Chapter 32
MATTEO
The private room is packed. Every leader, every capo, every man who matters in the Andretti organization is crammed into this space, and not one of them looks happy.
I keep my back against the wall. Arms crossed. Face blank.
The empty chair next to Lorenzo is the loudest thing in the room.
He hasn’t spoken yet. Fifteen minutes of capos arguing, of Dario wearing a path in the carpet with his pacing, and the don just sits there. Shoulders curved inward. Dark circles under his eyes. His fingers rest on the arm of his chair, completely still.
I’ve never seen him look old before.
My fist clenches every time I glance at that empty seat. Santino sat there for as long as I can remember.
The memory hits me again. The crack of the gunshot. The way Santino’s body jerked before it dropped. The split-second where I could see the exit wound before I started shooting back.
If I’d been faster. If I’d gone in ahead.
I force my jaw to unclench. Thinking like that is useless. I know it’s useless. But knowing doesn’t make the loop stop playing in my head.
“We should hit them now,” one of the capos is saying. Moretti, I think. Red-faced and loud. “Every day we wait, Kozlov thinks we’re weak.”
“And if we move too fast, we walk into another trap.” That’s Benedetto. Older. Careful. “Look what happened to Santino.”
The name lands like a grenade. The room goes quiet for half a second before the arguing starts up again, louder this time.
Dario stops pacing. His hands are fisted at his sides, and I can see the tension coiled in his shoulders from across the room. He wants blood. We all do.
But wanting and getting are different things.
Lorenzo finally stands.
The room falls silent. Every man straightens and turns toward the don.
“The time for restraint has passed.” His voice is flat and cold.
“The Bratva plays by rules we don’t recognize. They’ve made it clear they won’t stop until we’re destroyed or they are.” He pauses. Scans the room. “I choose option two.”
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the group.
“Miguel has sent reinforcements from Mexico. More soldiers. More weapons. We’ve been playing defense. That ends now.”
“About damn time,” someone mutters.
Dario catches my eye. His expression is hard, but I see the same thing I’m feeling reflected back at me. This means more bodies. Not just theirs. Ours too.
“I want every man we have on the streets,” Lorenzo continues. “All hands. No exceptions.”
“Then where the hell is Luca?” Moretti again. The guy doesn’t know when to stop pushing.
Lorenzo’s gaze cuts to him. “He’s been deployed.”
“Deployed where? You just said all hands, and the don’s own son is—”
“That information stays with me and Dario.” Lorenzo’s voice doesn’t rise, but something in it makes Moretti take a step back. “He’s handling something critical. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
The room goes quiet. Even Moretti has enough survival instinct to drop it.
I don’t care where Luca is. My focus has been singular for days.
Viktor.
The bastard has gone to ground since he ran Julian down. Every contact I’ve squeezed, every favor I’ve called in, has turned up nothing. He’s a ghost.
My hands ache to wrap around his throat.
“What about the wedding?” Alessio’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “End of the week. We still using it to draw Viktor out?”
Every eye in the room turns to me.
Right. The wedding. My wedding.
Four days away.
My gut twists. Part anticipation. Part dread.
I want to marry Sierra. The realization settles into my bones, impossible to shake. I keep seeing her in my kitchen in the morning, coffee cup in hand, calling me a grumpy bastard with that smile that makes me forget I’m supposed to be one.
But I’ve been at my worst a lot lately.
The guilt over Santino presses down on me. Constant and heavy. It’s affecting everything. How I sleep. How I eat. How I am with her. I know she’s noticed me pulling back. Going quiet. Shutting doors I’d started to open.
I don’t know how to explain it. Don’t know how to tell her that I watched a good man die because I wasn’t fast enough. And now there’s this poison inside me that I can’t get out.
“Maybe we should postpone.” I clear my throat. “Out of respect. Give it some time.”
Paolo shakes his head. “The wedding is supposed to draw Viktor out. Why wait? Santino’s death left a hole in us, but maybe if we take Viktor, Kozlov gets a taste of how that feels.”
Several voices rise in agreement.
My jaw tightens. They’re talking about my wedding like it’s a military operation. Like Sierra is just a piece on the board.
She’s not. Not anymore.
But I can’t say that. Can’t tell a room full of hardened men that I’ve got feelings for the woman I was supposed to be using.
That postponing has nothing to do with respecting Santino and everything to do with the fact that I’ve been a closed-off bastard for days, and I don’t want to marry her while I’m this fucked up.
Lorenzo’s gaze finds me. Something flickers in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
“The wedding proceeds as planned.” His voice leaves no room for argument.
“We use it to draw Viktor out. And when he shows himself, we kill him. Slowly, if possible.” The cold fury in his tone makes even hardened men shift uncomfortably.
“I want Kozlov to understand what happens when he takes one of ours.”
I nod. What else can I do?
This is what I signed up for. Following orders. Doing what needs to be done for the family. I’ve never questioned it before.
But as the meeting breaks up and men file out of the room, I stay where I am. Back against the wall. Arms still crossed.
Four days until the wedding.
Four days until Sierra walks down the aisle in a white dress. And everyone watches us make promises we both know were supposed to be lies.
Except they won’t be. Not for me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I push off the wall and head for the door. I need to find her. Need to figure out how to stop being such a closed-off prick long enough to show her what she’s starting to mean to me.
Except I don’t know how to do that.
I know how to break thumbs. How to put a bullet in someone clean and quick. How to make a man tell me everything he’s ever known just by walking into the room.
But telling a woman she matters to me?
I don’t even know where to start.
I want to let her in. I do. But wanting something and knowing how to do it are two different things, and every time she gets close to the parts of me that hurt, my first instinct is to shove her back.
I’ll figure it out. I have to.
But first, I need to find Viktor. Because if I can give her that, if I can take away the thing that haunts her sleep and makes her jump at shadows, maybe I’ll deserve to keep her.
The wedding will go on. And afterward, Sierra is in for a hell of a surprise if she thinks there’s going to be anything fake between us.
I just have to not fuck it up before then.