“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
I lift us off the floor and carry her to the couch. She buries her nose into the side of my neck, breathing softly against my skin.
I try to stay calm as I settle her onto my lap, but only a few hours ago I had my gun pointed at his head. I should have taken the shot. I should have ended it all right then and there.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my neck, her voice small and broken.
“You did nothing wrong. I’ll take care of both of you. I promise you that, my love.”
I don’t move, letting her rest as long as she can. And if I’m honest, fury coils tight in my chest—at Giacomo, and at my second. I need answers. He should have told me about that encounter at the park. His duty to this syndicate is to protect me—and by extension, my wife and child.
I know Valerio. He’s not the kind of man to make careless mistakes. So I have to believe he had good reason.
Seconds bleed into minutes as we sit in the thick silence. Her head rests in the crook of my neck, her body curled into mine for comfort. I run my hand up and down her spine absently as I watch the New York skyline darken. The lights flicker on one by one until the sky is swallowed in night.
When I’m sure she’s fully asleep, I carefully move her and lay her back on the thick leather. She stirs a little, but doesn’t wake. I grab a blanket and tuck it around her, then check on my son before slipping out of the penthouse.
The door barely clicks shut behind me before I have the phone pressed to my ear. It rings twice.
“Where are you?” I ask, my voice flat.
“Fifteenth and Corso. By the garage—”
“Don’t move.” I step into the elevator and shut the door, trying—failing—to contain my anger.
I drive like a man possessed toward the garage. The stretch between my building and the garage is a blur. Rage is the only thing steering me.
I spot my second leaning against his sleek SUV, smoking a cigarette. I slam my car to a stop beside his and get out, fury propelling me forward. He straightens the moment he sees me, and I watch the smile drain off his face when he registers my mood.
“Matteo—”
I don’t let him finish. My fist connects with his jaw—hard. He stumbles back, catches himself on the SUV door, and rubs the spot I just struck.
“The fuck is wrong with you?!” I snarl, stepping toward him.
“Jesus—what?—”
“Where were you?!” My voice explodes out of me. “He got to her, Valerio! He got to my wife. Your duty is to protect her at all costs—that’s the job I gave you—so why the hell was he able to get within a hundred feet of her? You failed at the boutique all those years ago, and now again.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. That day is a permanent red stain in his history, one he still punishes himself for.
“Boss…”
I want to calm down. I want to rein in the wave.
But I can’t.
“And what’s worse,” I seethe, “is you didn’t even tell me this happened. You hid it from me, and I had to hear it from that gloating prick.”
Valerio stills with his hand at his jaw, blood beading at the corner of his mouth. But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t protest, doesn’t raise a single excuse. He just stares at me.
Regret etches into every line of his expression. I see the heaviness of it. The shame. The weight.
“She asked me not to,” he finally says, his voice low. “Bea was scared. She wanted to protect you.”
Of course it would’ve been her idea. My stubborn. Brave. Infuriatingly self-sacrificing wife.
“What?” I snap, my breath going hard in my chest. “You followmyorders—not my wife’s.”
