He stepped closer.My body went back to last night, and the night before that, and the bone-deep understanding that desire in our world was not a soft thing.
“Come back to the study,” he said.“Andre’s already in the rafters.”
“And my father?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You’ll stand behind me…If he lies.”
“Of course.”
We walked back together.He didn’t take my hand.I didn’t offer it.The men gathered as if summoned.Maps bloomed across the desk.Addresses.Old permits.Property transfers.The florist—Casa dei Fiori—had changed hands twice on paper.Enrico assigned positions.
“North alley, Marco.You take the roofline with Andre.Two outside, two inside,” he said.“No shots unless necessary.We talk first.We take who we can.”
He glanced at me.“You do not move until I tell you.”
“Understood,” I said, and his mouth twitched because we both heard the lie.I was trying to be obedient, but not docile.
Catrina slipped in with tea that none of us drank.Her eyes bounced from his hands to my face to the map, making mental lists, building counter-weights.
At five to midnight, Enrico touched the back of my neck again, an anchor that would have unraveled me if I let it.“Last chance,” he said.“Say the word and you stay.”
I glanced up at him.“You married the wrong woman for that.”
His mouth did that almost-smile again, then didn’t.“I married exactly the right one.”
Marco and Andre became shadows.
Casa dei Fiori sat on the corner of a street.The awning hung like a tired sigh.We parked two blocks down.Walked.I shrugged Enrico’s coat tighter around me.He opened the florist’s door.
“Stay,” he said under his breath.
I nodded, but didn’t.We moved as a unit.Back room.Walk-in cooler door ajar, lip of frost glinting.A counter too clean.A ledger on its surface, open to a blank page and a single white envelope.My name on it.NotMoretti.Mia.
I didn’t think.I ripped it free.
“Mia—” Enrico warned.
I slid the page out.One sheet.Thin, old.Not a copy.The original.TheAssurance of Continuityaddendum.The signatures like scars.
Execute Plan C.
His father.
My vision went black at the edges, then hissed back in like a TV waking.Andre swore from the doorway.Marco didn’t speak at all.Behind us a compressor kicked on.
“Welcome to your end.”
The lights went out.
38
ENRICO
Darkness fell like a blade.Not gradual.Not forgiving.“Mia—down.”
I caught her shoulder, pulled her against me.The hum of the compressor deepened.
