She moves in for a hug, but I stop her with a hand on her shoulder. “No bear hugs, Mamma. She’s hurt.”
Mamma frowns, immediately shifting into full-on fussing mode as she ushers Izzy inside, leaving me like yesterday’s leftovers.
“I’ll get the bags then!” I call after them, rolling my eyes. Not that there’s much. One of my guys grabbed clothes and essentials from the apartment while we were at the hospital—that’s all we’ve got.
Inside, Mamma’s home is exactly how I remember it—terracotta walls, oversized potted plants, and her eclectic collection of vintage furniture. It’s home.
I used to visit every couple of months. But it’s been a while. I’ve missed her.
“Are you here for business?” Mamma asks, lips pursed in disapproval. She’s always hated my role—hated that Papa pulled me into it.
“No, Mamma. No business this time.”
The relief on her face is palpable. Normally, I time my visits around meetings or deals—kill two birds with one stone. Over the years, I’ve spent more time back here in Italy than in New York. Mostly because my uncle—on Papa’s side—refuses to deal with anyone but me.
There’s a reason the Russo name is feared. It’s not just my father’s organization—myorganization.
Salvatore Russo.Il capo dei capi della Cosa Nostra.The boss of bosses. Feared. Revered. Anyone who’s anyone in the underworld knows our name.
While we don’t operate under the samebanner, there’s an alliance. One that requires my presence more often than not. In fact, it was during one of my longer stays here that Carina found me, needing a new identity.
After that, I came back every couple of months. I’d visit Mamma, handle business with Salvatore, and spend the rest of my time training Carina—shaping her into the lethal weapon she is now.
“You need to rest my darling girl, let’s get you settled in. I’ll whip up some ragu for dinner.”
Mamma’s fussing over Izzy brings a smile to my lips. She’s not even questioning why I’ve suddenly brought her with me, as if she somehow knew that this was inevitable.
Izzy gets ushered onto the couch; a blanket draped over her shoulders. She just lets Mamma do what she needs to.
I take a seat next to her, placing my palm on her thigh. Her hand covers mine, so I flip it, interlacing our fingers. She smiles shyly.
“Do you know who it was that broke in?” Izzy whispers after a while.
My body deflates, sinking into the seat. “It wasn’t them, but they were definitely sent by them.”
I don’t need to say who I mean bythem. We both know.
She blows out a breath. “I just want this to be over. This operation has taken longer than expected already.”
“Will you tell me about it? About Phoenix?” My voice is hushed, not wanting Mamma to hear our conversation.
Izzy glances around, frowning, then nods. “Later.”
Good enough. For now.
Izzy
“This was deliciousSignora Giuliana,” I say, twirling the last strands of spaghetti around my fork.
She waves a hand at me. “Call me, Mamma. You’ve known me long enough.”
A lump forms in my throat. Growing up, Enzo’s mamma always felt like home. My mamma died while giving birth to me; I never knew her. Giuliana always acted like I was a second child whenever I was at her house.
It hasn’t changed at all.
“How long will you both be staying?” she asks, her warm, sun-wrinkled face swinging between Enzo and me. Enzo gets most of his looks from his father—the dark hair, the green eyes. Giuliana, on the other hand, has blonde hair and dark brown eyes. But the way she expresses herself—that quiet confidence—is exactly the same as Enzo. It’s clear where he gets his mannerisms from.
“A few days—a week at most,” Enzo answers.
