Chapter 106
One week since I’d given the order.
One week since I’d unleashed the Marcello family on the streets of New York with orders to take no prisoners.
One week since I’d declared war on the Rossetti family.
I sat at the head of the long table, trying to force myself to eat.
The rest of the table’s occupants were having no such qualms, it seemed. Vanessa and Eli were deeply engaged in a conversation that had them both smiling so wide, it should’ve made me grin, too.
But how could I grin when my heart was so cold?
Further down, Nonna and Melissa were comparing notes on meatloaf and asparagus, trading tips so fast, I couldn’t have kept up if I’d tried. Somehow, they were eating around all those words, too.
But how could I eat when I’d personally given the order for death, for killing—for war? When I’d sent my own family out to hunt down my enemy? When Aldo wasn’t here to watch me do it.
I wasn’t the one meant to give that order, to sit at this seat.
Aldo should have been here, commanding attention even in moments of silence. A king on a throne, a born leader. He’d have been smiling right along with his mother, our son.
Now, he was confined to his bed, and the weight of the family sat squarely on my shoulders. A week ago, I’d declared to the world that I wasn’t afraid to carry that weight.
It was a lie.
I was terrified. I spent every waking moment in tensed horror that Carlo would come to me with news—that a raid had turned bloody, that men had died, that the Rossettis had struck back harder than we’d anticipated.
I lifted my fork, speared a bite of perfectly tenderized meat. Clearly, Nonna and Melissa—still chatting away like the best of friends—had put more than a little time and effort into this. I should try to enjoy it.
But my brain wouldn’t focus.
There had been reports, certainly. Marcello men had stormed neighborhood after neighborhood with orders to find the Rossettis and make them bleed.
They’d turned over nearly every stone on the street.
Invaded homes, flipped cars, even sussed out alleys and sewers. And … nothing. The days turned into long, cold nights, and one thing had quickly become very clear: the Rossettis were better at hiding than we’d realized.
Businesses were empty. Safehouses abandoned. Even their most loyal foot soldiers had disappeared.
“They knew we were coming,” Carlo had growled to me on that first night when he returned, frustrated and empty-handed. “They’ve gone into hiding.”
Sure.
Hiding.
Fuck that. Ethan had been right—Rossetti had wanted us to retaliate. To come after him like bloodthirsty hounds salivating after a scared rabbit. He’d wanted us to do exactly what we were doing.
He was laughing at us, from some lofty safehouse above the city. Waiting. Biding his time while he planned something worse. But … what?
“What do you think, Layla?” Nonna’s query had me pulling my head out of my proverbial ass to stare down the table where the two older women were now turned towards me.
Expecting an answer to some kind of question I clearly hadn’t heard.
“Um.”
“They’re talking about Eli’s birthday,” Vanessa said, her tone half patience and half amusement. “They want to throw him a big party, since he’s turning ten.”
“A party!” I exclaimed, and I almost couldn’t reconcile such a civilian word—something so lighthearted and fun and normal—with the dark world I’d occupied far too long.
“Life must go on,” Melissa said, smooth as silk. “Even in war.”
“How many times does your only son turn ten?” Nonna added, smiling softly at me.
“C’mon.” Vanessa regarded me with those intense emerald eyes, and I felt myself caving. “We could all use a little fun. Festivity. A break from the doom and gloom.”
“What do you think, Eli?” I asked, turning my gaze finally to my son. He’d been silent this whole time. Fork down, eyes up, watching the exchange of women.
He’d added nothing to the conversation—no plead or protest. And that alone wrung my heart dry. He’d gotten so used to following orders, doing what he was told, taking what he was given, asking for nothing more …
What kind of life was this I’d thrust my only child into?
“We’re having a party,” I decided.
And so, another uneventful week later, the estate transformed into a celebration. Colored tents dotted the wide lawn, and paper lanterns swung in colorful strings from the gardens. Tables overflowed with food, and a live band had taken up residence on the balcony.
Laughter filled the air.
Like there wasn’t a silent war being fought beyond our wrought-iron gates. Like the streets of New York weren’t primed for a bloodbath, ready to explode in violence. Like Rossetti wasn’t up in some ivory tower, looking down on us all and plotting our demise.
No, it was peaceful. Happy. Perfection.
A reminder of why I fought so hard to protect my family.
I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching a group of children race through the yard. Eli was among them, smiling. Looking for all the world like any of the other kids.
Normal.
Human.
Young.
For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to revel in this moment of domestic bliss.
“You did good,” a familiar voice murmured behind me. A familiar, and so very welcome voice.
I turned, and there he was. Aldo. Looking for all the world like himself despite the fact that Carlo had wheeled him out in a chair. Dark circles beneath his eyes illustrated his exhaustion, but his smile was genuine.
The way he watched our son with joy in his eyes, that was genuine, too.
I twined my fingers through his, squeezed. “It’s so fucking good to see you. But I don’t know if your doctor cleared you to be out here?”
His dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Doctors don’t know everything.”
“This one does.”
He lifted my hand to kiss my fingers. “She thinks she does, anyway. And mostly, she’s right. But not this time.”
“Well.” I pulled a chair over beside him so I could sit at his level. “I guess I’m not entirely upset you’ve disobeyed orders this time.”
“You missed me.”
I tilted my head down onto his shoulder. “I missed you so much. It’s been … it’s been so hard, Aldo.”
“I know, baby.” His fingers twined through my hair to massage soothing circles against my scalp. “I know, baby. But you’ve done so well. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“Should you be?” I asked, my voice tired, ragged. “Should you be proud of what I’ve become? Or should we both be ashamed of what we are?”
“You’ve been talking to Ethan again, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been talking to a lot of people,” I admitted. “And at the end of the day, I always come back to the same question: What would I do to protect the people I love.”
“And the answer is always the same,” Aldo said, his voice a low murmur. “Anything. Everything. Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes,” I agreed. “Whatever it takes.”
