But the garden...
The garden is where I’ve poured my soul. Where I’ll propose to my wife tomorrow night. Where I’ll finally give her the moment she deserved from the beginning.
Luna approaches, her breath visible in the cold night air. “It’s perfect,” she says softly, looking around at our handiwork. “She’s going to cry.”
“Good tears, I hope,” I mutter, adjusting a strand of lights for the hundredth time.
“The best kind.” Luna smiles, then shivers. “We should head inside. It’s freezing out here.”
I nod, taking one last look. The archway stands ready, draped in lights and winter roses. The path is lined with candles in glass lanterns, waiting to be lit. The bench where I’ll propose sits beneath a canopy of twinkling stars; both real and man-made.
Inside, the men are gathering their coats, looking exhausted, yet oddly proud.
“Thank you,” I tell them, voice low but firm. “This stays between us until tomorrow night.”
A chorus of phones chimes at once.
The air shifts.
Everyone pulls theirs out. My eyes land on Romeo just as he freezes, screen aglow. He lifts the phone to his ear, face draining of color.
“Go,” I order, already moving. “The jet will be waiting.”
He nods once and bolts, no questions asked.
“What just happened?” Luna blurts, eyes wide.
Nico takes her hand. “We’re getting you home.”
“Home? AmIin danger?”
“No,” he says sharply. “But we’re leaving.Now.”
He glances at me.
I nod.
He takes Luna and disappears through the door just as my phone buzzes again.
Angelo.
“I heard,” I say, answering.
“All of them dead,” he clips. “It’s a fucking massacre.”
I exhale. “This wasn’t the Armenians, was it?”
“No. There’s been something brewing in Chicago for a while.”
“I sent Romero on the jet.”
“Send Marco too.”
I turn to Marco. “You’re with him.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He’s gone within seconds.
“I’m cutting the trip short,” Angelo starts, but I cut him off.
