Chapter 4
VAL
Stefano steadied me, then he let me go—same as my father had done—and I couldn’t help but hate him for it.
At the same time, I couldn’t help mourning the loss of his touch and wanting more.
His eyes grew darker, his expression so full of fury.
My lies had hurt our son.
My lies had caused death under his roof.
One of Stefano’s men lay dead in the foyer.
His underboss, Tony, sat slumped on the floor, leaning against the wall, his shirt soaked with blood, his face twisted in pain as he gripped his side to slow the bleeding.
Within minutes of my family’s arrival, Stefano had learned my worst truths. Truths that cost him the life of a made man and the good health of his underboss.
Aside from Enzo, the Vignali men were the closest thing to family Stefano had, and I’d hurt them.
Even Enzo wouldn’t walk away unscathed.
“Please don’t hate me,” I whispered.
Stefano just stared at me.
He deserved an explanation, the whole truth, but I didn’t have the time to give him what he needed.
He deserved more than answers. He deserved an apology.
I had judged him for his family when mine was worse. I let him believe he was the only reason I couldn’t be with him—and when he came back for us, that he was the only reason I’d kept Enzo’s birth a secret.
I had lied to his face over and over without hesitation. I told him that he was to blame for everything. I willingly allowed him to draw the wrong conclusions about me, about my motivations, about my past.
Stefano had shouldered the blame, the regret, the sadness, and I just let him live with it all. Alone.
Endless opportunities had existed for me to tell him the truth, to ask him for help, a thousand chances to give him my real name and tell him where I came from.
After discovering his identity, I should have revealed mine, but no, I left him like a spineless little bitch instead. And worse, because God knew I hadn’t stopped there, I hid his only child from him, his son.
He was right to call me a coward.
That’s exactly what I’d always been.
I blinked up at him, and he frowned, the line between his brows going deep again. Then pain flashed through his eyes, and seeing him hurt that way shattered my heart.
Stefano hadn’t caused any of this.
I did it all on my own.
Just me.
I couldn’t go back in time and change my bad choices, but I could start protecting him and our son now.
My life was forfeit anyway.
Accepting my fate meant giving my boys a better chance.
But my mind raced too quickly for a thoughtful plan.
However screwed up my brain might have been, I understood one thing. My behavior in front of my father determined whether Stefano and Enzo lived through the night.
SECONDS LATER OR AN ETERNITY
Saul Moscatelli hacked out a wet, phlegmy cough that turned my stomach.
Yeah. No longer would I call this depraved asshole my father. He never had and never would love me or keep me safe.
“Don’t you have something to say, Princess?” he asked.
“Make it happen, sister, or I come out to play,” Aris added.
Saul’s words, Aris’s words, the image of Enzo lying unconscious on the floor, the hurt in Stefano’s eyes… it all swirled inside my skull like a hurricane, making it hard to focus on any one thing.
Why the fuck didn’t Marco intervene?
I mean, of course he wouldn’t act against the family, but he had always been good at softening the blows.
So much time had passed since I’d been around my brothers. I didn’t know who they were anymore, or what they were capable of now. I couldn’t be sure about how they would react to anything.
Saul Moscatelli, on the other hand, had not changed. His tactics seemed to be the same, so he wouldn’t kill Stefano unless Stefano forced his hand. And even in that case, it might be more trouble to Saul than it was worth.
He knew starting a war with New York would be expensive, turning no profit at all for him.
He wouldn’t stop the violent hands of my brothers, though. If one of the Moscatelli boys started a war, Saul would let the chips fall where they may. And if my brothers won, he would take credit. If they lost, not so much.
As we grew up, Saul often said to the boys, “Weakness gets culled from the herd.”
Phrases like that helped him justify death. Even if it meant sacrificing a son, the man would wash his hands clean of blame.
My nonna had disagreed with Saul’s tactics and beliefs about death, but if he caught her even thinking it, he would punish her. Still, she found ways to teach me how to be mentally stronger than the men.
She’d said men like her son underestimated women. They didn’t consider us to be capable humans. We were pretty possessions to them, born to be owned and used for bargaining.
Too emotional to be their equals.
With no options left, I took my nonna’s words at face value, hoping this time it didn’t feel like a manipulation to Stefano.
In a moment of complete, shameless desperation, I chose to play that role for Saul Moscatelli.
I drew images of Enzo to the forefront of my mind, forcing myself to focus on him lying helplessly upstairs without me or his father, unmoving, only his small chest rising and falling.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and pain rolled through me. I hunched over, clutching at my stomach, releasing all my fear and the pain in gushing sobs. Those emotions always roiled just beneath the surface anyway, so I did what I’d never done before.
I let all that shit come out.
Stefano lurched forward and grabbed my arms with utter confusion written all over his face. He knew it wasn’t like me. I didn’t get messy that way. I didn’t let my emotions define me or my actions or bare my weaknesses.
I literally threw myself at him, heaving with sobs, my body shuddering, and held on to him with everything I had left.
“It’ll be okay, Angel,” he said. “You’re mine, not his, mine. I’ll fix this, I promise.”
Taking in all of him, inhaling his scent, feeling his warmth, hearing his soft words, I tried to memorize everything about him. Everything from how the luxurious robe hugged his strong arms and torso to the spiciness of his cologne.
I wanted to remember this moment in his arms for however long I might live. I wanted to dig up this feeling from my soul whenever I made my mental escapes during whatever I had to endure in my unknown future.
This, with Stefano, and cuddling with Enzo on the massive leather couch at the café while reading bedtime stories together.
The memories would be the glue holding the pieces of my sanity together and the will I needed to survive another day. My family could take me from my boys, but they couldn’t take away my memories of them.
I wiped my nose on Stefano’s shoulder.
“Ace,” I whispered. “Hear me, not the words I have to say. I have to leave to keep you and Enzo alive. Whatever happens, I will always love you both.”
I straightened my back and raised my voice for Saul to hear.
“I want to go. It’s a fair trade, Stefano. And I don’t want you to come after me. Stay in New York and raise our son.”
Stefano tightened his embrace, shaking his head.
“I’m not letting you go.”
I nodded. “Yes, you have to let me. I’ve decided. I’m going.”
Angry again—at me, at my family—Stefano shook me.
“You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me?”
Aris grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back.
“Yeah, she is. This brazen whore is coming with us.”
I cried out, releasing Stefano’s arms to clutch my scalp and dull the pain.
Stefano raised his gun, leveling it at Aris’s head.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” he snarled.
Santo crept up from behind and pressed the barrel of his weapon to the back of Stefano’s head.
“I don’t think you’re the one in charge here, Vignali.”
I shut my eyes for just a second, to remember the little boy Santo used to be—so unlike the monster he’d become.
He grew up taller than Aris, and that probably drove Aris crazy. Santo’s blond ringlets had darkened to a golden-brown and straightened to hang along the sides of his face. Tattoos and scars marred his skin.
He looked every bit like the killer Saul Moscatelli had raised him to be, standing there in complete confidence with a gun pressed against Stefano’s head.
In that moment, Saul stepped in, his demeanor so calm and casual like the fucking sociopath he was.
“Mr. Vignali, I apologize for the intrusion. We’ll leave peacefully now, so you can clean up your home.”
“Peace?” Stefano snapped. “Oh, there’ll be no more fucking peace on this earth. How the hell did you get into my house?”
Saul waved him off with a flick of his wrist.
“The important thing is the return of my property. I’m taking Valentina home, where she’ll fulfill her obligations. I understand you weren’t informed about her marriage contract. With that in mind, I’ve decided to be gracious and let you keep the child. You’ll find him upstairs—mostly unharmed.”
Stefano’s jaws clenched, his eyes narrowed.
“If you’ve hurt my son, Moscatelli, nothing in this world will save you from me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut again, this time to pray to the Virgin Mother, asking her to watch over Enzo, begging that the pistol-whipping my brother gave him wouldn’t leave any permanent damage.
“Your son doesn’t know how to behave around his betters,” Aris said, “so I taught him a little lesson.”
I couldn’t see the smug grin on my twin’s face, but I could feel it. I remembered that evil look well and how, in most cases, it had been followed by the same words.
No one cares what I do to you, bitch, as long as I don’t mark up your face or spoil your cunt.
Stefano stepped forward.
“I assure you, my son knows exactly what separates him from a piece of shit like you.”
Santo thumbed back his pistol’s hammer.
Aris’s grip on my hair tightened, pain shooting across my scalp as hot tears burned behind my eyelids.
Saul calmly adjusted his cufflinks, ignoring everyone.
“In any case,” he said, “Valentina returns to Chicago with me today, after which she’ll make good on my obligation to Klimov.”
Instant recognition flashed in Stefano’s eyes.
Of course Stefano knew about Klimov.
Everyone had heard about the giant, bloodthirsty Russian, how he’d come into power, and what he did to those who broke their contracts with him.
My twin’s abuse and Saul Moscatelli’s sociopathic behavior had driven me to desperation, yes, but neither topped the list of reasons for me to run from the horrors I faced.
Evil men had built and commanded my family. I knew this in my heart. But they didn’t hold a candle to the atrocities in which Klimov delighted.
The horrors he’d had in store for me as his bride.
The man didn’t just torture someone he wanted to hurt. That was a much too simplistic approach for him.
The last undercover cop discovered in his ranks had lived through the removal of his own tongue, followed by Klimov’s men beating him until he was close to death.
Then, with broken ribs and legs, the cop had survived only to be nailed to a wall in his home, where he’d been forced to watch Klimov and his associates brutally rape and murder his family, one by one.
Klimov’s men left him there to starve afterward, staring at the broken, mutilated bodies of his family.
Police had discovered the officer several days later. Rumor had it, when they found him, the man begged for death. He never made it to the hospital.
After that, no officer would dare take an assignment to infiltrate Klimov’s organization. Other outfits had tried to rise against Klimov, but he always left a long trail of blood and gore in his wake.
“You cannot give her to that fucking monster,” Stefano hissed. “He’ll torture her and kill her.”
Saul shrugged. “Valentina is no longer fit to be a proper wife, thanks to you, Vignali. You’ve dishonored us all by taking her without marriage. You ruined her value. You took that from me. Still, Klimov is owed my daughter, and what he decides to do with her is none of my concern or yours.”
“She is mine by right,” Stefano snapped.
“She was yours by theft. We are rivals, and your relationship with Valentina was forbidden. You know this. My daughter’s not yet wed, so she indeed belongs to me.”
Saul nodded at Aris, who then dragged me to the door.
Stefano followed on his heels, but I begged him with my eyes to stop, to let me go, to stay alive for Enzo.
We both knew he couldn’t win, not then, unprepared, and I needed him whole. He couldn’t save me, but he could protect our son.
He held my gaze and shook his head, his stoic mask cracked by torment.
Then I looked up the staircase.
My heart stopped.
Enzo stood at the top, arms folded over his chest, a thin trail of blood trickling down the side of his face.
I swallowed back a sob.
It would be the last time I saw my son.
His last memory of me, watching strangers drag me out of his father’s house.
I mouthed the words ‘ I love you always’ to my boy.
“No!” Stefano shouted.
Aris fired his weapon.
Stefano fired back.
Santo and Marco opened fired across the house.
I screamed over the sound of gunfire, my whole body dying from this waking nightmare, writhing to break free of it. My soul shrieked and wailed within me. Then I dared to look back at the landing.
Enzo was gone.
I had to believe he’d run away, that Aris hadn’t hit him.
Stefano dove for cover in the kitchen, returning fire.
Tony, slumped against the wall, squeezed off several shots.
Aris dragged me outside, shoved me into the back of a limo, and climbed in after me—cutting off my view of Stefano’s house and everything happening inside it.
I scrambled to the opposite door, yanking at the handle, but Aris hauled me back with a violent jerk.
Then he aimed his gun at my face.
“Just fucking do it!” I screamed. “Do it!”
He didn’t pull the trigger. So I kept going.
“Klimov knows I’m alive. Kill me, and you’ll take my place. Maybe a hired gun. Maybe he’ll let his men have you. I hear they like to fuck boys, so they won’t care which twin they get.”
“Fucking bitch,” Aris snapped. “Killing you lets you off too easy. The Russians won’t count your fingers. I bet they won’t even notice if you’re missing an arm. Broken ribs? Legs? They won’t give a shit. I may not get to kill you. But I can hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lied.
A malevolent grin turned up my twin’s mouth.
“You should be. I know where your kid sleeps.”
I swallowed back vomit.
“Aris, if you touch him?—”
“If I go after him, you’ll never know. You’ll never hear a whisper about what happened to your son… or your lover.”
I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming.
He was right.
My psycho demon twin was absolutely right.
“No,” he added, “you’ll spend what’s left of your pathetic fucking life wondering if they’re even alive.”
More gunshots rang out again through the open front door.
I didn’t know if Stefano or Enzo had been shot.
And I would never know if they survived.