I look at the massacred men on the couch, then I walk up to them and spit. “Fucking culo! Vai all’inferno!” I snarl. They can all go to Hell. I’ll meet them there and fuck up their afterlife too.
“Boss,” says someone behind me and I spin around. Our fallen guy clutches his shoulder. He’s pale and sweaty. I walk up to him and tear off his safety vest and jacket despite his screams.
“It’s a flesh wound. The vest protected you. Your legs work fine. It’s time to leave. We’re done.”
Two of the guys take the wounded man to the hospital while I and the remaining soldier head back to my mansion. During the ride one text message after the other pops into my phone. London done. Roarke Brennan is an absolute murder machine, ruthless and efficient. Moscow done. Eric Reed took on the toughest mission and had to coordinate the biggest attack. Ukraine done. My men have performed well. I’ll reward each and every one personally.
One long chilly night is all it takes to wipe out our enemies. The slaughter has been delicious. I see Ivan’s pale face before me. Chloe, traumatized and drenched in their blood. I revel in having executed every last motherfucker of the Russian mobsters who thought they could come into my city and mess with my life.
If we’ve missed anyone, they’ll have no means to recover and no one’s going to want to fuck with us for the foreseeable future.
It’s four in the morning when I call my club manager.
“Sir?” He sounds barely half-awake.
“Tonight, we’re back in business. Open everything. Give discounts at your own discretion. Get people back to our venues at all cost.”
Alan suddenly sounds a lot more alert. “Fucking finally. Will do, sir!”
“I’ll come by the Crown tonight and make an appearance.”
“We always store your preferred wine.”
“Good boy.”
I’m tired as all hell but filled with adrenaline. Twisting and turning in bed, I finally give up, work out, take a shower, and prepare to start the day.
Passing my office, I grab my laptop and go to the kitchen to make myself an espresso. The table looks eerily abandoned. Ghosts of past conversations bounce between the walls. Chloe with David, calm, fresh out of bed, her blonde hair splayed over her shoulders. I don’t know where we go from here. I can’t lock her up again, but I can’t let her go either. I threw away the leverage with her brothers and now I’m pretty much fucked if she tells me to go to Hell.
Opening the laptop, I begin to sort through dozens of unopened emails while my thoughts spin. I need to get my place back in order. There are extensive repairs to be done. I’ll gather everyone for a debriefing and make sure to pay my men for their phenomenal effort. I’ll finally take a day and go visit Christian in New York. I need to see that bastard for myself. Second-hand reports are infuriatingly unsatisfying.
When my house is habitable again, I’ll send for Chloe. What does she want? How can I make her stay? Money? Jewelry? Cars? Horses? A puppy? What is she into? I realize I know way too little about her, and I have absolutely no one to ask.
Maybe I can ask her?
Me, asking for something instead of demanding?
I don’t know who I am anymore.
The sound of my front door quietly opening and closing has me on my feet in a second. I grab my gun and listen as I sneak closer. It’s six in the morning. I can’t think of anyone who’d show up unannounced at this hour. I haven’t gotten new gate guards in place yet and now I realize that it was beyond sloppy.
Locating the direction of the shuffle of feet, I fall on one knee and take a quick peek around the doorpost.
In the center of the hallway, right on the mosaic of a compass rose, almost at the same spot where he lay shot, stands Ivan. His arm is in a sling and his shirt hangs looser than I’m used to seeing it. He’s lost some pounds. I tuck the gun away and walk up to him, spreading my arms wide.
“You fucking moron. You almost got yourself shot. What are you doing here? They let you go? At this hour?”
He shoves his hand through his hair. My usually clean-shaven henchman sports a short, but wild blond beard. “Boss! I-I kinda let myself out.” He shrugs, grimaces, and then smiles sheepishly.
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “I knew a few bullets wouldn’t take you out. Have you had breakfast?” I grab the bag out of his hand. “What do you want?”
Ivan shakes his head.
“I’ll fix something. I haven’t had any myself yet either.”
“Boss,” he says as he trails after me, “how is everyone?”
I gesture for him to sit and he sinks down on a chair at the table. Preparing a cup of strong, black coffee, I throw him a glance over my shoulder.
“Did you hear about Elena?”
He frowns. “What about her?”
Renewed pain stabs through my chest, making it harder to breathe. “She had cancer, man. I never knew,” I choke out.
“Had?”
“She died. She fucking went and died on me!” I push the cup toward Ivan and sit down opposite him. My espresso has turned cold. I drain it with a grimace and look away.
“I’m sorry, Boss.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Thanks.”
“How’s your girl?”
I snap back to look at him again, frowning.
“Chloe,” he adds.
I scoff, my stomach clenching. “She’s not my—What the fuck. She’s fine. I shipped her off to Bietini.”
He nods. “Good call. David? Chris? The rest?”
I throw up my hands and stand, pulling open the fridge to find us something to eat. I don’t know what to answer. Nothing is ‘good’.
“We’ve lost a couple of men. No one important. The Russians have been dealt with. They won’t bother us again.” I put bread, butter, ham and cheese on the table between us and prepare a sandwich which I then put in front of Ivan.
“Boss?” He fakes a sob as he picks it up. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Shut the fuck up. I want you back in shape, you look like shit.”
Ivan takes a bite and grins. “I’m ready to get back to work,” he says between chews.
“You’re not going to be in fighting condition for a long while yet, man.”
“True. But I can help.”
I nod slowly. “I’ll put you with Dust. He’s really stepped up lately.”
It takes a day, but Dustin gets the gates fixed and new guards in place. I put Ivan in charge of arranging for construction workers to demolish my old bedroom. I don’t just want it fixed. I’ll tear down and rebuild that whole part of the house. I want floor to ceiling windows, an exit to the garden, and to get rid of the room in the basement. All I see when I think about it is a broken Chloe. I don’t want her to get back here and see that shit. The thought alone sickens me.
I’m nurturing my first espresso for the day, deep in paperwork Matteo sent me regarding our finances when I get one of the least expected announcements of my life. There’s a knock on my door and then Ivan pushes it slightly ajar. “Sir, there’s a Miss Jackson here to see you. She’s having a face-off with the gate guards, adamant that you’d want to see her.”
My jaw drops as my mind goes blank for a moment. The girl that went missing. Christian’s fixation. The cause for his downfall. The fucking mother of his child. My insides turn cold.
“Let her in.”
When he nods and closes the door, I dart up and begin to pace the room. Why the fuck is she back? I don’t believe in coincidence. If she has anything to do with the state Christian’s in, I’ll fucking murder her.
I spin around when the door opens and she enters. She’s tinier than I remember, and she looks a mess. There’s raw fear in her gaze, but also defiance, that streak of strength that won me over the first time we met. Her long red hair is gone. It’s short and black, a terrible, choppy cut, and I wonder if she did it herself. I walk up to her, intentionally slowly, then past her and lock the door, pocketing the key. She got away once. She�
��s not getting out of here without explaining every minute that has passed since she left town with Christian’s daughter, when her disappearance set him on his path to destruction.
As predicted, she goes absolutely wild, her eyes huge and terrified, fixating on the locked door. I’m not gentle when I push her into a chair and demand that she explains herself.
“Where did you go, Kerry? We looked for you.”
“I moved to Chicago.”
“I know that.” My impatience grows, crawling in me like slithering snakes. “Go on.”
“Canada.”
I twitch and stare at her. I don’t believe in coincidence. “Where. In. Canada?” I say slowly through clenched teeth, heat rising inside like a cloud of rage. If she has something to do with Christian’s situation, I swear to all that’s holy—
“A-a little town called Middlebro,” she stutters, no doubt sensing that I’m ready to pounce.
“You fucking bitch!” I snarl and grab her by the throat, pushing her back against the backrest.
Kerry cries out and clutches at my hand, but she’s like a mouse in the hands of a lion and has no leverage. Her face turns beet read. “Please,” she mouths. “It’s Christian, he’s—” She swallows, wincing with pain.
I snatch back my hand and she darts up, taking several steps back, toppling the chair. “You’re all the same!” she cries, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hand flying to cover the reddened skin on her throat. “You’re all assholes.”
“I have never claimed to be anything else, Miss Jackson. And neither has my nephew, or anyone else in my family. We haven’t gotten to where we are by being cuddly. Now what about Christian.”
“He’s dead!” she screams. “He died!”
I go still. What makes her think that? She is very close to having been right, but how is she involved? “Go on.”
“He found us,” she whispers as new tears drip down her cheeks.
“And?”
Kerry chews on her plump bottom lip. Her nostrils flare as she stares at me. “He… Cecilia got ill and we had to walk to get her to the hospital. He fell into a ravine, a river, and disappeared.”
“Why did you walk?”
“Everything went wrong! There was a storm. The road was blocked.” Her eyes turn distant, as if she’s not in the room anymore. “We had to.” Her last words are nothing but a hoarse whisper, filled with pain.
“So let me get this straight. You fled from nothing, settled in fucking nowhere, my nephew found you, and because of you, he’s now dead? Did you kill him? Push him? Did you find a convenient opportunity to get rid of your stalker?”
Her green eyes widen. “N—no! It wasn’t like that!”
“Then what was it like?”
“That’s none of your business!”
I close the distance between us in a fraction of a second and push her until I slam her into the bookshelf, my hand around her throat again. “Sweetheart! You have made it my business.”
“Can’t—breathe,” she gasps.
I ease a little on the pressure, but she’s going nowhere until she explains. “Well?”
She swallows, and her expressive eyes nearly do me in. I have no problems understanding why Christian got so obsessed with her. She’s strong, intelligent, brave, and so fucking beautiful she almost burns my retinae.
“I didn’t hurt him, but I feel like I’m to blame anyway.”
“Funny, that’s how I feel too. If you hadn’t run, none of this would have happened.”
Her expression turns fearful. “I didn’t know.”
I remove my hand, take a step back and regard her.
Her hand flies up to her throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Where’s Cecilia.”
“With my mom.”
“And where is Mom?” I ask silkily.
She stares at me and snaps her mouth shut.
“Never mind. We’ll find her.”
Kerry darts forward and grips my shirt. “No, please! Don’t hurt her!”
I grab her hands, a little too tight from the wince on her face. “Miss Jackson. From now on you stay in town. If I come knocking, you open, if I tell you to come here, you’ll get your fucking ass here, if I tell you to jump, you jump. Are we clear? And no hiding the child. She’s a Russo. You’re nobody, but young Cecilia is family, and the child of my nephew. That means a lot to me.”
Her shoulders slump in defeat. It’s an unexpectedly saddening sight, watching the fight drain out of this strong woman. She reminds me a lot of Chloe, still resisting me to this very day. Chloe stood on almost this exact spot, screaming about how Christian had treated her.
“Can I go?” she asks weakly.
I throw out my hand toward the door, following her as she takes a few quick strides toward it. “I’ll be in touch,” I say as I pull out the key and unlock it.
“I bet,” she mutters.
There it is again, her defiance. Temporarily down, but not defeated. I like it.
When she’s left, I realize I forgot to tell her Christian is still breathing. Well, she’s probably relieved he’s gone anyway, so I’ll leave it the way it is. I have more pressing matters. I’ll put someone to keep an eye on them, though. I don’t trust her for shit, and if she’s back and if Christian wakes—No, when Christian wakes up, I believe he’ll be very motivated to get back on his feet.
Chapter 28
Chloe
It’s been two days, and I’m still reeling from the two calls I got. One after the other.
First from Luci. Or Salvatore. I’m so confused! I don’t know how to address him anymore. Salvatore is the one who hurt me, Luciano is the man who lay with me and let me hold him when he was mourning. Luciano is the man who burns in my heart. Salvatore is the man that makes me squeeze my thighs together at night, remembering all too vividly how he spanked me, teased me, took everything with or without my will. Everything except one thing. For some reason this beast of a man has never forced his cock between my legs. For that I am eternally grateful and wickedly bewildered. His twisted view of honor, or whatever it’s about, doesn’t make sense to anyone but himself.
Then Chad called, furious that he and Charlie weren’t gonna become badass mobsters after all.
I let him know, in no uncertain words, that I’m still their fucking big sister and to not call me again until he’d pulled his head out of his unwiped ass.
It’s been raining. Not just a pretty little drizzle, but the crazy brutal kind when the sky opens and drops its content on your head, all at once. It set off a couple of smaller landslides and muddied parts of the fields. The older kids are out of school, helping with the shoveling, while Alessandra and I only have four kids left in our care.
We’re being lazy, distracted by nature’s show of force yesterday and the sunshine today. I stand by the window, staring at the long, winding road when I spot a cloud of dust. Frowning, I lean forward to try to figure out what this new phenomenon is. I don’t think we can take more disasters. I nudge Alessandra’s hip with my elbow and cock my head toward the vision.
“Are we expecting someone today? Are the men coming back?”
It’s the event of the week, the Fridays, when the sons and husbands come back for the weekend, their cars filled with gifts from the city. Today is Tuesday.
She squints and shakes her head. “We’re not expecting anyone.”
My heart somersaults. Maybe it’s Salvatore? Is he here to pick me up? I can’t hide the smile and Alessandra looks curiously at me. I don’t know what the future will bring, except for one thing: something has changed between us, something vital that has turned everything on its head. I’m not being rational, I shouldn’t want him, but God, I long to feel his arms around me again.
“Guess we’ll see who it is.” I try to sound cool, but I can’t hide the tremor in my voice, Instead I turn to the kids and try to focus. They’re teaching me more Italian than I’m teaching them English, but I’m not their real teacher anyway and no one
minds. They’re having a blast with my pronunciation.
The sound of the women’s voices increases from the square. They’re gathering to start preparing lunch. The men and the teen boys are still far out on the fields. Suddenly there’s a smattering of dull pops from afar. I gasp. Alessandra freezes and the children gape.
“That’s—” says Alessandra.
That’s no engine misfiring. I know that sound painfully well. “Bambini! Vieni!” I shout and wave frantically for them to come with me.
Alessandra takes one kid in each of her hands, as do I, then we run toward the square where the rest of the women are gathering, upset voices permeating the air. Alessandra ushers the children to run to their moms.
“Go, go, go,” I say and push at Alessandra. “Take the kids and hide!”
She stares at me, wild-eyed. There’s a new smattering of shots. One of the women screams, several whimper, one girl starts crying soundlessly. Looking around her, Alessandra then grabs the closest woman, I think her name is Juliana, waves for the others to come closer and speaks rapidly, gesturing toward the hills, at me, the children and back to where the gunshots have been heard. The women nod and talk amongst themselves. Someone pats my shoulder. My heart is in my throat and I can’t stand still any longer. We’ve got to move now, or it will be too late.
A few of the older women take the children and the two younger teens and start running toward an alley, disappearing out of sight. Staying with us are five other women of various ages between their thirties and sixties.
“They’ve got to run too,” I say, panic climbing inside me.
“They’re staying. We’re not that easy to break, Chloe. Who do you think is coming?”
“Whoever it is, it’s got something to do with Lu—The reason why I’m here. I just know it.”
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