I turn my head and see Valerio a few feet away. Blood pours from a gash above his brow. He’s dragging himself toward me, palm stretched out, panic etched into his face.
“Bea—”
The sound barely reaches me. His mouth keeps moving, but the ringing won’t let the words through.
The heat is too close. The smoke is choking. My lungs fight for air that won’t come fast enough. I blink hard, my vision fracturing at the edges?—
And then he’s there.
Valerio throws his body over mine, shielding me from falling glass, from whatever chaos is still tearing through the parking lot. My cheek is pressed to the ground, his weight crushing me protectively.
Are there more explosions? I don’t know. Fear locks my body in place, heavy and paralyzing.
The next minutes break apart into fragments.
Flashing lights. Shouting. Someone pulling at my arm, asking if I can stand. I nod, though my body feels disconnected, like I’m watching this happen to someone else.
Valerio is yelling now, refusing a stretcher, blood smeared across his face. When his eyes find mine, they’re wide with guilt. With knowing.
Cold dread slides through me, slow and inevitable.
It’s him.
They load us into the ambulance. Oxygen over my face. Ice pressed to my skin. Voices asking questions I may or may not answer correctly. My heart won’t slow.
As the doors begin to close, I see him.
Standing at the edge of the crowd. Still. Watching.
Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. A calm smile curves his mouth, satisfied. My heart spikes so violently the EMTs panic.
“Ma’am?” Her voice sounds far away.
I don’t look at her. I can’t.
I watch him mouth the words, hear them inside my skull like a promise.
Ciao, cara mia.
Giacomo.
29
MATTEO
Daniele sits across from me in the office—tall, sharp-jawed, already twice the man I was at his age.
He’sa week into his capo training, and he’s been doing well for the most part. He has that grit in him, but he’ll need to unlock a more savage version if he truly wants to survive in this world.
And he will.
I’m about to go over tomorrow’s agenda when my phone buzzes on the desk. I look down at a number I don’t recognize, but I answer it anyway.
“Yes?”
“Is this Mr. Davacalli?” a male voice asks on the other end.
I sit up a little straighter in my leather seat. “Yes. Who is this?”
