ALESSO
Beccs is humming. A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. She's in my kitchen. Our kitchen. Fuck, I really have gone soft.
She's barefoot, wearing one of my T-shirts and absolutely no regard for the fact that it barely covers her ass. Her hair is piled into a messy knot, swaying to music only she can hear while laying strips of bacon into a sizzling pan.
She catches me watching. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
I shrug. "Guilty."
She grins and points an egg at me. "Your job."
"My job?"
"Eggs."
I look from the carton to the frying pan. "I thought you were making breakfast."
"I am."
She drops another strip of bacon into the pan. "You're making the eggs."
"I've never made eggs."
She blinks. "You've... never made eggs?"
"My kitchen expertise begins and ends with pouring cereal into a bowl."
She stares at me for a second before laughing. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"I'm a billionaire."
"So?"
"I've never needed to make eggs."
"You haven't always been a billionaire."
True. "Before… I couldn't afford eggs."
She shakes her head. "Oh, this is going to be fun." Then turns back to the bacon. "You've got this."
Carefully, I pick up an egg. How hard can this be? It cracks in my hand. Beccs snickers. I throw it into the sink and wash my hands. Focus, Vitali. I watched some celebrity chef crack one with one hand once. Or maybe it was a boxer. Either way, it looked easy.
I pick up another egg, more careful this time, and rap it against the edge of the bowl. Nothing. Harder. Crack. Success. Mostly. The yolk slides into the bowl. So does half the shell, just in smaller pieces. I fish the biggest one out with my fingers. Good enough. I reach for another egg.
"You know..." Beccs comments far too casually. "There's still shell in there."
I freeze. Slowly, I look over my shoulder. She's leaning against the counter, spatula in one hand, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
"Nice, Vitali." She jerks her chin toward the bowl. "Really nice."
"I've got it under control."
"Mmm-hmm."
I fish another tiny shard out. Then another.
She walks over and peers into the bowl. "You missed one."
"I absolutely did not."
She points. "Nine o'clock."
I squint into the bowl. "Son of a bitch."
She bursts into laughter. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"You look personally offended by that egg."
"It started this."
"The egg started it?"
"It declared war."
She laughs even harder. "Who taught you to crack an egg, Ice King?"
I glare at the offending carton. "Well, excuse me. Not everybody had a father who taught them how to pull eggs out of a chicken's ass."
She doubles over. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"First of all..." She wipes tears from the corners of her eyes. "Eggs don't come out of their asses."
"They don't?"
"No!"
"Seems like a design flaw."
She shakes her head. "I cannot believe I'm in love with you."
I grin. "You admitted it first."
Her eyes widen. "I did not. Now shut up and stir the eggs before they become rubber."
"You gonna help, or are you just here to judge?"
"I'm absolutely here to judge," she snorts.
She shakes her head. "You would've been eaten alive on our little homestead."
"I somehow doubt your chickens were that aggressive."
"You never met Henrietta."
"Henrietta?"
"The devil wore feathers."
I laugh. "You named your chicken Henrietta?"
"I was eight."
"That explains everything."
"It explains nothing."
She flips the bacon. The smell fills the kitchen.
"You know..." She glances at me. "My dad actually taught me how to collect eggs."
I freeze for the briefest heartbeat. Not because she mentioned him. Because she did it so... nonchalantly. Like daughters are supposed to talk about their fathers.
"He'd make me check for snakes first," she continues, turning the bacon. "Apparently they liked stealing eggs."
I lean against the counter. "Lenny never cooked."
She looks over. "No?"
I shake my head. "He believed kitchens were for women."
She rolls her eyes. "Charming."
"He did teach me how to sell coke and how to check if it was laced."
Her smile doesn't fully fade as she nudges my shoulder. "Dads, right?"
A chuckle escapes me. "Dads." I agree, feeling lighter than I have in years.
She pauses, wrinkles her nose adoringly, "You know..."
"What?"
"We're talking about our dads. Like regular people." Her words mirror my thoughts, and it feels good.
Regular. The word settles somewhere in my chest. I don't think either of us has ever had that.
Beccs turns off the burner, eggs and bacon forgotten for a second. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends on the question."
"Lenny. What was it like, growing up with him?" She asks it carefully, like she's handling something breakable.
I think about it longer than I mean to. "Loud. Unpredictable. I learned to read a room before I learned to read." I shrug like it doesn't still sit in my chest wrong. "Some nights he'd teach me to box. Other nights I'd lock my door and pray he forgot I existed."
Her hand finds mine on the counter. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't need to.
"Your turn," I say it, mostly to get out from under it. "Best memory. Before everything went sideways."
Her head turns sideways for a moment, a sign she's giving the question some consideration, like she's turning it over. "Rachel and I used to sneak out to watch the sunrise from the water tower. Dad never knew. Or pretended not to." A small smile. "It was the only time the whole world felt quiet."
"Sounds nice."
"It was." She squeezes my hand once, then lets go, like she's giving the moment back before it gets too heavy. "Okay. Eggs. Before they die completely."
Her phone buzzes against the counter. She glances at the screen. "It's Audra."
"What'd she break?"
Beccs laughs. "Nothing."
I read over her shoulder.
Audra:
Want to go shopping today? Jenna needs a new dress.
I immediately know what that means. Jenna never just needs a dress. She needs shoes. Jewelry. A purse. Possibly a new wardrobe. Kind of like my little Beccs. Madame Vivienne LaRoux brought her plenty of clothes, but she still needs a lot more.
This is actually a great idea. I know Massimo and Gabe won't let their wives go anywhere without enough security to invade a small country. Beccs will be safer than inside Fort Knox. Knowing Massimo, he's probably having the entire mall closed for the duration of the shopping spree.
Beccs watches me. "What?"
I'll send security with her as well. I had words with Olivere first thing this morning.
I could've killed him. It would've been satisfying.
It also would've been useless. Dead men don't learn.
Living men carry lessons, and I made sure he wouldn't forget his.
Olivere now has one duty: shadow Beccs like she's the last woman on earth.
Close enough to intervene. Far enough to stay out of her way.
My orders are clear. She is his only priority.
"What?" Beccs repeats.
"Go."
Her eyebrows rise. "Really?"
I pull out my wallet, slide my black card free, and hold it out. "Go wild, Grease Monkey."
She just stares at it. "You sure?"
"You deserve it."
She still doesn't take it. "It's... probably expensive."
I bark out a laugh. "Beccs."
"What?"
"You're not going to ruin me."
She narrows her eyes. "Is that a challenge?"
My turn to chuckle. Leave it to her. "Maybe."
She plucks the card from my fingers. "Challenge accepted."
God help the boutiques. Not because she'll spend too much. Because she'll probably argue every price tag into submission. I kiss the top of her head. "Good luck."
She points the spatula at me. "What are you doing today?"
The smile slips. "I'll have another conversation with Lenny."
She nods once. No questions. No trying to stop me. Just understanding. "Okay."
Breakfast finishes in companionable silence. We eat. She steals my bacon. I steal half her toast. She claims it's unfair because I have longer arms. I claim possession is nine-tenths of the law. She calls me a rich spoiled asshole. I tell her she's lucky she's cute.
By the time we're ready to leave, she's thrown on jeans, boots, and one of those little leather jackets that somehow makes every man in a ten-mile radius forget how words work.
I shrug into my suit jacket. She's waiting by the front door. "You missed something."
"I did?"
She steps closer. Much closer. Her fingers smooth my lapels. She straightens my tie with tiny, practiced tugs. Brushes an invisible speck of lint from my shoulder.
"There." She smiles. "Now you look like a terrifying mafia boss again."
She kisses me. Slow and soft.
Nothing like the desperate kisses we've shared lately. Just... a girlfriend kissing her boyfriend before he leaves for work.
She rests her forehead against mine. "Be careful."
"I always am."
She snorts. "That's objectively untrue."
"Fine," I concede. "I'll try."
She smiles. "That's better."
I steal one more kiss before opening the door.
As I step into the hallway, I glance back.
She's still standing there. Watching me.
Waiting until the elevator doors close. And somewhere between scrambled eggs, terrible chicken anatomy, and a crooked tie...
it hits me. This is what I've been fighting for all along.
The basement feels different today. Quieter. The anticipation is gone. Yesterday, I came down here looking for answers. Today... I'm just tying off loose ends.
The heavy steel door swings open behind me. Rossi falls into step beside me without a word.
"He eat?"
Rossi nods. "Twice."
"Coffee?"
"He asked for another bottle of Stagg."
Sounds like him. "And?"
"I told him to ask you."
"Good answer."
The reinforced door to the Game Room opens. Lenny is exactly where I left him. Still restrained. Still sporting more bruises than healthy skin. Still somehow convinced he's the smartest man in the room.
He grins when he sees me. "Took you long enough."
I pull out the chair across from him and sit. "We checked your warehouse."
His eyebrows lift. "And?"
"We're watching it."
A satisfied smile spreads across his face. "Told you I don't lie all the time."
I don't return the smile. "I need Luciana."
His expression changes instantly. He chuckles. "Still got mommy issues."
I don't bother replying.
"Can't get over the fact a woman walked away from you." He shakes his head. "You. The great Alessio Vitali. Brought to his knees by his own mother."
He waits, probably expecting anger, a punch, another nail. Anything. Instead... I simply stare at him. His smile falters.
"Where is she?"
He clicks his tongue. "Mostly right here. Sometimes Mexico."
"Who protects her?"
He shrugs again. "Depends. Mercs. Cartel. Sometimes bikers. She likes changing the rules." He leans back. "You know..."
Here we go.
"I'm not even sure you're mine."
I give him nothing. Because honestly? I feel nothing. I don't even care anymore where I came from. I found my family, and that family is a whole lot more important to me than my so-called father and mother ever were.
"The bitch spread her legs for half the Black Canyon leadership." He keeps going, not realizing that I don't really give a rat's ass. "And the Cartels as well, whoever could raise her up. Ambitious that one. Just like you."
My lip twitches slightly; I don't like that comparison, but then again, sticks and stones and all that bullshit. I don't even care to find her anymore because I want answers. I don't. I just want to stop her from trafficking more women.
"Could've been anybody." Lenny's still waiting. Waiting for the questions to start.
They never do. Twenty-four hours ago... his words might've mattered to me. Now... they barely move the needle. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't. Either way... he's no father of mine.
My phone vibrates. Marco. He's the one I put on point to watch the warehouse Lenny told us about.
I answer immediately. "What?"
"Boss." His voice is tight. "We've got movement."
I straighten. "Talk."
"Three SUVs just arrived, flashy, looks like Mexican cartel. Want us to go in?"
My pulse kicks once. "Not yet. Keep watching."
If Flea isn't there, I don't want to spook him. My men can handle a couple handfuls of Mexican Cartel. I hang up and stare at Lenny. "Last chance, where do I find her?"
"What day is it?"
I decide to humor him. With him, you just never know where things might go. "Sunday."
He nods. “Friday, she's going to be at the Serrano Ridge Estate. Every first Friday of the month is a special auction." He shrugs. "Don't tell her I told you." He winks like this is supposed to be funny.
I turn to leave with a nod. He stops me at the door.
"So that's it?" I stop. "What about me?"
Rossi looks at me questioningly. Ready to put a bullet through the man I called my old man since birth.
"What do you want me to do with him, Boss?"
Silence. I look back over my shoulder. Lenny is watching me. Waiting. Still convinced he matters.
"Send him home."
Rossi blinks.
"Boss?"
"Untie him."
"I knew it." Lenny laughs. "You ain't got the stomach."
Slowly... I turn to face him one last time. "No." I smile. "I just realized something." His grin stays. "You spent my entire childhood trying to convince me I'd never amount to anything. You called me worthless. A mistake. A burden." I straighten my jacket. "You failed."
His mouth falls open.
"I built an empire. Every man I’ve killed was worth more than you are, and that's saying something.
I've got brothers who'd walk through hell beside me.
" I take one slow step toward him. "And you?
" I glance around the room. "This..." I gesture to the restraints, "is the most important you've felt in years. "
The words hit. I see the tiny crack behind his eyes. "You don't get to haunt me anymore." I wave Rossi forward. "Take him home."
Rossi still looks uncertain. "Boss..."
I shake my head. "He's a drunk. A liar. A bitter old man. Nothing more."
I meet Lenny's eyes one last time. "The only thing worse than being feared..." I let the silence stretch, "is being forgotten."
I hold his gaze for a long second, then turn my back on him.
This time... I don't see the man who raised me.
I only see a pathetic, shriveled excuse of a human being.
The Reapers are gone. What's left will be gone soon.
He won't be anybody. He'll end up on the streets like the other homeless, forgotten drunks.
Nobody will even remember him. Least of all me. He'll die alone. Like he should.