“She’s just some bitch that you’ll fuck and forget. But she won’t forget. We don’t need her going to the police. You should have had the huevos to put a bullet in her head. I have no problem doing that.”
“You say I don’t have the balls to do it, yet you think I’m going to fuck her. It’s been my experience that you need one—both—to do the other. It also means I’ll put a bullet between your eyes like I did Carlos. Put your gun down.”
I’m still walking toward Olivia and Arturo. I’m watching Manuel, who’s standing on the other side of Olivia’s car with a gun pointed at her. My gun is pointed at him. If I see his trigger finger even twitch, I’ll shoot. I can see Olivia in my peripheral vision, and her terror is obvious. But the closer I step, the more I realize she’s actually afraid for me. She thinks they’ll kill me. It would be a grave mistake for them to kill the Cosa Nostra’s next don. I may not take that position for a few more decades, but I will.
Manuel smirks at me before delivering his lame comeback.
“I’d like to see you try.”
I know my men are in position. They were already calling out who they’d each target before our cars stopped. They each have a man to focus on. I swing to point my gun toward Arturo and squeeze the trigger. Before the bullet even reaches his skull, I pivot and do the same thing to Manuel. Arturo falls and brings Oliva down with him. She screams and tries to scramble away while my men take care of the other Mexicans. A shootout on a Connecticut highway is hardly ideal, and I can already hear sirens from passersby calling the cops. I sprint to Olivia and pull her into my arms.
“Shh, piccolina.”
I scoop her up and carry her to the SUV I rode in. There are three others with enough room for the two guys who rode in the back with me to find seats in a different one. I help her into the backseat before I climb in. I holstered my gun as I ran to her, but I pull it out again as the car door slams behind me. I put it on the seat next to me and lift her onto my lap.
“It’s all right, Livy. I’m here now. I never should have sent you off on your own. I’m sorry.”
“All right? It’s never going to be all right. I’ve witnessed two shootouts and seen at least a dozen men die in the past two days. I may as well give up now. There is no way I’m going to survive this.”
I grasp her shoulders and push her away from my chest, giving her a little shake.
“Do not say that. Not ever. You will not give up. I won’t let you.”
The vehemence in my voice shocks me, but I hate the idea that this life of violence has come anywhere near her, and I loathe the idea that it will defeat her. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She had so much fight in her last night, and now she seems a shadow of the woman I met less than twenty-four hours ago. For some inexplicable reason, I need to bring that strength and courage back to her. There’s something I can’t name that draws me to her. She’s a stranger, so it’s utterly ridiculous.
Five months ago, I was trying to arrange a marriage with the Chicago don’s daughter. I loved her no more than anyone would love a bad case of the flu, but it would’ve been an advantageous deal to strengthen the Cosa Nostra from the East Coast to the Midwest. I wasn’t heartbroken when it fell through. I was more pissed by the consequences of going behind Uncle Salvatore’s back and getting the bratva from Russia involved with the New York bratva. The Chicago woman was pretty and intelligent, but she did nothing for me. The woman on my lap—she’s doing everything to me.
“Only because you’re worried I’ll go to the police, too, Luca. You wouldn’t care otherwise.”
I tuck hair behind her ear, so I can lean in and whisper. Our town cars and limos have privacy glass, but our SUVs don’t. I don’t need my driver listening in.
“I can’t name what’s driving me to protect you. But I can tell you that worrying about you going to the police isn’t it. You were so brave last night. I know it scared you shitless, but there was so much defiance in you when I caught you. Then there was so much resilience as I explained what you needed to do. The idea of that going away—that this shitshow extinguished any of that—I can’t stand it.”
“But why? Why does that matter? You say you can’t name it, but there has to be a reason.”
“Fate.”
She stares at me, but I pull her back against my chest and kiss the top of her head.
“Rest, piccolina. We’ll talk when we’re somewhere safe.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my house.”
I feel her freeze, then she inhales a shaky breath. It surprises me when I feel her body go lax against mine. I glance down to find she shut her eyes as she burrows closer. She draws her legs up and tucks her arms between us as though she’s curling into a protective ball.
“Livy, I’m going to protect you. Relax and sleep, little girl.”
“First it’s piccolina. Now it’s Livy. Why the pet names as though I’m someone special to you?”
I tip her chin up and gaze into the plain brown eyes. They’re a disappointing shade after seeing her natural color. It doesn’t stop me from pressing a soft kiss to her lips. The words slip from my mouth, and I have no explanation for where they come from.
“No one is more special to me.”
Her eyes well with tears before she presses an equally soft kiss to my lips. Then she burrows against me again. The vehicle is silent except for the radio, which my driver keeps low, all the way back into the city.
My house in Queens is modest compared to my uncle’s, but it suits me as a bachelor who never entertains. The only people who come over regularly are my brothers, Lorenzo and Marco, and Marco’s best friend, Matteo. My little sister, Maria, comes by the least, but I enjoy her company the most. My brothers and Matteo usually come to discuss work. My home is my sanctuary, and I insist that my office is the only place where our Mafia life permeates my otherwise peaceful place. I say it’s modest because it only has four bedrooms compared to the mansion Uncle Salvatore and Aunt Sylvia own. But I still have a gate with bodyguards to patrol the grounds.
“Wake up, Livy. We’re home.”
Not we’re at my home. Just home. Why on Earth does that sound right to me? Did all that Sicilian sun bake my brain? For my royal fuck up with the Chicago deal, Uncle Salvatore sentenced me, Carmine, and Gabriele to working at a Sicilian winery. Life at that vineyard was a hard labor camp, not a vacation, despite how the Kutsenkos taunt me about it. Eighteen—sometimes twenty—hour days, working outside among the vines. The owner was a sick bastard. He enjoyed beating Carmine, Gabriele, and me. He knew we wouldn’t fight back. He knew we wouldn’t complain to Uncle Salvatore.
That’s exactly why Uncle Salvatore sent us there as our punishment. I doubly deserved it, and I can accept that now. I allowed Carmine to influence me, and I contributed to the shit that put Anastasia Kutsenko in the hospital then got her kidnapped. I don’t want to think about that anymore, but it’s constantly on my mind. That must be why I feel so driven to protect Livy. I need to redeem myself more than I realized.
“Where are we?”
Livy rubs her eyes as she looks out the window. It took nearly a half an hour, but she fell into a deep sleep.