Chapter 23
Dimitri
SONG: NUMB BY LINKIN PARK
Giuseppe arrived at eight fifty-seven. Early, which told me everything I needed to know about his commitment to this nightmare.
The warehouse on Third Street smelled like rust and broken dreams. Appropriate setting for an execution.
I'd brought Viktor and eight of my best men.
Witnesses who could swear later that justice had been served according to tradition.
That the Bratva kept its word even when keeping it meant blood on concrete.
Giuseppe's car pulled up. Black Lincoln. Bulletproof windows. The kind of vehicle that screamed "important criminal inside." He stepped out first. Then his enforcer Marco Vitale. Then two more men I recognized from family gatherings.
And finally, Geraldo.
They'd beaten him already. Giuseppe's people, judging by the bruises. His face was swollen. Left eye nearly shut. Blood crusted under his nose. Someone had expressed their disappointment in his life choices through violence.
Can't say I disapproved.
"Dimitri." Giuseppe's voice was flat. Professional. The tone of a man doing business he hated. "As agreed."
"As agreed," I echoed. I looked at Geraldo. Twenty-six years old and about to die because he couldn't let go of a grudge. Waste of a life. "Kneel."
Geraldo spat blood. "Fuck you."
Giuseppe backhanded him. Hard enough that Geraldo's head snapped sideways. "You will show respect. You will kneel. You will accept what's coming."
"He killed Marco!"
"The Armenians killed Marco." Giuseppe's voice could have frozen the bay. "You know this. I know this. Everyone knows this. Marco died because he went to a meeting armed when I told him to go unarmed. He made a choice. You made a worse one."
"They were working for him!" Geraldo gestured at me with zip-tied hands. "Everyone knows the Russians ordered it!"
"Perhaps." I walked closer and studied him like an interesting insect about to be crushed.
"Marco Benedetti died in a territory dispute.
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong decision to bring a weapon to a negotiation.
Did I order the Armenians to clear that territory?
Yes. Did I know your cousin would be there? No. Did I care? Also no."
Geraldo lunged. Got maybe two steps before Giuseppe's men grabbed him. Forced him to his knees on concrete that had seen too much blood already.
"You destroyed my family," Geraldo snarled.
"Your family destroyed itself." I crouched down, meeting his eyes. "Marco made stupid choices. You made worse ones. Giuseppe tried to save you both. Only one of you listened."
"This alliance is poison. Mixing Russian and Italian blood just spreads the disease."
"Poetic." I stood and pulled out my gun. I checked the magazine even though I'd checked it three times already. Ritual and certainty. "Also wrong. The alliance works. Has worked for three months. Would have kept working if you hadn't decided revenge was more important than peace."
"Peace built on my cousin's grave."
"Everything we build stands on graves. That's the business we're in." I looked at Giuseppe. "Anything you want to say to him?"
Giuseppe was quiet for a long moment, then he moved forward and placed his hand on Geraldo's head like a blessing or a curse. Hard to tell which.
"You were my sister's son," he said softly. "I loved you like my own. But you betrayed the family. Betrayed the alliance and started a war without sanction or permission. Tried to murder innocent people for crimes they didn't commit."
"Uncle—"
"I'm not finished." Giuseppe's voice hardened. "You had a choice. Mourn Marco and move forward or let rage consume you. You chose rage. You chose to hire Albanians to kill Russians. You chose to target Dimitri's second and his sister. You chose this outcome."
"I chose justice!"
"You chose revenge. There's a difference." Giuseppe stepped back. "I'm sorry, Francesca," he said to the empty air. An apology to his sister who'd lost her son. "But this is the only way."
He nodded at me. Permission granted. Honor satisfied.
I raised the gunand aimed at Geraldo's head. "Any last words?"
"I hope she leaves you." Geraldo's voice was pure venom. "I hope Giulia realizes what you are and runs as far as she can. I hope you end up as alone as you deserve to be."
Words designed to wound. Hit their target too. Because part of me agreed with him. Part of me had been waiting for Giulia to see the monster underneath the expensive suits. Part of me expected her to leave the moment things got difficult.
"Noted," I said, then pulled the trigger.
The sound was enormous in the enclosed space. Geraldo's head snapped back. Body slumped sideways. Blood spread across concrete in patterns that would have been beautiful if they weren't so final.
One shot. Clean. Professional. The way my father had taught me when I was twelve and learning the family business through target practice that wasn't always targets.
Silence afterward. Heavy. Absolute. Ten men watching a twenty-six-year-old bleed out on a warehouse floor. Ten men witnessing what happened when you broke the rules. Ten men who'd tell the story later at bars and meetings and anywhere reputation mattered.
Giuseppe crossed himself. Old Catholic habits dying hard even in men who'd killed for profit. "It's done."
"It's done," I agreed and lowered the gun. I felt nothing. Trained myself not to feel anything when I pulled the trigger. Emotions made you hesitate. Hesitation got you killed.
But watching Giuseppe's face as he looked at his nephew's corpse, I felt something shift. This man had just delivered family to execution. Had chosen the alliance over blood. Had stood here and given permission for me to kill his sister's only son.
That was honor. Real honor. The kind that cost you pieces of your soul.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
Giuseppe looked up. Surprised. "For what?"
"For choosing this. For choosing us over him. For proving the alliance means something."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice. You chose correctly." I gestured to Viktor. "Get rid of the body. Cremation. I'll send the ashes to Giuseppe for proper burial."
Viktor nodded and started organizing the cleanup. Efficient. Professional. We'd done this dance before.
Giuseppe's men were already moving toward their car, eager to leave. To wash their hands of this literal and metaphorical blood. Can't say I blamed them.
But Giuseppe lingered. "Dimitri, about Giulia."
Every muscle tensed. "What about her?"
"She doesn't know, does she? About this."
"Not yet."
"When you tell her..." He paused. Chose his words carefully. "Remember she loved Geraldo. They grew up together. He was family even when he was being an idiot."
"I'm aware."
"Be gentle."
Strange request from a man who'd just watched me execute his nephew. "I'll try."
Giuseppe nodded, then left without another word. The Lincoln pulled away. Taillights disappearing into San Francisco fog that made everything look distant and unreal.
I stood there watching Geraldo's body being wrapped in plastic. Watching my men work with practiced efficiency. Watching evidence of my decision disappear into the kind of cleanup that left no traces.
My phone buzzed.
Maxim: How'd it go?
Me: It's done. Rest.
Another buzz. This one from Apolena.
Apolena: Are you okay?
Strange question. Was I okay? I'd just executed my wife's cousin and started my morning with murder. Proved to everyone watching that I was exactly the monster they expected.
But I was also standing in a warehouse surrounded by men who'd followed my orders without question. Who'd witnessed Giuseppe honor the alliance. Who'd seen that loyalty and tradition still mattered in a world that increasingly valued neither.
My men had stayed loyal despite weeks of leaks and attacks and reasons to doubt. They'd stood with me.
Giuseppe had stayed honorable despite family pressure and emotional cost and every reason to choose blood over business. He'd delivered Geraldo.
And Giulia...
Realization hit like a second gunshot. Louder. More devastating.
I'd been wrong about Giulia.
She wasn't the leak. Couldn't have been the leak. The information that had gotten out had started before we'd married. Before she'd even known about Bratva operations. Before I'd trusted her with anything that mattered.
I'd suspected her. Interrogated her. Pushed her away. Blamed her for being Italian when the real betrayal was Italian but had nothing to do with her.
Geraldo had been the leak. Had to be. He'd had access through Giuseppe's organization. Had motive. Had opportunity. Had probably been feeding information to the Albanians for weeks while I'd been suspecting my wife of crimes she'd never committed.
"Boss?" Viktor approached. "We're done here. You need anything?"
"No." My voice sounded distant. Hollow. "Go home. Take tomorrow off. You've earned it."
He left. They all left. I was alone in a warehouse that still smelled like gunpowder and death.
I'd been so convinced. So certain that trust was weakness. That letting anyone close meant vulnerability. That love was something that happened to other people but never to me.
So I'd pushed her away. Built walls. Destroyed the one good thing in my life because I was too damaged to believe it could last.
My father had taught me suspicion. Paranoia. The certainty that everyone would betray you eventually so you might as well strike first. Protect yourself. Trust no one.
I'd learned the lesson too well.
Giulia had stood in our kitchen taking notes on Bratva hierarchy. Had asked questions about port operations. Had wanted to understand my world not to expose it but to be part of it.
And I'd rewarded her curiosity with suspicion.
She'd said she loved me. Had promised to stay. Had believed I could be better than my father even when evidence suggested otherwise.
And I'd walked away angry. Had let rage poison everything we'd built. Had chosen violence over trust.
My phone buzzed again.
Guilia: Margaret says you left early. When are you coming home?
Home. She called Silverleaf home. Called the mansion I'd bought to isolate her our home.
Me: Soon. Need to talk to you about something.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Finally.
Guilia: Okay. I'll be here.
She'd be there. Waiting. Probably worried. Definitely aware something was wrong. Because she paid attention. Because she cared. Because she was better than I deserved.
I looked at the spot where Geraldo had died. Blood was already being cleaned up. Soon there'd be no evidence this had happened. No trace of the execution that had saved the alliance and cost Giuseppe his nephew.
Justice served. Order restored. Peace maintained through violence.
But at what cost?
I'd killed the man who'd attacked my family. Protected my people. Proved I was strong enough to lead. Done everything my father would have approved of. And in the process, I'd nearly destroyed the one person who'd seen past the monster to something worth saving.
Time to go home. Time to face my wife. Time to admit I'd been wrong about everything that mattered.
Time to see if love could survive not just justice, but stupidity.
My money was still on justice. Justice was clean. Predictable. Made sense according to rules that never changed.
But for the first time in my life, I wanted to be wrong about the odds.
I wanted love to win.
Even though I'd done everything possible to kill it.
Even though I probably didn't deserve a second chance.
Even though Giulia would be well within her rights to walk away and never look back.
I wanted her to stay.
And that terrified me more than any execution ever could.