ALESSIO #2
I lean against the counter. "She pulled Cesar out."
The realization still feels surreal.
I glance toward the bedroom door again. Toward the woman sleeping inside. Then back toward the city before I let loose the next bomb. "And I'm pretty sure she grew up to become Nicci."
"What the actual fuck?" Gabe exhales.
"As in Damiano's Nicci? The one who was just allegedly abducted by the Collector?"
" Abducted?" Damiano’s Nicci? What the actual hell?
"I'll call you back, stay on the line," Massimo interrupts suddenly. I hear a click.
"What's that all about?" I ask Gabe.
Gabe replies darkly, "While you were visiting with the Collector, he called us. He sent us images of you and then we heard a woman, Nicci, screaming in the background. Damiano was convinced it was Nicci—and wherever Nicci is, so is his son, Heathcliff."
"Shit." My mind is spinning, and the ramifications of my not calling first hit me even harder.
If something has happened to Damiano, it'll be on me.
While we wait, Gabe fills me in on how Javier Salazar just walked into his casino, like a lamb ready to be slaughtered.
A distraction Cesar sent him while his men got Audra.
Which should have left the Mexican gang in shambles, but from all reports, that hasn't happened yet.
The line clicks, and Massimo gets back on before I have time to dive back into that particular rabbit hole.
Massimo exhales. "I got him."
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. Alive. Thank fuck.
"Well?" Gabe demands.
Massimo laughs. The kind of laugh you hear when the universe has decided to personally offend you. "He's fine."
"Define fine," Gabe mutters.
"He told me to stop calling him."
"That sounds like Damiano."
"It gets better."
I can almost see Massimo rubbing a hand over his face. "I told him the Collector is Cesar."
Gabe asks the question we're both thinking. "How'd he take it?"
"Better than when I told him about Nicci."
"What he do then?" I ask, rubbing my neck, which makes my side hurt.
"He hung up on me," Massimo replies darkly.
"That also sounds like Damiano," I mumble.
Gabe whistles low. "Well."
"Yeah." Massimo sounds exhausted.
"Yeah," I agree.
"Even if that woman is Nicoletta… " Gabe thinks out loud, "I don't think she'd hurt the kid. She was all over the boy. She loves him."
"I'm not worried about the kid," I confess.
I probably should be—the kid is innocent, after all—but I haven't even met him yet.
Him, as in Damiano's son nobody knew about.
I close my eyes and pinch my nose. Fuck, my life seems to have become something out of General Hospital, one of the soaps my mother liked to watch when she was still around. One of the few things I remember.
I lean back against the counter. Damiano is alive. Undoubtedly pissed. Probably driving too fast. But alive. And warned. The guilt that had been threatening to settle into my stomach eases enough that I can finally think again.
Massimo breaks the silence. "Alright, let's get some sleep and meet in the morning."
"Not happening," Gabe mutters.
"I wasn't asking," Massimo asserts.
"Still not happening." Gabe doesn't stop. "The bastard has cameras and bugs everywhere. He sent me pictures of my own fucking wedding."
There is no need to point out the bastard's name. Massimo and I both understand it's Cesar.
"Yeah, he knows about Beccs, too," I hate to admit it, but it's better if we play with open cards here.
"Cesar has been planning this for a long time," Massimo remarks.
"Very long." I agree and fill them in on what Cesar said about Christmas presents and planning.
"That little piece of shit." Gabe moans.
"He's always been a spoiled brat," Massimo agrees.
"But he's grown up into a calculating, manipulating, planning, dangerous foe," I remind them. This might be easier for me now, because these two were close with Cesar once. Even if they didn't like him. There was a relationship, and it'd be very easy for them to underestimate Cesar now.
Silence settles over the line. The kind that only exists between men who've just discovered their worst mistake isn't buried after all.
Finally, Massimo clears his throat. "Get some rest."
I snort. "That's rich coming from you."
"He's right," Gabe says. "You sound like hell."
"I feel worse." I shake my head, a smile tugging despite everything. "You two sound like married men."
Gabe laughs first. "I am."
Massimo sighs. "I don't think you're far off..."
Warmth settles over me. He's right. The thought of making Beccs all mine pleases me immensely. "I know."
Massimo lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm hanging up before this turns into couples therapy."
"Probably for the best," I reply.
"Get some sleep, Alessio."
"We'll see."
"That's not what I said."
"Goodnight, Massimo."
He mutters something in Italian—too low for me to catch, but I'm reasonably sure it wasn't a blessing—before the line goes dead.
I keep staring at the phone long after the call ends.
What. A. Fucking. Shitshow.
Cesar Manetti. Alive. The Collector.
Nicoletta. Nicci.
Damiano.
Christ.
I scrub both hands over my face, immediately regretting it when my swollen eye stings.
Today started with me trying to keep Beccs occupied while Charly checked out a lead on Rachel.
By lunchtime, I'd been kidnapped. By dinner, I'd found out the person orchestrating half the chaos in Vegas is a man I’d believed dead for ten years.
And somewhere in the middle of all that... Gabe got married. I snort. Only in this fucked-up family. The humor dies as quickly as it came.
Damiano.
He's alive. Massimo reached him. That should've been enough to settle my mind.
It doesn't. Not completely. Because I know my brother.
The second Massimo uttered the words Nicoletta survived, Damiano would've stopped hearing everything else.
He won't sleep tonight. None of us will.
Tomorrow, the questions begin. How the hell did Cesar survive?
Where has he been for ten years? How many moves ahead is he? And if Nicci really is Nicoletta...
What the fuck does that mean for Damiano?
I blow out a slow breath. Tomorrow. Tonight...
There's one more mess to untangle. I glance toward the bedroom.
Toward Beccs. Then down at the phone in my hand.
Time to do something fun. Like see what my little Grease Monkey has renamed me this time.
I quietly slip inside. She's exactly where I left her.
Curled onto her side. One hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Still asleep. Still looking like a goddess.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I carefully pick up her phone from the nightstand.
Face ID.
Fingerprint.
Having done this before, I know she uses both. Carefully, I untuck the hand tucked beneath her cheek and press her thumb against the sensor. The phone vibrates.
Fingerprint not recognized.
I frown.
Below the message, right there on the lock screen, another line catches my eye.
Nice try, Rich Spoiled Asshole.
I stare at it for a second. Then a laugh escapes me. "Paranoid little Grease Monkey."
I shake my head, use her pointer finger instead. The screen lights up. Unlocked.
"Still not as smart as me," I whisper, gently placing her hand back beneath her cheek exactly where I found it. My eyes drift over the home screen. Right to my contact. And I can't help but smile again.
My contact.
Property of Beccs.
I shake my head.
"You little menace."
Thirty seconds later... Grease Monkey's Ice King
Much better. As I'm about to lock the screen, when something catches my eye.
Notifications. Missed calls. Six. All from Charly.
Unread messages. The newest message sits right at the top.
I hesitate for exactly half a second. Then I remember who I am.
I've never let good manners get in the way of good intelligence.
Charly:
They got on the plane. I'm heading after them, but... where the hell are you, Beccs?
My brow furrows. Plane?
I open the conversation. The messages scroll upward.
Charly:
A semi just pulled into the driveway.
Me: (Beccs)
Can you see him?
Charly:
Not clearly yet. He's parking.
Want me to get closer?
Me:
No.
Don't spook them.
Can you get me a picture of the husband?
Just in case.
If it's safe.
Charly:
Working on it.
I'm positive it's her.
They're out with a bunch of luggage.
They're leaving.
You should come.
Beccs. If you're coming, you need to leave now.
My chest tightens. Another message.
I'm following them.
Looks like they're headed for the airport.
Then...
Nothing. Because right about then... she chose.
I stare at the screen. Rachel. Four years.
Every dollar she'd earned. Every lead she'd chased.
Every lie she'd told herself just to keep hope alive.
Every second of every day had been about her sister.
She could've had her back tonight. Instead...
she climbed onto a motorcycle. And came after me.
The realization hits like a punch to the ribs.
Fuck. She chose me. Not because Rachel stopped mattering, but because I mattered, too.
And for one impossible moment... she thought I was running out of time.
And who the fuck knows. I might have. If it hadn't been for her, Rossi would have never found me. Not in time.
I glance toward the bed.
Toward the woman sleeping so peacefully after the worst day of her life. Nobody has ever chosen me like that. Nobody. My throat tightens. I don't deserve her. Not even close.
Carefully, I slip back out into the hall. I have to make this right. For her. For me. I hit call. Charly answers so fast he must've been staring at the phone.
"Beccs, where the hell are you?" His voice is equal parts panic and relief. "I've been trying to reach you for—"
"It's Alessio."
I can hear a sharp intake of breath, so loud, it tells me clearly how worried he is. "Is she okay?"
I look over at the bedroom. "She's asleep."
Another exhale. "Thank Christ."
"You?"