Chapter 88

The soft hum of voices and the darkly sweet scent of coffee blended into a comforting warmth as I stepped into the coffee shop. It was late in the afternoon, but the place was still purring with activity—college-aged folks set up with laptops, small groups of friends, a bookworm here and there.

It was the perfect setting for my meeting.

Especially since Ethan sat in the back corner of the coffee shop, perched at a tiny round table behind a massive cup of coffee. He was almost unidentifiable in civilian clothes, nary a badge or patch in sight.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he carried a gun.

Still, I slid into the seat across from him, nodded my greeting. “Ethan.” Oh how I wanted to use his proper name. Matteo.

“Aldo.” My brother’s gaze tracked across my face, curious and wary. “I admit, I was surprised to get your text.”

I folded my arms atop the polished wood tabletop, laced my fingers together. “I thought it was time we had a talk. About the future.”

“What future?” Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You and I both know we’re on opposite sides of … pretty much everything. But especially the law.”

And morality, he didn’t say. Maybe those were my secret words. Maybe that’s why I was here. I sighed. “I don’t want that to be the case anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Ethan’s brow furrowed in clear confusion. I guessed I couldn’t blame him. I almost couldn’t believe I was about to speak the next handful of words.

“I’m saying I want to clean things up.” I lowered my voice so there was no chance of being overheard. “For Layla. For Eli. I don’t want my son growing up in the world I did—the way I did. And that means finding a way to do things differently.”

Ethan sat back against the wall, his brows lifted in surprise. “Well. I was not expecting that.”

“I know, right?” I huffed a laugh. “But when you love someone …”

“But it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just stop being a criminal, Aldo. Wipe the slate clean and start over.”

My jaw tightened almost painfully. “I’m not asking for a free pass. I’m asking if there’s a way forward—some kind of reconciliation between my family and law enforcement.”

Ethan let out a dry laugh. “And what? You expect me to go back to my precinct and tell them you suddenly want to play nice? That you’re willing to work with the police?”

“What if I traded information? What if …” I couldn’t believe I was about to speak the next words. “What if I traded myself for Layla and Eli’s immunity?”

Ethan stared at me, his jaw slightly slack. “You’d do that? For her?”

“For the woman I love,” I said, utterly unwavering, “I would do anything and everything.”

Ethan watched me again, his expression unreadable, assessing. “This is because of the new Fed, isn’t it? What’s his name …”

“Carter,” I said, because I wasn’t going to withhold anything from Ethan, not when I was asking him for a favor of this magnitude—one that could so deeply affect my family’s future.

Still, I shook my head. “No, it’s not because of him. It’s because Layla’s struggling to find her footing straddling both worlds. It’s because I’m afraid Eli is becoming too sure-footed in my world.”

Ethan sighed, dragged a hand through his dark hair in exactly the same way I did, and I couldn’t help but see Matteo so clearly and plainly it made my chest hurt. He was my brother, and yet, he was so different from the brother I’d known, grown up with.

“Aldo … I would love to help Layla. I really would. But I can’t be associated with a known criminal. I’m a cop.”

I reigned in my sigh of frustration. I knew he’d resist the offer. Ethan was a good cop, through and through. His affection for Layla was the only reason he was here, listening at all.

I was a fool to think there was any way he might help me.

“Aldo.” Ethan leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table. The table was small, so it brought him close enough for me to discern the light marbling in his dark eyes. My brother’s eyes. “Unless you’re willing to cut ties with everything illegal, I can’t help you.”

So much meaning buried beneath those simple words. Sure, there were the obvious things—under-the-table deals, no more money laundering, no more enforcers handling business in the shadows. No more fighting, no more weapons or guns.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was Carlo. My mother. My brothers not by blood. Men and women I’d grown up with or been raised by. Family as much as friends. It was my money, my way of life. The lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to—that my wife and son had grown accustomed to.

Hadn’t I promised Eli just days ago that anything he wanted to do or learn, I’d see that he got it?

“Yeah.” Ethan stood, taking his coffee with him. “Not so simple, is it, Marcello?”

He was gone before I could answer. It left me with a bitter burn against my tongue and a heavy weight on my shoulders. If I truly wanted to change things, to get out of this world and this life, it wouldn’t come easy.

---

I entered my study to find Carlo already there, seated behind the desk. Helping himself to my carefully aged whiskey. He spoke without turning as I entered. “Luca told me you had a meeting with the cop.”

I nudged the door closed behind me with my shoulders. Leaned against it. “And?”

Carlo turned, his expression dark. “And I think you’re making a mistake.”

Of course he did. Carlo was a good man, my best friend—more a brother to me than even Matteo had ever been. Carlo was my right arm. And yet, he was a Mafia man, through and through.

I let out a frustrated breath. “I’m trying to protect my family, Carlo. Layla doesn’t want this life for Eli. Hell, I don’t want this life for Eli.”

Carlo took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “And you think Ethan is the answer? He’s a cop, Aldo. He can’t help you.”

My jaw clenched at his use of my second name. Not Vas, Aldo. He only used that name when he disapproved of whatever I was doing.

“No, he can’t,” I admitted. “But I had to try. I had to …”

“Had to, what?” Carlo kicked his feet up onto the second chair, leaned back to look at me. “What could you possibly have to give that cop to make him listen? There’s only one reason the cops ever work with criminals.”

I stepped off the wall, keeping my voice low and steady. “If you think I’d ever betray anyone in this family, you’re very much mistaken, Carlo.”

“So, what then?” Carlo crossed his arms. He was drunk, I realized. This was hardly his first glass of whiskey. “You’ll trade … other information?”

“I want to find ways to make the business legitimate,” I said. I nudged his feet from my chair and sat. I’d never hidden anything from Carlo, and I wasn’t about to start now. Besides, it wasn’t like anything would ever stay secret around him.

He was my right hand, and my tzar of information, was he not?

“Legitimate?” Carlo’s brows shot skyward. “The fuck does that even mean? This family was built on blood and violence, runs on maintaining that power in whatever way necessary. You start talking to cops, or start trying to clean up, you’re going to lose the respect of the men who built this empire with you.”

“And if I don’t?” I ran a hand down my face. “Then what? We keep running until there’s no place left to hide?”

Carlo’s gaze hardened. “We do what we’ve always done. We fight. We survive. You act like the Mafia hasn’t been around for generations.”

Silence filled the room, tension crackling between us. I’d never fought with Carlo like this. Sure, we’d had our disagreements from time to time, and he’d never held back his true feelings for any of my decisions or courses of action.

But never had we disagreed on something so foundational.

I stood.

Turned my back and walked away.

Was it the wrong move? Maybe. Maybe I was burning the most important bridge I’d ever built, that I’d spent a lifetime building.

But I knew this was a foundation that wouldn’t crack. That couldn’t—or who I was as a person would come crumbling down around me.