“No. You’re coming with me,” Marcello says steadfastly, threading his fingers through hers and pulling her along.
“I don’t care, Dad! I’m going!” Lucky roars at the top of his lungs as we quicken our steps.
But to our surprise, when we reach the office, we find our entire family already gathered there in full force.Mammàand Annamaria sit on the couch, Anna biting the tip of her thumb as she stares at Lucky’s back. Enzo stands beside Lucky, his boyfriend Alejandro hovering close at his side. Our dads, Dom and Gio, stand next to our father, Vincent, while he remains seated in his chair, watching Lucky with painstaking focus, like he wishes he could ease whatever pain he’s in.
“Luciano, I know this is difficult to hear, but please, son…listen to reason.”
That only raises my hackles more.
Lucky is shouting at our father, and our father is the one trying to calmhimdown.
What the hell?
“Marcello, thank Christ,” Gio says. “Reason with your brother. He’s lost his mind.” But his hazel eyes hold the same pleading sorrow as my father’s.
“I’d love to, if someone would tell me what’s going on,” Marcello replies, placing a careful hand on Lucky’s shoulder.
I hold my breath, waiting for my idiot brother to swat it away. Instead, Lucky turns and collapses into Marcello’s chest, clutching him tightly.
“I have to go, Mar,” he chokes out. “Tell them. Explain it to them. Make them see there’s no way I can stay. She’s hurting, Mar. My girl is hurting. I have to go to her.”
“What happened to Frankie?!” I blurt out.
Oh my God. Did the compound get raided?
Did Misha’s enemies find out where he lived and invade his home?
Is Frankie in danger? Darius?Kirill?
Is Kirill in danger?!
I shove Marcello aside and grab Lucky by the shoulders, shaking him hard.
“What happened? What happened to Frankie? Is Kirill alright?” I demand, looking just as manic as he is.
Lucky stares at me with tears in his eyes, wiping them away before anyone else can see. My stomach drops, and my mind races through the worst possible nightmares.
But nothing…nothing…could have prepared me for what he says next.
“It’s not Frankie,” he chokes. “It’s Elena. She’s dead.”
“What?” I croak, my grip falling away as my legs wobble beneath me. “What did you just say?”
“She died, Stella. She’s dead. Elena died a few hours after giving birth,” he explains, his voice shredded. “Frankie called me an hour ago. She was hysterical. I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying. All I know is that Elena is dead.”
Tears burn in my eyes.
Not Elena.
Not sweet, thoughtful, kind Elena.
My mind flashes to the night we had dinner together, to the way she’d been nothing but gentle and warm with me.
Oh God… Misha.
He must be losing his mind right now. His wife was everything to him.
And the second Misha’s face appears in my thoughts, so does Kirill’s. He loved Elena like she was his own flesh and blood. He must be beside himself. They all must be.
