16. Valerio
VALERIO
Federica’s face crumples.
It’s a slow thing, grief painting itself over her beautiful face. A splash of deep blue on a canvas that was never supposed to hold anything but gold.
“Oh,” she murmurs. One word and a world of hurt behind it. “Rio. I’m so, so sorry.”
She reaches out for my arm. I shouldn’t let her touch me, but I’m too exhausted to push her away. The animal part of me is wounded right now, howling for the simple comfort her touch offers me. I crave it like oxygen. “Me too.”
My parents are dead. I’ve been compartmentalizing for days, shoving Riccardo’s news as far into my consciousness as it would go. Now that I’ve said it, I realize I’ve made it true.
My parents are dead. They’re never coming back to me. I’m never going to see them again. They died far away from home, alone and hurt and suffering, for no fucking reason.
I don’t know what Fede sees on my face. But whatever it is, it makes her mirroring grief so much worse. “What happened?” she whispers, almost too low, afraid I might break.
It’s a senseless concern. I don’t break. I can’t. I’m Valerio Greco, Capo of Queens, the only thing standing between order and a bloodbath.
But God, if it doesn’t feel good to have, at least, one person know. Someone who isn’t mafia.
Someone who understands.
“Cartel got them,” I grit out. “Got confirmation three days ago. No one else can know.”
Her mouth falls open in surprise. No doubt, she must be doing the math in her head. Three days ago is when I kissed her senseless against the kitchen counter. When I broke our contract and every promise I’d ever made, to myself and to her.
“Rio.” She squeezes my arm once. The empathy on her face hurts worse than a knife in the back. “I’m so sorry. Does… Does Valentina know?”
I freeze.
Valentina.
My blood goes cold in a different way.
I can’t tell her she’s missing too. If I do, Federica will figure out I’ve been lying to her all this time, texting her from my sister’s accounts. She’ll feel cheated and betrayed and sink in the same sea of worry I’ve been drowning in for the past six months.
Valentina’s phone sits in my jacket pocket like a loaded gun. “Not yet,” I say. “After her trip. I’ll tell her then.”
Federica frowns. “But?—”
“Let me worry about this,” I growl, darker than I’d meant.
Her eyes flash. “I’m not letting you carry this alone.”
“Yes, you are. I’m telling you to.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m your husband.”
“Which makes me your wife,” she counters. “And even if I wasn’t, I’m still your friend. Can’t you let me be there for you?”
No. The answer comes instantly. Because then you’ll know too much. You’ll become a target. Odds are, you’re already in the crosshairs.
“I’ve got this covered,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “Rio. Please. Tell me what’s happening.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” I clench my fists at my sides. “This isn’t something I can give you, Fede.”
“Why? Because I’m too delicate?”
“Because the more you know, the more useful you become to people who want to hurt me.”
Her face tightens. “I’m already useful to them. Aren’t I? That’s why you wanted the wedding.”
That lands too close to truth and too far from it.
“I wanted the wedding because your brother made you vulnerable.”
“And because you needed a wife.”
“Yes.”
“And because I was convenient,” she continues.
I step closer before I can stop myself. “You have never been convenient a day in your life.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it.
Good. Let her have that truth, at least. Let her hold one thing from me that isn’t rotten.
The wind moves between us. The house behind her glows warm and poisonous. Tito clears his throat very softly, which means we’ve been standing on the sidewalk too long.
Federica looks away first.
“Fine,” she says. “Go wherever you need to go.”
I nod once and turn toward the street.
Then Federica’s fingers catch my sleeve.
Not my hand. Not skin. Just fabric. Still, I stop like she’s wrapped both arms around me.
When I look back, the anger has drained out of her face. What’s left is worse. Honest. Tired. Kind in a way I haven’t earned.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” she says. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
I can handle threats. Demands, fury, insults. I can handle her hate, her sarcasm, her refusal to let me control the terms of every room.
I have no defense against this.
For a second, I see the girl from years ago. The one who used to sit at my kitchen table and steal olives from the bowl while Valentina complained about school and Camillo pretended to understand wine. The girl who looked at me like I was someone she trusted with all the soft things in her.
I ruined that.
I may ruin what’s left too.
So I nod.
Nothing more.
Words would be dangerous and touch would be worse.
She lets go of my sleeve.
I step away.
Tito opens the car door for her, and I wait until she’s inside before I walk down the block, pull my phone from my pocket, and force air into my lungs like it’s an order I’m giving myself.
The screen lights up in my hand.
A text from Bruno.
brUNO: Come to this address.
I should probably worry about a trap. But the truth is, Bruno always texts like each word costs extra. And cartel danger or not, I can’t imagine anyone getting the better of him in a fight.
He didn’t say it, but I feel it anyway. Whatever this is, it’s connected to Mateo Rubio. To my parents’ death and my sister’s salvation.
I clutch my phone so hard, the screen cracks.
I look back once. Tito’s car pulls away from the curb with Federica inside it.
Then I forward the address to my driver.
Looks like this night isn’t done with me yet.