The past forty-eight hours have been an utter, total nightmare.
First Marcello gets arrested by the Feds right in front ofNonno’sgym. Then we find out Isobel is an undercover FBI agent tasked with taking my brother down for Father McDonagh’s murder.
My palm still stings from the slap I gave her when she had the nerve to walk into our house yesterday and confess her part in Marcello’s arrest. Still, she made good in the end and found a way to clear him of any liability.
Lucky’s boyfriend, Alejandro, also made his choice between God and this family. He chose us.
But if the stress of Marcello being detained in a federal building wasn’t enough, then my father getting shot the same day Marcello was released… that was the nail in my coffin.
We’ve been holed up all night at Mercy Hospital, waiting for news, praying he survives surgery.
Everyone is a wreck.
But I’ve kept it together.
I had to.
Because if I give into fear, I will lose my mind.
My dad can’t die. He just can’t. Our family doesn’t make sense without him. And I don’t even want to think about the repercussions of forcing Marcello to becomeCapo dei Capibefore he’s ready. War would break out among the families. And if that happens, none of us are safe.
No.
My dad can’t die.
He just can’t.
He won’t.
My phone vibrates again, Kirill’s name lighting up the screen. I hit ignore for what feels like the hundredth time today. Apparently, news travels fast in the underground world, alerting all the big families that the Outfit’s boss is currently lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. I know Kirill’s nonstop calls have nothing to do with theBratvasending us their hopes and prayers, that he’s just desperate to hear my voice, desperate to know if I’m okay, but I’m the furthest thing from being okay.
And if I answer…if I hear even one second of his voice…I’ll break.
And if I break, I’m done for.
I lean my head back against the wall and take in my siblings, all looking exhausted, hollow-eyed, barely hanging on by thread.
Just a few days ago we were celebrating Annamaria’s sweet sixteen. Even Mina and Jude flew home for it.
Now look at us.
Coiled tight.
One wrong breath away from cracking.
“Stella,” Anna whispers, her eyes swollen and red from crying. “What time is it?”
I glance at the screen and see that it’s a quarter to three in the morning, and that I have twelve new missed calls. Eighteen new texts. All from Kirill.
“It’s late,” I reply. “You should try to sleep.”
“I can’t. I… can’t.”
“Shh.” I pull her head into my lap, brushing her hair back, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay. Dad will get out of this. You’ll see.” Her body trembles so violently I have to wrap my arms fully around her. “It’s okay, Anna. I swear it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she cries, pulling upright, panic dulling her pretty angelic face. “Don’t you see, Stella? This was what I always feared would happen. If we continued with the family business. It was all but inevitable. Today it was our father, but it could have been any one of our dads. It could have been Jude. Or Marcello. Or you, Stella. It could have been you,” she says, her voice cracking at the end as she clings to me, sobbing and terrified.
I hold her tighter, whispering words of comfort into her hair.
