She nodded quickly. “I-I’ll go home since you’re off to Glendale tomorrow. Baseball training, ri-right?”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the imprint my fingers left on her neck. She stiffened. “Be available when I call you,” I whispered. “I’ll need you again.”
Rain Howard shivered but burrowed close anyway. “Enzo …” Her lips brushed my skin, tentative at first, then urgent, almost frantic. She kissed me again, soft, needy. And in between kisses, her words spilled. “I don’t … understand your anger. All this time, I thought Vassili stole the belt from your father.”
Another kiss.
Her breath trembled against my jaw as she forced out the truth. “Louis ‘the Legion’ Gotti tookhisbelt.”
At her words, the fight that haunted me surged forward, jagged images filling blanks in my mind. The cage. The lights. The crowd. Vassili’s face. Papa’s shadow.
Her lips traced the line of my jaw. “Th-the fight was the same night you were born, Enzo. I can show it to you online. Your father … won.” She kissed me harder, like each heavy press bound me to the words. The truth. “I think we should go home now, Lorenzo. W-we s-should leave their family alone. Your dad stole—won Vassili Resnov’s belt. Your dad … won. Did you know that?”
As her lips sought to tease my jaw more, I forced my mouth against hers. Rough, punishing, desperate. Then I tore away andgrowled against her lips. “Yes. My mama went into labor that night.”
I waited. Waited for her to call me crazy, doubt me. To turn me into the liar of my own life story.
But she didn’t.
She stitched up words, her voice shaky and loyal, desperate. “Vassili made it seem like Gotti robbed him.”
Not technically true. Vassili never commented on their match after the fight-night interview, where he said he’d rework his strategy. But I appreciated her attempt to side with me. She hadn’t placed herself into the situation. Still, she was no Natasha. Natasha believed with her whole heart. Her compassion was pure.
Rain? Rain Howard made the offer not out of love, but for survival.
She kissed me again, clinging to me like I was oxygen and her executioner. “Fans believed Louis didn’t deserve the belt. He beat Vassili fair and square … and Vassili’s fans complained.”
I muttered another affirmative. She nailed it this time. Although Mama’s face was lost to me, I still remembered what she’d said. Mama used to say that the first time Papa hit her was the night he wonthatfight—the one that earned him a Resnov’s belt. She’d been pregnant. With me. The blows sent her into labor. The thing was … she just didn’t understand. He wanted to meet me a little sooner—two months early. That was all.
After that, all he cared about was proving he deserved the belt. Resnov fans wanted a rematch. And then my father’s fans doubted him. Louis trained harder, fought harder, hit harder. There was nothing left for me and Mama. No time. No love. Just pure dedication to the game.
It was obvious: Vassili Resnov’s actions cost me a relationship with my parents.
And now, Rain, with her desperate kisses and frantic devotion, wanted to keep me tethered. I just felt so far away from Natasha. Rain patched holes. Natasha filled them.Rainita Howardwanted me alive … fleeing the scene. Natasha made me want to live … and get justice for Papa.
19
NATASHA
“I miss … my pop.”I gritted out, fingers clutching the top of the banister while morning light streamed into the massive two-story windows.
Below, from the foyer,Vassiliglared up at me. “Who the hell am I ?”
“I’m getting too old to argue with you.” I paused just as Momma entered the sprawling foyer, stilettos clicking against marble.
“I’m tired of the bickering,” Momma complained.
Vassili raised his hands.
“You’re not innocent.” She rounded on him. “Does this situation seem familiar? Me arguing with my dad from the top of the staircase … Was that how it went down?”
“Nyet. I remember your dad standing up there like f—friggen King of Los Angeles—Chief of the LAPD. All of his cronies around, ready to place a big fat slug between my eyes.”
“Oh, that guy. Maxwell was it?” I snorted. “I recall Anatoly, vaguely. But I get it, Vassili.” I had crossed the line by allowing my thoughts to materialize when calling Pop by his name, and a vein stuck out of his neck. “Grandpa Maxwell should’ve beenone of the good guys. He stood behind a badge that should’ve counted for something … until he tried to kill your relationship with my momma.” I glared down at him. “Hello? Does that sound familiar?”
Mouth corded in anger, he growled, “Nyet.”
“I’m moving out.”
