That was my fear.My curse.The belief that caring about someone meant watching them die.
But Serena is alive.Safe.Waiting for me back in Boston with Maeve and the rest of our family.
And Cesare Dellamare will never hurt anyone again.
“Get him to the airstrip,” I tell Ray, nodding toward Giovanni.“We’re taking him back to Boston for trial.”
“What about the scumbag?”Ray gestures toward Cesare’s corpse.
“Call the cleaners.Incinerate the motherfucker and scatter his ashes.”I turn away, already dismissing the dead man from my thoughts.“He doesn’t deserve burial honors.”
33
Serena
The restaurant Isabella chose for lunch is a quiet Italian place in the Back Bay, the kind of establishment where the owner knows your family name and the waitstaff disappears until you need them.Private booths with high backs.White tablecloths.The scent of fresh bread and simmering tomato sauce reminds me of our grandmother’s kitchen in Varese.
I arrive first, sliding into the booth and ordering sparkling water while I wait.My hands are steady, but my heart is not.In a few hours, our father will stand trial before the Syndicate founders.And everything our family has built will implode.
And I’m the one who set the demolition charges.
Isabella appears at precisely noon, her golden hair, the same shade as Mom’s, is swept back in an elegant twist.Her designer dress is modest.At twenty-two, she’s already mastered the art of looking like a DiLorenzo daughter—poised, beautiful, and untouchable.But I see the shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders that mirrors my own.
“Serena.”She slides into the booth across from me and reaches for my hand.Her grip is tight, her voice tense as she murmurs, “Are you okay?Joe told me that Dad kidnapped you.That’s so…” She trails off as if searching for words to describe my ordeals.
“Fucked up?”I supply.
“Exactly.”Her dark eyes meet mine.
The waiter approaches, and we order without looking at menus.Caprese salad.Gnocchi in butter.Food we’ve been eating together since childhood, comfort in familiar flavors.
When we’re alone again, Isabella leans forward.“Tell me everything.I’m sure Joe gave me a filtered version.He’s always shielding me from life.”
I nod, agreeing with her tone that states Joe’s attempts are useless.He’s doing Isabella a disservice with that kind of behavior.
As we eat, I tell her about the evidence I gathered.The manifests that prove Dad was tracking human beings like cattle.
“Remember Lucia Rossi?”I ask.
My sister sets the fork beside her plate, frowning.“Of course.I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“We rescued her from one of Dad’s cells.”
Her dark eyes tear up.I cover her hand with mine, squeezing it.“I know.There’s a lot to process.You sure you want to hear it all?”
“I need to,” she whispers.“Nikolai told me he’s been tracking down a group of nasty men.He never mentioned Dad was one of them.”
I hold her gaze for a moment, unable to hold in a smile.“Nikolai, huh?”
She waves her hand, dismissive.“That’s a whole different story for another time.Forget I mentioned him.”
“Sorry.Can’t do that.My little sister and the smoking-hot Bratva heir?That’s too juicy.So no more waiting for your wedding night?”I tease her.
“Will you finish your story if I promise to tell you mine afterward?”
“Deal.”
So, I tell her about Father’s dungeon, the chains, the video he showed me of Shelby with another woman.The frustration I experienced when I realized it was a deepfake, something I should have recognized but didn’t because I was too broken to think clearly.
