Chapter 11
Alessio
Irecognized the turn before the headlights found it. Same dirt road cutting through dense forest. same two-mile crawl through trees so thick they swallowed the sky. The cabin where I'd made Valentina three promises in the dark.
Different night. Same desperation.
I killed the headlights for the last quarter mile and let muscle memory guide us in. The Bugatti was absurd out here—a quarter-million-dollar machine bouncing over ruts and gravel—but we were past caring about paint jobs.
Valentina hadn't spoken since we'd left the highway. She sat rigid, staring through the windshield at nothing. The shaking from the roadside had stopped, replaced by something worse—stillness. The kind that came after the body burned through its last reserve of adrenaline and had nothing left.
I parked behind the cabin and killed the engine. Silence rushed in, thick and suffocating.
"We're here," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder.
"The cabin," she said. "From before."
"Yeah."
She nodded slowly, as if the information needed time to settle. Then she opened her door and stepped out without waiting for me.
The cabin was cold, dark, and undisturbed.
Same crooked porch, same rough-hewn door.
I hit the generator switch on the side of the cabin and heard it rumble to life—Domenico had serviced it since we'd been here last. Inside, the overhead light flickered on, harsh after hours of darkness.
I dimmed it and lit the oil lamp on the table instead.
Easier on the eyes. Easier on both of us.
The single room looked the same—woodstove, couch with the folded blanket, the narrow bed against the far wall.
Domenico had it restocked since our last stay: cases of water, canned goods, dried pasta, coffee, and a fresh first aid kit. Enough for several days.
Valentina stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. She looked smaller than I'd ever seen her.
"Sit down," I said. "I'll get the stove going."
She sank onto the couch without argument. That worried me more than the shaking had.
I loaded the woodstove with kindling and got a fire started. The cabin warmed slowly. I filled a glass of water and brought it to her.
"Drink."
She took it. Sipped. Set it down with a careful precision that told me she was concentrating on not falling apart.
"Talk to me," I said, settling beside her.
"I don't know what to say." Her voice was hoarse, scraped raw from the crying at the roadside. "I keep replaying it. The countdown. His face when he said brake line. Like he was telling me the weather."
"He wanted to rattle you. Control you."
"He succeeded." She looked at her hands. "I froze, Alessio. If your men hadn't come through those windows—"
"But they did. That was the plan."
"Was it?" She turned to me. "Or did you just get lucky?"
Honest question. She deserved an honest answer.
"Domenico had a team in position before we went in. I didn't tell you because I needed your reactions to be real—Marco would have spotted the bluff otherwise." I held her gaze. "I would never have walked you in there without a way out. Never."
She absorbed this. Something shifted behind her eyes—not forgiveness exactly, but understanding.
"You used me as bait."
"I used myself as bait. You were the reason we had a backup plan at all."
Silence stretched. The woodstove crackled and ticked as it heated.
"He killed my mother," Valentina said. Not a question. A statement she was testing against the air, seeing if it held.
"That's what he said."
"Do you believe him?"
I chose my next words carefully. "I believe he wanted you to believe it. Whether that makes it true—"
"He said brake line. He said quick, merciful. He shrugged, Alessio. He shrugged."
"I know."
"So either he murdered her." Her voice cracked, steadied. "Or he lied about murdering her to break me. And I don't know which is worse."
I didn't either. Both were monstrous.
"We'll find out," I said. "One way or another, we'll find out what happened to Sofia."
She leaned into me then. Not collapsing—she'd done that at the roadside. This was deliberate. Choosing contact, choosing me. I put my arm around her and pulled her close.
"I'm so tired," she whispered. "I'm tired of being afraid."
"Then rest. We're safe here. No one knows about this place. We can stay a few days. Catch our breath before we figure out where to go."
"You said that last time."
"Last time I was right."
The ghost of a smile. "Barely."
I kissed the top of her head. She smelled like smoke and gunpowder and expensive shampoo that was losing the battle. "Rest," I said again. "We'll figure out next steps in the morning."
She blinked. Looked around. Recognition flickered behind the exhaustion.
She was asleep within minutes, curled against me on the couch. I eased her down, covered her with the blanket, and watched her breathe for longer than I should have.
Then I went outside to make calls.
No signal at the cabin—same as last time. I drove the Bugatti half a mile down the dirt road until a single bar appeared on my phone. Enough.
Domenico answered on the first ring.
"You're alive," Domenico said by way of greeting. "Good. I was getting tired of being in charge."
"How bad is it?"
His sigh told me everything. "Five locations hit in the last two hours. Marco's going scorched earth. He's put a million-dollar bounty on both your heads—every operator from here to California will be hunting you by morning."
My grip tightened on the phone. "Casualties?"
"Three of ours. No civilians, but that's luck, not strategy."
Three more. I closed my eyes. Added them to the tally I kept—the running count of people who'd died because of choices I'd made.
"My advisors?"
"Want you to cut losses. Hand her over. Make peace before we lose everything."
"And you?"
"I think you already know what you're going to do, and nothing I say will change it.
So I'm focused on keeping you alive while you do it.
" A pause. "The drive checks out, by the way.
I've been going through the files. Banking records, wire transfers, communications with Caldwell's people, shipment manifests going back years.
There's enough to bury Marco ten times over. "
Relief. Cold and sharp. "Can we use it?"
"Not yet. Raw files won't hold up—a good lawyer tears it apart as illegally obtained, with chain of custody issues. We need a way to get this in front of the FBI that doesn't end with both of you in handcuffs. "
"Working on it." I stared through the windshield at the dark trees. "I need something else. Sofia DeLuca. Marco's ex-wife."
"She's dead. Car accident, 2007."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Marco told Valentina he cut the brake line—claimed he killed her. But Marco's a liar, and Valentina thinks he might have been twisting the knife rather than telling the truth."
"That's a stretch."
"It is. But if Sofia ran instead of died—if she went into hiding, witness protection, anything—she'd have eighteen years of evidence against Marco. She'd be the corroboration we need."
Silence. I could hear Domenico thinking.
"I'll dig," he said finally. "Witness protection databases, sealed records, relocated identities. But this could take a while. Days, not hours."
"Understood. In the meantime, we need somewhere to go. We can't stay here more than a day or two."
"Montana. I've got a safe house near Whitefish. Isolated, off-grid, beautiful. Good place to disappear while I work the Sofia angle."
Montana. Mountains and distance from everything we'd survived.
"What about Marco's Arizona property?" I asked. "Isn't that a risk?"
"Already seized by the feds as part of the RICO case," Domenico said. "It's been sitting empty for months, under federal custody. Marco can't access it, and it's the last place he'd think to look for you—too obvious."
"Sounds perfect. Send me the details."
"Already done. Check your secure inbox when you get a signal." He paused.
"Alessio—what you did tonight. Choosing her over everything. Eva would be proud."
My throat tightened. "You think so?"
"I know so." His voice was quiet, certain. "And I meant what I said before—about being a godfather when the time comes. I'm honored, fratello."
"There's no one else I'd trust."
"Then we'd better make sure you both survive to give me that chance. Drive careful. Check in every four hours."
I hung up and sat in the cold for another moment. Stars scattered across the sky above the trees—more than I'd ever seen in Boston. The same stars Valentina's mother might be looking at right now, if she were alive. If Marco had lied.
A lot of ifs. But ifs were all we had.
I drove back to the cabin and let myself in quietly. Valentina hadn't moved. Lamplight caught the damp tracks still drying on her cheeks.
I checked the windows. Checked the door. Set my gun on the nightstand, same as last time.
Then I stretched out beside her on the narrow couch, pulled her against my chest, and stared at the ceiling while she slept.
Tomorrow, we'd plan. Or the day after. We had a few days here—enough time for Domenico to dig into Sofia, enough distance for Marco's search grid to widen past us.
Eventually, we'd need to move, figure out how to stay invisible while Marco's bounty turned every mercenary on the Eastern Seaboard into a threat. But not tonight.
Tonight, I'd hold her. And that was enough.