I picked my phone up from the nightstand to check the time.
7:46.
But there was also a missed call.
Liza.
I didn’t have time to deliberate between calling her back now or later because my phone started ringing.
“Bella!” Liza’s voice filled the room just as her face filled my screen.
“Gus was over at the bar last night, and he was rambling about Giovanni dying and shit,” she rushed. “I shot you a DM immediately, but you didn’t reply. So I called. Tell me it’s not true. He was shot, but he’s okay, right?”
Her frantic speech made it harder for me to attempt speaking casually like I’d been doing for days.
I swallowed, breathing out through my mouth.
If the way her eyes widened and her scared expression were any indication, my reaction was a clear tell that what she hoped wasn’t the case.
“Today is the funeral,” I divulged.
Her wide-open mouth contrasted with her shut eyes as she made a sound somewhere between a cry and a wail.
“No! No! Giovanni is dead?!” she blubbered.
I had to look away from her tearful eyes. I had done more than enough crying.
“I’m so sorry, Bella. I can’t begin to imagine…” She broke off again.
“It’s fine,” I claimed, sniffling.
“Was it really a hit?” she asked, her voice steadier.
“Yes.”
“Who was it?”
“The Bratva, of course.”
“Bratva? But why? He worked with them right beside your dad. What reason would they have to kill him?”
Liza and I have been friends for years, and our families’ affiliations with the mafia were one of our common grounds. She understood how things worked in the underground world.
“I don’t know. And, really, I don’t care. One thing’s for sure. I will avenge him.”
“I’ve got your back, babe. But be careful. I’ll be in New York in a week or so.”
“Yeah,” I breathed.
“You sure you’re okay? You know you can always join me here in Moscow, just say the words.”
“I’m fine, Liza,” I insisted, nodding at her.
“Okay,” she replied, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Take care, girl.”
“Gotta go. Can’t be late.”
“Sure. Call me anytime you want to talk, okay?”
