Chapter 26
Dimitri
SONG: brOKEN BY PALAYE ROYALE
The drive to Silverleaf took twenty-three minutes. I spent twenty-two of them rehearsing what to say and one minute accepting that I'd probably botch it regardless.
My reflection in the rearview mirror looked like death warmed over. Three days without proper sleep. Two executions. One marriage hanging by a thread. The math wasn't pretty.
I'd showered at the penthouse and changed into clean clothes, attempting to look less like someone who'd spent the morning killing people. I failed spectacularly. Exhaustion had carved itself into my face. Guilt sat in my eyes like something permanent.
Good. Maybe Giulia would see it. Maybe she'd understand I knew I'd destroyed everything through stupidity and paranoia and my father's voice in my head saying trust was weakness.
Maybe she'd forgive me.
Probably she'd tell me to leave and never come back.
Both options seemed equally likely and equally devastating.
I parked in the circular drive and sat there for thirty seconds gathering courage I didn't have. Courage wasn't the right word anyway. This required something else. Humility maybe. The willingness to admit fault when admitting anything felt like exposing your throat.
The front door opened before I reached it. Margaret stood there with a knowing expression. Thirty-two years with the Morozov family meant she'd seen variations of this scene before. Different players, same essential tragedy.
"She's in the library," Margaret said quietly. "And, sir, whatever you're about to say, say it honestly. That girl deserves honesty."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you have a tendency to protect yourself with clever words when what's needed is simple truth."
Perceptive. Annoying. Accurate.
I walked past her toward the library. Each step felt heavier than the last. By the time I reached the doorway my legs had turned to concrete, and my chest felt tight enough to crack ribs.
Giulia sat in the armchair by the window. The one where she always read in the afternoons. She'd changed clothes since I'd left. Simple dress. Hair pulled back. No makeup. She looked younger like this. Vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache worse.
She looked up when I entered. Her eyes widened slightly. Whatever she saw on my face made her set down her book and stand.
"Dimitri." My name came out careful. Testing. "You look terrible."
"Feel worse." I stayed in the doorway, afraid to get closer. Afraid I'd touch her and she'd flinch away and that would break something fundamental. "Can we talk?"
"Of course." She gestured to the other chair. Formal like we were strangers negotiating terms instead of married people who'd slept wrapped around each other for three weeks.
I sat. She sat. Two people separated by six feet and three days and my catastrophically stupid decisions.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Handling the situation like I said." I leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped. Body language that probably screamed guilty. "It's done now. Resolved."
"What's resolved?"
Direct question. Deserved a direct answer even if the answer would hurt.
"Your cousin Geraldo hired Albanian mercenaries to kill Maxim and kidnap Apolena.
He's been leaking Bratva information for six weeks.
His goal was to destroy the alliance. To get revenge for Marco Benedetti's death.
" I paused and watched her process. "I found proof.
Confronted your father. Giuseppe delivered Geraldo this morning.
I executed him at 9:00 a.m. in a warehouse on Third Street. "
Silence. Complete and terrible. Giulia's face went through several expressions. Shock. Disbelief. Horror. Grief. Each one landed like a knife.
"You killed Geraldo," she said finally. Flat.
"Yes."
"My cousin."
"Your cousin who tried to murder my family.
Who betrayed both our organizations. Who started an unauthorized war.
" The words came out harsher than intended.
a defense mechanism. "Giuseppe agreed. He delivered Geraldo himself.
The execution was witnessed by both families. Justice according to tradition."
"Justice." She said it like a foreign word. "You murdered my cousin for justice."
"I executed someone who tried to kill people I love. There's a difference."
"Is there? From where I'm sitting it looks like murder."
"From where you're sitting you didn't watch Maxim nearly die. Didn't see Apolena almost get kidnapped. Didn't spend three days hunting the people responsible while worrying that everyone I care about might be next."
"So, you killed Geraldo and now you come home expecting what? Congratulations? Understanding?"
"I come home expecting you to be angry. To hate me.
To see exactly what I am and decide this marriage was a mistake.
" I stood and started pacing because sitting still felt impossible.
"That's what I'd do if I were you. Pack your things.
Call your father. Demand an annulment. Get as far from the monster you married as possible. "
"Is that what you want?"
"No. But what I want doesn't change what I did. Doesn't change that I killed your family. That I didn't trust you. That I spent three days suspecting you of crimes you couldn't have committed."
Giulia stood too. "You thought I was the leak."
"For about twelve hours I considered it.
You are Italian. Had access. Timing aligned.
" I stopped pacing and faced her directly.
"Then I interrogated the Albanians and discovered the truth.
Geraldo had been planning this since before we married.
You had nothing to do with it. You were innocent of everything except being related to an idiot with a vendetta. "
"But you suspected me anyway."
"Yes."
"Didn't trust me."
"No."
"Left me alone for three days while you hunted my cousin and then executed him without telling me what was happening."
"Yes." Each admission felt like swallowing glass. "I was wrong about all of it. About you. About trust. About whether love could survive in this world we live in."
"Were you?" Her voice was quieter now. Dangerous in its calm. "Because from here it looks like you proved exactly what you believed. That trust is weakness. That I'm Italian first and your wife second. That this marriage is a political arrangement we're both pretending means more."
"That's not what I believe."
"Isn't it? You walked out angry. Didn't call. Didn't explain. Just disappeared into whatever violence you deemed necessary and came back expecting me to what? Understand? Forgive? Move on like the last three days didn't prove everything I feared about this marriage?"
"I don't expect anything." The words came out raw. Honest in a way that hurt. "I hope. Desperately. But I don't expect."
She crossed her arms. Defensive posture. "What do you hope?"
"That you'll listen. That I can explain. That maybe, possibly, we can salvage something from the wreckage I created."
"I'm listening."
I took a breath and steadied myself. This was the hard part. The vulnerable part. The part where I admitted things I'd spent thirty-five years avoiding.
"My father taught me that trust gets you killed.
That everyone betrays you eventually. That the only person you can rely on is yourself and even that's questionable.
" I moved to the window. Looked out at the grounds.
Easier than looking at her. "He was wrong about most things but right about enough that I internalized the lesson.
Built my entire life around not needing anyone.
Not trusting anyone. Not loving anyone enough that their betrayal could destroy me. "
"And then?"
"And then you." I turned back and met her eyes.
"You with your questions and your intelligence and your complete inability to be what I expected.
You asked about port operations. Took notes on Bratva hierarchy.
Made me explain Russian poetry at 3:00 a.m. You wanted to understand instead of judging.
To be part of my world instead of separate from it. "
"So you suspected me of treason."
"So I panicked." I laughed, a bitter sound.
"Because if I let myself trust you, if I let myself believe this was real, then you could hurt me in ways bullets never could.
Emotional vulnerability terrifies me more than any physical threat.
At least with violence I know the rules. With love I'm completely lost."
Giulia was quiet for a long moment. "You're an idiot."
"Agreed."
"A complete idiot."
"Also agreed."
"You killed my cousin because you were too damaged to trust your own wife."
"Not exactly. I killed your cousin because he tried to kill my family.
The not trusting you part was separate stupidity.
Related but distinct." I moved closer, still keeping distance but narrowing the gap.
"Geraldo was guilty. The evidence was overwhelming.
Even Giuseppe agreed he had to die. But you're right that I should have told you.
Should have come home and explained instead of vanishing.
Should have trusted you with the truth before acting on it. "
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was scared. Because admitting I'd suspected you meant admitting I'd been catastrophically wrong. Because facing you required more courage than facing Albanian hitmen, and I'm apparently brave about all the wrong things."
She shook her head. "You're really bad at this."
"At what?"
"At being a person. At relationships. At basic human connection."
"Yes. My father specialized in raising emotionally stunted criminals. He excelled."
"Stop using humor as a shield."
"It's all I have. Take away the sarcasm and I'm just a man who destroyed his marriage through paranoia and stupidity and twenty years of terrible life lessons."