Chapter 50 #2
“Speaking of which,” he says before pulling down the zipper of his parka and handing me a phone. “It’s a burner. Completely untraceable. Just keep the call under a couple of minutes and you should be golden.”
I stare at the phone like it’s a bomb ready to explode in my hand.
“He’s waiting for your call, Matteo. Don’t leave him waiting in vain.”
Not needing to be told twice, I punch in my brother’s phone number and hit call, Niccolò’s voice answering immediately.
“Hello?”
Fuck.
Tears sting my eyes at the sound of my brother’s voice.
“Matteo? Is this you?” Niccolò all but whispers, the sound of a door slamming shut behind him.
“Yeah, brother. It’s me.”
“Thank fucking Christ!” he bellows, relief lacing every word. “How are you? How is Anna? Are you alright? Do you need anything? Money? Papers? Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Even through tears, I can’t help but laugh. A laugh that comes straight from the gut. Niccolò was never one for too many words, and now here he is using a whole dictionary’s worth of them.
“I missed you too, Nico. I’ve missed all of you,” I admit, wiping the tears from my face. “Anna and I are good. We’re better than good,” I say in the hopes of easing whatever fears he might have. “Just wish you were here.”
“Me too. I wish I was there too. But…”
“No need to explain,” I wave him off even though he can’t see me. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now.”
“Marcello and I both. It’s not easy taking the throne when some people still wish you were their predecessor.”
“People are stupid. You’ll make a far better boss than I ever could.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fucking trying. You left some big shoes to fill.”
“If there’s any man up for the job, it’s you,” I smile.
“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, visibly uncomfortable with my praise.
“I am happy that you and Marcello seem to have become a united front. Does that mean—”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “The war was over the second you and Anna died. It was the excuse we both needed to make a truce. Marcello made it clear he had no interest in New York, which worked in our favor. We’ve even worked together on a few deals.
The Romano twins have also shown interest in helping us out with some IT shit that went straight over my head when they told me about it.
But they’re supposed to be some kind of geniuses, so what do I know? ”
I nod as he continues venting about his current woes, but the last thing I want to think about is the Cosa Nostra. I have more pressing matters I need answers to.
“And Mom? How is she?”
Niccolò goes silent for a moment.
“I haven’t told her yet, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just…not the right time yet.”
I don’t say anything to that, mostly because I understand his reluctance to tell our mother that I’m alive.
For people to continue believing I’m dead, the people who love me have to look like they’re grieving.
And I’m not sure my mother is that great an actress, especially with the way her fractured mind likes to play tricks on her.
“But she’s okay. Lucid. Well… lucid adjacent,” Niccolò adds, as if sensing where my head is at. “When I’m sure everyone has moved on, she’ll be the first person I tell. She’ll be the only person I tell.”
“What about Rafe?” My brows furrow at his remark. “How is our baby brother? Is he okay?”
Again, the line goes silent, causing my hackles to rise.
“Nico?”
“Rafe is good. I should end the call now. It’s been almost three minutes. Can’t risk anyone finding out about you.”
“Okay,” I reply, though my heart feels like it’s splintering apart.
“When the dust settles and I know it’s safe, I’ll come find you,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “Ti voglio bene, stronzo.”
I laugh at that, his teasing easing the boulder pressing against my chest.
“I love you too, asshole,” I mimic.
“Take care of yourself. And give my love to Anna. Tell her Mom misses her.”
“I will,” I nod. “And you take care of yourself too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“You mean like get married to someone you barely know and fall in love like a chump? Too late, brother. That ship has already sailed.”
I don’t have time to ask what he’s talking about since the fucker ends the call with that cliffhanger.
Well, wonders never cease. Niccolò got hitched.
My smile must still be plastered across my face when I hand Kirill back his phone, only to watch him break it apart with his bare hands before crushing the chip in his fist.
“Can’t be too careful, you know?” he laughs. “Glad to see you’re in better spirits. Good call?”
“The best. Thank you.”
“Don’t sweat it. We’re family now,” Kirill says with a smile before walking over to his wife.
I follow suit and wrap my arms around my Anna, who is somehow smiling and crying at the same time.
Stella’s gaze flicks from her sister’s face to mine.
“Glad to see you’re a man of your word. My sister has never looked happier.”
“I intend to keep her that way,” I grin, pressing a sweet kiss to Anna’s cheek.
“That’s good.” Stella smiles at me. “Now we’ve wasted enough time as it is.
You two need to get on that plane. The pilot’s been instructed to fly you over the Bering Strait before landing in Anadyr.
From there, another plane will take you to Yaroslavl.
You’re looking at fourteen hours in the air, so I hope you two brought a good book to entertain yourselves,” Stella jokes lightheartedly.
“Oh, I think we can entertain ourselves just fine. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”
Anna elbows me in the gut, her smile silently telling me to behave.
Like that’s even an option.
Luckily, neither her sister nor her brother-in-law seems to notice.
“The second you land in Yaroslavl, Kostya will be waiting to drive you the rest of the way to Misha’s compound. There, you can rest, regroup, and start thinking about where you want to put down roots.”
Stella reaches for Anna’s hand and gives it a squeeze.
“I really think you’ll love Russia, sis. And if you decide that’s where you want to stay, then we can visit whenever we want and people will just assume we’re visiting Misha.”
There it is.
The hope in Stella’s eyes is the same hope my wife sometimes carries.
But when I look at Kirill, his eyes tell me something different.
They aren’t nearly as optimistic.
And why would they be? Russia is Bratva territory. No matter how secretive Mikhail Petrov’s compound is, two Americans are still bound to attract attention.
No. Russia is a good starting point, but it can’t be the place where we build our family.
We need somewhere neutral. Somewhere two Americans could disappear among tourists.
Somewhere speaking English in the streets won’t draw attention.
Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere filled with music, libraries, museums, and art.
All the things my wife loves. Somewhere we can live freely, far away from mob-affiliated territories.
Surely a place like that exists.
But as I glance at my wife’s face, happy and eager to start our future together, I realize it won’t matter where we end up.
Wherever Anna is will become my home.
Because that’s what she is to me.
Home.