gaze only wavers when the man standing at his side takes a step forward, the realization that Jude isn’t in command hitting me like a freight train.
My cousins wait for me at the bottom of the stairs, their previous playfulness replaced with the hardened stillness of made men. Once I take the last step, I move toward the welcoming committee, my cousins falling into step behind me.
“Miss Crane,” the man says with an air of authority, extending his hand to me. “Welcome to Chicago. Giovanni DeLuca, at your service. I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances, but I’m glad to finally put a face to the name. Your father speaks very highly of you.”
“Mr. DeLuca.” I take his hand, shaking it firmly. “I’ve heard great things about you too, consigliere. ”
I force myself not to look at Jude, though his presence burns at my periphery.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He offers me an easy-going smile. “May I introduce Dominic Mancini, the Outfit’s head enforcer,” Giovanni continues, motioning toward a broad-shouldered man who gives me a curt nod.
“Mr. Mancini.” I return the nod.
“And, of course, you’ve already met Jude.”
He doesn’t need to say more to get my heart racing.
The weight of Jude’s name hangs thick in the air as I force myself to look him in the eye.
“Jude,” I greet coolly.
“Mina.”
The way my name slips from his lips feels like the prelude to a sin not yet committed.
I shake the thought out of my mind, glancing over at my cousins instead, trying to continue our polite introductions.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce my cousins and head enforcers of the Firm, Remus and Rolo Crane.”
“Pleasure.” Giovanni smiles at them, only for the fleeting look to fall straight off his face when both twins start giving Jude the once-over.
“Long time no see, Romano.”
“It hasn’t been long enough, Remus,” Jude is quick to reply.
When Dominic steps forward, bristling at the scathing look Remus is giving his adoptive son, I match his movement with a step of my own.
“I was half expecting to meet the Capo dei Capi ,” I remark, my tone deliberately laced with disappointment.
“And we were disappointed to learn that your father was unable to fly from London, too,” Giovanni replies smoothly. “I suppose he had more important matters to attend back home than repair the fracture he caused between our joint families.”
His smile is polite, but the message is clear—they would’ve preferred my father to be here instead of me so he could personally apologize to Vincent Romano for offering to induct Jude to the Firm all those years ago.
Knowing my father, under any other circumstances, he would’ve been.
The rift between the two families has been bad for business. If all it would take was a face-to-face apology, my father wouldn’t have hesitated to give it.
Like me, my father has since realized that he made a grave error in trusting Jude, and jeopardizing his relationship with the Outfit’s boss wasn’t worth it.
However, my father’s current health problems wouldn’t allow such a long voyage. And I wouldn’t risk my father’s well-being on a simple rescue mission, nor do I care that Vincent still holds his grudge over my father’s head.
My father did nothing wrong. The only mistake he made was caring for Jude as if he was his own.
“Then let me put your mind at ease, Giovanni ,” I say, my expression unwavering. “As far as the Chicago Outfit is concerned, I represent my father in every way. And soon, before the year comes to an end, all business between our families will have to go through me.”
Gio studies me carefully, skepticism flickering in his eyes.
“Are you saying that Victor is stepping down and naming you his successor?”
“That is precisely what I’m saying,” I reply, point blank.
“Is that so?”
“Are you questioning my word?” I hike a brow.
“Don’t take offense,” Dominic interjects with a grin. “Gio’s suspicious of most people.”
“What can I say?” Giovanni chuckles. “I’m not the trusting kind. Besides, something of that magnitude would’ve made headlines.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my father needed your approval before deciding when to step down. I’ll be sure to let him know.” I tilt my head to the side, my voice laced with sarcasm. “And I assume that means your capo will do the same when it’s his turn to relinquish the throne? Though, by the looks of it, that won’t be happening anytime soon.”
This time, I look directly at Jude, twisting the knife.
You gave up everything for what?
To be a foot soldier? An underling?
How very disappointing.
Giovanni and Dominic share a meaningful look, while Jude remains perfectly stoic as if my voice has been carried by the wind instead of meeting its mark.
“I want to see him. Your boss,” I say, shifting my attention back to Giovanni. “I have some information that is of interest to him, and I don’t have the patience nor time to waste dilly-dallying about.”
“Miss Crane—”
“ Lady . Lady Crane,” I correct sternly.
“Very well,” Giovanni retorts, his easy-going demeanor nowhere in sight. “As consigliere, I am more than equipped to deliver any message you have for him.”
“If you’re unwilling to take me to him, then we’re done here.”
I’m about to spin on my heel and head toward our waiting cars when Jude’s loud scoff stops me in my tracks.
“She’ll do it. She’s fond of ultimatums. ” His voice is cold, detached.
I refuse to look at him, no matter how much my hand aches to slap the scornful expression off his face. Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on Giovanni.
“So? What will it be? Are you taking me to see your boss, or should we head to our penthouse apartment in the city instead? Keep in mind, between helping your organization with your Bratva problem and taking a long soak in my tub after an eight-hour flight, I will always prefer the latter.”
This gets his attention.
All I had to do was say the word ‘Bratva,’ and Giovanni’s hands were forcibly tied.
“Very well,” Giovanni exhales, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Pressing the device to his ear, he steps further to the side to ensure we don’t eavesdrop on his conversation, leaving the rest of us to scrutinize each other.
My cousins stare Dominic and Jude down from head to toe, but neither man flinches. If anything, the tension in the air thickens with the silent battle of wills. Large egos and unchecked testosterone are at an all-time high by the time Giovanni returns from his call.
“You’re in luck,” Giovanni says after a moment, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket. “Our capo is more than happy to see you now.”
“How fortuitous,” I reply dryly before giving the twins a nod for them to follow me into the car.
“Well, that went well.” Rolo chuckles after telling the chauffeur to follow the other cars.
“It went as well as could be expected.” I flick imaginary lint off my shoulder.
“Is it me, or did Jude get huge in his old age?” Rolo laughs. “He was almost as big as that tattooed fucker, Dominic. Fuck, that guy was fit. It even intimidated me a little.”
“I believe the term that Americans use is jacked,” Remus piles on. “You know what they say about gym rats? Nothing up here worth noting.” Remus points to his head.
“Enough,” I say a bit too loudly. “This isn’t a game. I don’t know if either of you were paying attention back there, but this meeting with Vincent will set the tone of how the Outfit will conduct business with us from this point on.”
“Are you worried he won’t take you seriously because you’re a woman?” Remus asks, no longer in a playful mood.
“You saw how Giovanni questioned the legitimacy of my claim. How am I to know how his boss will react?” I tell him truthfully, nerves settling in my stomach. “Vincent is the only one I’m worried about. The only one my father insists I make a good impression on. So, when we get to him, I need to know you two will have my back.”
“Always,” they reply in tandem.
“Good.”
The rest of the drive is silent, anticipation hanging thick in the air. We arrive at a towering skyscraper nestled in the heart of the city and take the elevator to the top floor, which is naturally where the Romanos’ main offices are located. Once inside, we’re escorted to Vincent’s corner office, where the Capo dei Capi rises from his seat behind his sleek desk to welcome us in.
“My apologies for not greeting you at the airport, Lady Crane,” he says smoothly after our polite introductions. “I hope the flight wasn’t too bothersome.”
“Not at all. And thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I reply, my expression as unreadable as his. “I understand how busy a Capo dei Capi such as yourself must be.”
“I can always make time for a family friend,” he smiles, though it never reaches his eyes—the same colored eyes Jude must have inherited. “Please, sit.”
I try not to dwell on how much he resembles his eldest son as I lower myself into the chair across from him.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” I start off. “As you know, ever since Mikhail Petrov became the new Pakhan, the Bratva have tried their best to infiltrate and conduct their businesses on British soil—”
“So your father has made me aware,” Vincent interrupts. “Though I’m surprised he let their foothold in London escalate the way it did.”
I lean back into my seat, a slow smirk tugging my lips.
“If you want to catch a rat,” I pause for effect, “you have to let it think it owns the walls.”
Vincent studies me, his sharp gaze unwavering, but I can tell he’s low-key impressed.
“Having said that, I didn’t come here to discuss our Bratva dilemma. I came here to talk about yours. We know that they have been trafficking women to the States, using your Chicago ports to smuggle them in.”
“I’m well aware of the problem,” he states dryly. “But I assure you it will be handled swiftly and mercilessly.”
My skin grows cold at the grave look in his eyes—a look that promises not only retribution for such a crime but savage justice.
“Is that so?”
He nods.
“May I ask who you believe to be the culprit behind the enterprise?”
“By all means, Lady Crane, ask away. Though you might be disappointed with my reply.”
He thinks he’s clever.
But he’s already made one mistake tonight—underestimating me.
“Let me guess? Dimitri Mikhailov?”
His blank expression remains unchanged, even when I see from my periphery that his consigliere throws a frustrated glare over to Jude and Dominic.
“It would be a plausible guess, yes. Dimitri is the Bratva underboss around these parts, after all. It would be natural to assume he plays a role in all of this.”
I lean in and say for his ears only, “And what if I told you that Dimitri Mikhailov is nothing but the muscle? That his Pakhan is completely unaware of what he’s doing on American soil?”
“Then I would have to wonder who is persuasive enough to talk Dimitri into betraying his boss. Misha isn’t exactly known for his understanding.”
“Are any of us?” I arch a brow.
A ghost of a smile crests his lips before nodding in agreement.
“And whoever is pulling Dimitri’s strings doesn’t necessarily have to have the power of persuasion,” I add. “All he needed was to dangle the right bait in front of Dimitri for him to follow suit.”
“The bait being?” I smile at him knowingly.
“Misha refuses to leave his motherland for some reason. A boss that rules from afar isn’t as threatening as a boss that rules from within.”
“I see.” Vincent hums pensively. “So Dimitri is under the foolish illusion that he can become the new Pakhan stateside and that Misha will be too far away to retaliate.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Vincent shakes his head at the lunacy of it all but sees merit in my intel.
“How do you know all this? Or is that too bold a question?” But before I can answer him, he figures it out on his own. “Your spies.”
“Actually, the spy that I’ve come to rescue. He’s the one who was able to feed us such precious intel.”
“Ah, I see. So it’s true? Your spy’s cover has been blown?”
“I’m afraid so,” I confirm. “It must have happened when he got too close to the real villain at play.”
“You think your spy knows who is behind all of this?”
“I do,” I repeat steadfastly.
“Then, my men are ready to help you however you see fit.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be needed. The twins and I work better alone. All I need is a few days to track him down. I promise I’ll give you the name of the man you want.”
Vincent offers me a curt nod in appreciation.
“Thank you,” Vincent finally says. “Now that business has been conducted, it would give me great pleasure if you and your cousins would join me and my family for dinner tomorrow night. After all, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t show you the same hospitality your father showed my son?”
“Funny you would word it that way, considering you punished him for it.” I let out a humorless chuckle.
His expression flickers, but he recovers quickly. “That was a long time ago.”
“A Crane never forgets.”
Or forgives.
“But since you brought up the subject, my father hoped this meeting could serve as a step toward fortifying the reconciliation between our families.”
“Only your father?” Vincent is quick to pick up on my hesitancy.
“I have my own thoughts on the matter.”
He studies me yet again, only to stand up and extend his hand to help me up from my seat.
“Well then, perhaps I can persuade you to share those thoughts with me tomorrow after dinner.”
“You can ask, Mr. Romano, but you might be disappointed with my reply,” I retort, using his own words against him.
And this time, his smile isn’t just for show—his eyes shine with it.