Chapter 3
ADRIANO
Alessandro's office is a shrine to control.
Organized files, neatly stacked papers, not a pen out of place.
Sometimes, I wonder if he thinks our father is going to walk in and judge the way he runs the family business starting with the upkeep of our father’s old desk.
But our father isn’t here.
He was killed by the Bratva, the murder that started this war that Alessandro has been working his ass off to end, not through violence but through negotiations.
Unfortunately, the Vasilievs don’t want peace. They want the Dante business.
Alessandro looks up when I enter. "The Bratva man talked?" He sets down his pen.
I close the door. "Eva's alive."
There’s a miniscule tilt of his head, a furrowing of his brow.
"Dmitri claims she’s in New Jersey."
"Eva?" My brother leans back, studying me with eyes that rarely miss anything. "You believe this prisoner? A man who would say anything to postpone his death?"
I shrug. "I need to find out. If there's even a chance—"
"The Bratva is moving against us in three territories," Alessandro cuts in. "Ivan's consolidating power faster than we anticipated. We've lost two shipments this week alone."
"I understand the situation."
"Do you?" His voice, a moment ago calm, shows signs of irritation. "Because it sounds like you're prepared to chase ghosts while we're looking down the barrel of our enemy's gun."
The old Adriano would have accepted this.
The man I became after Eva died would have prioritized family business above all else.
But the possibility that she lives has shifted my world.
“Dmitri knows about her because Ivan is hunting her. That’s got to mean something.”
“Or it’s a purposeful distraction. We need you focused."
“Why is he after her? It has to be related to me or us as a family.”
Alessandro's gaze hardens. "I need your head in this, Adriano. Not chasing after a woman who's been dead for years."
My jaw tightens.
"Men like Dmitri research their marks. They find weaknesses," my brother continues. "And Eva has always been yours."
I've spent years turning myself to stone after losing her, becoming the family's perfect weapon.
The man who feels nothing, fears nothing.
I see a flash of my brother, over my Don, as he rises from his desk, rounding it and sitting on the edge. “Have you considered that if she isn’t dead, she wants you to think so?”
Of course I have. But why?
“If she’s in Jersey, she’s not far. All this time, she’s been close—”
“I don’t know that.”
“If she’s alive, she left you, Adriano. Why chase a woman who doesn’t want you?”
My fist clenches.
He notices it, but he’s not afraid of my using them against him.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—”
“Fuck you.” I step back because I do want to hit him.
Alessandro rises again and returns to his chair. It’s a sign that he’s done with this conversation. "As your Don, I'm ordering you to drop this. We can't afford distractions with Ivan circling."
I stare at my brother, the man I've followed since we were children.
Family comes first.
The Don's word is law.
These are the tenets I've lived by all my life.
Show no weakness.
Eliminate threats.
Protect the family.
But hearing Eva’s name again has stirred something inside that I thought was long dead.
"I need to know," I say.
Alessandro's expression darkens. "Don't make me repeat myself."
For the first time in my life, I turn my back on my Don's direct order. "I'll handle my responsibilities when I return."
"If you walk out that door—"
"Then what?" I face him again. "Will you put a hit on your own brother?"
The silence between us stretches.
“Don’t be a fucking asshole about this, Adriano. She’s dead. Ivan is pulling one over on you. Don’t fall for it. Don’t risk the family for it.”
I suck in a breath. “Have I ever let you down?”
“This isn’t about that—”
“Have I? Have I ever asked for anything? Ever gone against you, even when I questioned—”
He scowls. “What have you questioned?”
“All that shit going down after Dad died and Luca returned? Or the plans to marry Valentina to that sadist Maksim. I’ve been your fucking dog. The least you can do is let me chase this one bone.”
I don’t wait for an answer, already calculating the fastest route to New Jersey as I stride from his office.
It’s just over two hours to Lakewood.
Two hours of drowning in memories and ruminating on why she’d have left, why she let me think she was dead.
Maybe Alessandro is right.
I’m chasing a ghost, trying to grasp back a part of my soul that I’d had when she was with me, that died when I lost her.
Hope and dread war inside me as I cross the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge to Staten Island, heading south until I cross the Arther Kill into New Jersey.
I've spent four years believing Eva died. If this is a lie…
If it's true…
I don't know which possibility terrifies me more.
When I reach Lakewood, it occurs to me that it could take me days, even weeks to find Eva if she’s here.
It’s not a large city like New York, but it’s a decent-sized town. There’s a lot of places to hide.
Four hours of hitting dead ends, and my patience has about run out.
The motel clerk stares at the photo on my phone, eyes darting nervously between my face and the image of Eva I've kept hidden in my gallery all these years.
"Never seen her." His voice quavers.
I lean closer, my shadow falling over him. "Look again."
"I swear, man. We get lots of women through here, but not her."
I slip one hundred across the counter.
His fingers twitch but don't move. "Even if I saw something, I wouldn't tell you. Lady looked scared enough."
My hand shoots out, gripping his collar. "So you have seen her."
His eyes widen. "I didn't say that—"
I release him, dropping another five hundred on the counter. "Room number. Now."
“She’s not here anymore.” He holds his hands up like in a stick-up. “I swear. But I know where she sometimes went.”
Ten minutes later, I'm driving through the historic part of town and considering going back to kill that hotel clerk as he was certainly lying.
Just when I'm about to give up, movement catches my eye.
A figure emerges from across the street, stumbling slightly.
My breath catches.
Even in the dim light, I'd know that silhouette anywhere.
The way she moves, the curve of her neck, the slight tilt of her head as she scans her surroundings.
Eva.
She’s bruised and limping, but alive. Fucking alive after four years of my visiting an empty grave.
She's hobbling down the street, each step looking like agony.
Her hair's shorter, dyed blonde, but I'd recognize her anywhere.
I know the shape of her body.
The way she moves. I don’t just recognize her with my eyes.
My soul knows her.
My heart jackhammers in my chest like it's trying to run to her.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing myself to stay put.
Someone did this to her.
Someone took her from me, made the world believe she was dead, kept her prisoner for four years.
It’s the only explanation.
I'll find them.
I'll make them beg for death long before I grant it.
She pauses, her head turning slightly as if sensing me watching.
I duck lower, not ready to reveal myself until I understand what's happening.
Until I know who I need to kill.
That's when I see it. Her arms aren't empty.
She's carrying a small child who rests her head against Eva's shoulder, tiny fingers holding on for dear life.
I don’t know much about kids.
This one is smaller than my nephew Enzo who is seven, but bigger than Matteo and Alessia who are my siblings’ infants.
Before I can process what it means that Eva appears to be on the run with a child, I spot movement.
Not random pedestrians, but purposeful shadows following her.
Three men, moving like predators.
Bratva.
I recognize their hulking silhouettes, the way they communicate with subtle nods.
The same Russian scum who've been causing problems for my family since before my father died.
They're converging on Eva from different directions, boxing her in.
Her body language shifts instantly.
She spots them too.
Her spine stiffens, her pace quickens despite her limp.
She pulls the little girl closer to her, murmuring something I can't hear.
The fear radiating off her is palpable even from this distance.
Without conscious thought, I'm out of my car, the Glock I carry already in hand.
I don't give a fuck who sees me, don't care about witnesses or consequences.
Nothing matters but getting to them.
Eva backs toward an alley.
Fuck no, not there.
She must not realize it’s a dead end.
She’s just walked into her own death.