Chapter 28 #2
So I don’t stop.
I can never stop.
When Marcello, Izzie, and I come home, drained from our training session and ravenous for whatever Lourdes cooked for dinner, our guard immediately goes up at the sound of Lucky’s incoherent shouting from our father’s office.
Did my brother officially lose his mind?
I know he’s been on edge lately, with Frankie and Darius spending the summer in Russia without him, but I never once imagined he’d have the balls to scream at any of our dads, much less our father.
“I’ll stay here,” Izzie hesitates as we rush toward the office, preferring to stay back in the empty living room.
She’s been a part of this family long enough to know better than to barge into our father’s office uninvited. When that office door closes, it usually means the Capo Dei Capi is conducting Outfit business. Which means anyone who isn’t part of the syndicate has no business being there.
“No. You’re coming with me,” Marcello says steadfastly, threading his fingers through hers and pulling her along.
“I don’t care, Dad! I’m going!” Lucky roars at the top of his lungs as we quicken our steps.
But to our surprise, when we reach the office, we find our entire family already gathered there in full force.
Mammà and Annamaria sit on the couch, Anna biting the tip of her thumb as she stares at Lucky’s back.
Enzo stands beside Lucky, his boyfriend Alejandro hovering close at his side.
Our dads, Dom and Gio, stand next to our father, Vincent, while he remains seated in his chair, watching Lucky with painstaking focus, like he wishes he could ease whatever pain he’s in.
“Luciano, I know this is difficult to hear, but please, son…listen to reason.”
That only raises my hackles more.
Lucky is shouting at our father, and our father is the one trying to calm him down.
What the hell?
“Marcello, thank Christ,” Gio says. “Reason with your brother. He’s lost his mind.” But his hazel eyes hold the same pleading sorrow as my father’s.
“I’d love to, if someone would tell me what’s going on,” Marcello replies, placing a careful hand on Lucky’s shoulder.
I hold my breath, waiting for my idiot brother to swat it away. Instead, Lucky turns and collapses into Marcello’s chest, clutching him tightly.
“I have to go, Mar,” he chokes out. “Tell them. Explain it to them. Make them see there’s no way I can stay. She’s hurting, Mar. My girl is hurting. I have to go to her.”
“What happened to Frankie?!” I blurt out.
Oh my God. Did the compound get raided?
Did Misha’s enemies find out where he lived and invade his home?
Is Frankie in danger? Darius? Kirill?
Is Kirill in danger?!
I shove Marcello aside and grab Lucky by the shoulders, shaking him hard.
“What happened? What happened to Frankie? Is Kirill alright?” I demand, looking just as manic as he is.
Lucky stares at me with tears in his eyes, wiping them away before anyone else can see. My stomach drops, and my mind races through the worst possible nightmares.
But nothing…nothing…could have prepared me for what he says next.
“It’s not Frankie,” he chokes. “It’s Elena. She’s dead.”
“What?” I croak, my grip falling away as my legs wobble beneath me. “What did you just say?”
“She died, Stella. She’s dead. Elena died a few hours after giving birth,” he explains, his voice shredded. “Frankie called me an hour ago. She was hysterical. I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying. All I know is that Elena is dead.”
Tears burn in my eyes.
Not Elena.
Not sweet, thoughtful, kind Elena.
My mind flashes to the night we had dinner together, to the way she’d been nothing but gentle and warm with me.
Oh God… Misha.
He must be losing his mind right now. His wife was everything to him.
And the second Misha’s face appears in my thoughts, so does Kirill’s. He loved Elena like she was his own flesh and blood. He must be beside himself. They all must be.
“I have to go,” Lucky repeats, locking eyes with me before turning to our fathers. “I have to be with her. With her and Darius. They are my family. I can’t leave my family to suffer like this without me. Please. Just let me go.”
All three men flinch. I see it as clear as day. They feel my brother’s pain as if it were their own, but they’re still unwilling to let him go.
That’s when I step forward, head held high and take my rightful stance beside Lucky.
“Lucky is going to Russia,” I say firmly. “And I’m going with him.”
“Cazzo!” Gio mutters, throwing his hands in the air in complete disbelief.
“Gio,” my father says under his breath but there’s little heat behind the reprimand.
“You two are staying right here!” Gio yells. “No one is going to fucking Russia,” he continues. “I feel for both Frankie and Darius. I do. But the Outfit can’t protect you in Russia.”
“But the Bratva can,” Marcello says beside me.
I swallow hard as I look into my brother’s blue eyes and see nothing but support there—for me and for Lucky.
“The Bratva?” Gio scoffs like the very idea is ridiculous. “Do I need to remind you three that the last time Stella and Lucky were off to Russia, your sister got shot?”
“You don’t need to remind us,” I snap. “We were there. Yes, I got shot but not by any of the Petrovs. It was a mistake. One that many of our own soldiers have made in the past. Or are we suddenly so high and mighty that we’re above acknowledging our own mistakes?”
“Stella,” my father, Dom, warns this time.
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
“Marcello is right. The Petrovs will protect us. Especially because we are going there to show our condolences and to be there for Frankie and Darius, who, might I remind you, are also a part of this family!”
The room falls silent. No one speaks, not even to argue us out of going.
“Kirill loves Stella,” Marcello says suddenly, the words hitting me like a physical blow.
“We all know it,” he continues. “We all know that man would do anything for her. He will ensure both her safety and Lucky’s.
” My throat goes dry at the intensity in his gaze as he looks at me.
“I don’t know what happened between you two…
and honestly, I don’t care. The less I know about my sister’s love life, the better,” he adds, shuddering dramatically.
“But I do know that man loves you, and he’s brave enough to face any enemy for you. ”
Then Marcello takes his eyes from me and locks them on the only man who can actually make this decision.
“We all know it, Dad. Kirill wouldn’t let a finger be laid on any of us because of her.”
“And his enemies?” Gio fires back. “What if they use the Pakhan’s dead wife as a way to strike at the Petrovs?”
“Then they’re as good as dead,” Marcello says coldly.
“Even in grief, Kirill would never allow anything to happen to Stella. Let Lucky go support his family. And let Stella stand beside Kirill in the moment he needs her most.” Then he softens, just enough to wound.
“If the roles were reversed… wouldn’t you want Mom beside you? Beside all of you?”
Our father exhales slowly, a sad smile touching his lips.
“I’ve suffered loss before, Marcello. And you’re right. If it hadn’t been for your mother, I’m not sure I’d be the same man standing in front of you now.”
He straightens and looks between me and Lucky.
“Go. Pack your things. I’ll have the plane fueled and ready within the hour.”
“I’ll be ready in thirty,” Lucky says before bolting from the room.
I, on the other hand, remain rooted to my spot as my father steps out from behind his desk and comes to stand before me.
“I don’t think there is a man on this earth worthy of you, my piccolina,” he says softly. “But if Kirill is who you want…who you love…then I will not stand in your way either.”
Tears sting my eyes before I launch myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him tightly.
“Thank you, Papà.”
He kisses the top of my head just as a delicate hand slips into mine. I lift my gaze and find my mother there, tears shining in her eyes as she pulls me into a fierce hug.
“Go, Stella,” she whispers into my ear. “Be his support now. He needs you.” She draws back only to kiss both my cheeks before turning to Annamaria. “Anna, help your sister with her bags.”
“Yes, Mammà,” Anna says at once, giving me a sad smile before rushing from the room.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion as I look between my parents and my beloved brother, Marcello—who set aside his distaste for Kirill just to make me happy.
“Don’t thank us, Stella,” my mother says, caressing my cheek. “Just go and be with your second family. And tell Mikhail that I have him and his baby in my prayers.”
As I rush upstairs, it finally dawns on me that even when the odds were stacked against her, Elena held on long enough to give birth. With her last remaining strength, she ensured there would be an heir to the Petrov throne.
Twenty grueling hours later, the wheels of our plane touch down on Russian tarmac.
Neither Lucky nor I manage to sleep a single moment during the flight. We both remain trapped inside our own thoughts, haunted by what awaits us at the Petrov compound.
There is no doubt that Elena was the soul of that house. That she softened something not only in her husband, but in his brothers as well.
I remember Kirill telling me that Elena grew up in the same slums they did back in Moscow. That she had been not only their next-door neighbor, but a prominent figure in the Petrov household. And when she came of age, she made that permanent by marrying the only boy she had ever loved.
I can’t even begin to put myself in his place right now.
The very nightmare I tried to avoid when I pushed Kirill away is the grueling horror he is living through.
His suffering must be beyond comprehension.
Beyond anything anyone should ever have to endure.