Chapter 1 #2
Yes, I’m armed. I’m always armed, but I’m not in my territory. I’m in his. And even with the lack of human security, I don’t doubt there are measures I can’t see with my own eyes.
I also don’t doubt this man doesn’t walk away from a fight if his opponent is still breathing.
I kill the engine but stay where I am for a second, taking him in through the windshield.
So this is the man.
The kidnapper. The husband. The father of Teresa’s son.
The future Don.
He watches me with the same lack of warmth.
Good. I trust suspicion more than false charm.
I open the door and get out.
The air carries salt from the water that’s not-too-far from this location, and the cut-green smell of the landscaping.
My boots hit the stone drive. I straighten to my full height and close the door behind me.
Teresa is already moving.
By the time I round the front of the SUV, she’s coming down the steps with a grin on her face that pulls me straight back to a different life.
One with family barbecues in the San Antonio heat when she’d come and visit. Holiday dinners. Despite the eight years between us, Teresa and I became close.
Her home life wasn’t the greatest, so my mom—her mom’s sister—would invite Teresa to stay with us whenever she could.
There was once a version of us before deployments and before Teresa, the little genius, graduated at just fourteen and took off to college on a full ride, before disappearances and whatever the hell this is.
“Adrian.”
She says my name like she can’t help smiling around it.
Then the last couple of steps are nearly a run, and she throws herself into my arms.
I catch her automatically and lift her clean off the ground.
She laughs, and the sound punches the nostalgia right in my chest.
I hold her a second longer, just to feel the proof of her there. Solid. Alive. Not a voice on a phone line. Not a set of records and assumptions. Not an unresolved knot I’ve been carrying around for over a year.
“Hell,” I mutter, setting her back on her feet. “You’re real after all.”
She laughs again and smacks my arm. “You say that like you expected a hologram.”
“I expected a lot of things. Most of them bad.”
Her expression softens.
For a second, it’s just us, and I can see the years since I last had her in front of me. She looks older than she did then, not in any way that steals from her, just in the way that life shows on people.
More settled, more certain. There’s something about her now that seems steadier, surer.
And again, that should reassure me.
It still doesn’t.
I take her shoulders and look down at her face. “Let me look at you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she lets me.
“You look good,” I say.
“So do you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s not.”
“It is if you’ve got eyes.”
She laughs under her breath and squeezes my forearm. “Regardless, it’s good to see you.”
That means more than I let show.
“Yeah,” I say. “You too.”
For half a second, I think about saying more. About asking the questions I came here with.
Are you happy? Are you safe? Did you choose this? Do you need me to get you out?
But her husband is standing ten feet away, and I’m not confident I could defend my position if I needed to right now.
So I let my gaze flick once, deliberately, over her shoulder.
Vito is still on the steps.
Still watching.
Teresa follows the look and sighs like she knows exactly where this is headed.
“Adrian,” she says, stepping a little to the side. “This is my husband, Vito.”
Husband.
The word feels wrong.
Vito comes down the last few steps at an unhurried pace. He moves like a man who knows what his body can do and never wastes motion trying to impress anybody with it. The muscles aren’t to impress; they’re for use.
Up close, I can see even more of it; the quiet aggression, the dark eyes that miss nothing. He’s younger than me by a decade, give or take, but there is nothing boyish about him.
He stops in front of me.
I’ve spent enough years reading threats to know the difference between a man who’s wary because he should be and a man who wants an excuse. Vito isn’t spoiling for a fight.
But he isn’t open to this either.
He’s doing this because he has to. I’m here to protect his sister, and like it or not, I am part of Teresa’s family.
But that doesn’t mean I get a free pass. I feel him weighing me as he steps closer.
Fair enough. I’m doing the same. Being married to Teresa doesn’t give him a free pass either.
“Adrian,” he says.
His voice is deep, flat, and not especially welcoming.
“Vito.”
Teresa glances between us. “You could at least try not to look like you’re deciding where to bury each other.”
I have a feeling Vito already knows exactly where he’d bury me if he had to.
That’s fine. I have a few thoughts as well.
I offer my hand because Teresa is standing between us in every way that matters, and not just physically, and I’m not making her first five minutes with me into a territorial display on her front steps.
He looks at it once, then takes it.
His grip is solid. Not some stupid crushing contest. He doesn’t need that kind of nonsense any more than I do. But there’s a message in it.
Mine.
I give him the same thing back.
Not threatened. Not impressed. Just a simple response.
When he releases my hand, his eyes stay on mine a second longer than manners require.
“You made good time,” he says.
“My plane landed early.”
“And the drive?”
“Easy enough.”
He gives a small nod. “Good.”
Nothing in his tone is casual. Every word from him feels like it’s being measured against ten others he chose not to say.
Teresa, on the other hand, has clearly had enough of the silent chest-beating.
“Would either of you like to make this less weird?” she asks.
Vito’s gaze shifts to her. The hardness in his expression doesn’t vanish completely, but it softens around the edges in a way that’s hard to fake.
Something passes between them, and I get a hard jolt when I realize it's affection.
Love.
He's possessive, but not in the brutish way I expected. Not like she's his property. I've seen the kind of men who think they own a woman and make a big show of it.
Despite the whole kidnapping thing, Vito isn't one of them.
He's aware of her, even when he isn't looking directly at her. He knows where she is. He knows how she’s standing. I’m certain he could count her breaths if questioned.
I’d expected to find a captive I need to rescue, a woman who's been brainwashed or coerced or something. What I didn't expect to find is a man who acts like the center of his world is standing right beside him.
Vito Conti, kidnapper and mob prince, is in love with my cousin.
This complicates everything.
"It wasn't weird until you said it," Vito tells her, but there is no heat behind the words.
She just smiles, but it’s the kind of teasing smile that tells me she’s not afraid of him. It’s all too natural. She’s too at ease in her own skin. Too quick to tease him.
“I’m not the one having a pissing contest on the front steps.”
“Am not,” Vito says, a muscle in his jaw flexing, but then he does something that surprises me. He reaches out and places a hand on the small of Teresa’s back, a gesture that feels less like possession and more like a need for connection.
That’s not the part that surprises me. The part that surprises me is that Teresa leans into the touch.
Like it's natural. Like it’s something she does every day of her life.
“Well,” I say, because the two of them together are throwing me off my game, and I don’t like it. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if we had the pissing contest inside.” My gaze shifts to Vito. “Probably mess up your floors.”
A ghost of a smile touches Vito’s lips, so faint it’s there and gone in the same breath.
“Probably,” he agrees. “She spent weeks picking them out.”
Teresa laughs, a bright, genuine sound that echoes in the salt-tinged air. "I did not." She shoves at his chest and doesn't move him an inch.
And there it is again. The normalcy of it.
The easy back-and-forth of a couple who know each other, who are comfortable in their own skins. The kind of casual banter I’ve seen a hundred times in couples who are genuinely happy.
I’ve been imagining her locked in a tower. I’ve been picturing her afraid, putting on a brave face on the phone calls, trying to hide her fear from me. I was so convinced of it that I’ve been working on an extraction plan for her and the baby day and night since she called last week, just in case.
That plan feels pretty stupid right now. But I won't throw it away just yet.
"We should go inside," Vito says, voice low, and I'm reminded of exactly why I'm here.
Threat against Luca Conti's children and a possible rat on the inside. This isn't just a social call, and I'm not just here for Teresa. I'm here to do the job I've been hired to do.
"Right," Teresa says, stepping forward and linking her arm with mine.
We start up the steps together.
I can feel Vito just behind and to the side, close enough to intervene if he thought he needed to, far enough not to crowd. I don’t miss the position.
He's not a man that I would typically turn my back on, but this is not a typical situation.
I let Teresa lead me inside.
The house is as impressive on the inside as it is from the outside.
It’s a huge space with an open floor plan, dark wood floors, and a high ceiling. There’s a massive stone fireplace in the living room, and the furnishings look comfortable, not like museum pieces. Everything feels lived in but stylish.
It's also spotlessly clean. I’d expected the house of a mobster to be a little more... ostentatious. Maybe a few gold-plated toilets or something. This is classy. It’s tasteful. Surprisingly restrained given the wealth it represents.
But I'm not here to judge the decor. I'm here to assess the situation, and I'm already doing that.