"Damiano..." She doesn't say more, doesn't try to stop me. She understands what family means.
I slide out of bed, my muscles protesting after everything we've been through today. I dress quickly, pulling on black pants and a black shirt. Nothing that will show bloodstains.
"Will you be long?" she asks, pulling the sheet up to cover herself.
"Don't wait up." I strap on my shoulder holster, sliding my Beretta into place. The weight of the gun is familiar, comforting. "I'll be back before dawn."
She nods, a shadow crossing her face. "Be careful."
I lean down and kiss her hard, memorizing the taste of her lips. "I will, lupacchiotta."
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the warehouse in Red Hook. It's one of our secondary locations, used for situations like this. The kind that require privacy and soundproofing.
Enzo meets me at the door, his expression grim. "They're inside. Been waiting for you."
"Lucrezia?" I ask, checking my gun.
"The doctors gave her something to help her sleep." Enzo's jaw tightens. "She'll be out till morning."
Good. What I'm about to do isn't something I want my sister to know about. Some brutality is better kept in the shadows, even in our world.
"And Zoe?" he asks.
"At home."
We walk through the dim corridor, our footsteps echoing on the concrete. At the end of the hall, Alessio waits outside a metal door, smoking a cigarette.
"They're all yours," he says, stepping aside. "All the tools you requested are inside."
I nod, steeling myself for what comes next. Vengeance isn't always swift. Sometimes it needs to be slow. Methodical. A lesson written in pain and blood.
"No one disturbs me," I say, my voice hard as the concrete beneath my feet. "No matter what you hear."
Enzo and Alessio exchange glances but nod. They understand. This is family business.
I push open the door and step inside. Two men hang from chains in the center of the room, battered but conscious. They look up as I enter, and I see the moment recognition hits. The moment fear takes hold.
Good. They should be afraid.
I close the door behind me and roll up my sleeves.
"Gentlemen," I say, my voice eerily calm as I approach the table of tools. "Let's talk about my sister."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Iwake alone in Damiano's bed, my hand instinctively reaching for his warmth and finding only cold sheets. The events of yesterday crash over me in waves—Byron's death, the warehouse, Lucrezia's condition. My fingers drift to my stomach, to the tiny life growing inside me. A life created in spite of all this violence and pain.
I dress quickly and head downstairs, finding Ginerva in the kitchen. Her face looks drawn, the lines around her eyes deeper than usual.
"Has Damiano returned?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Not yet, signora." She presses a steaming mug of ginger teainto my hands.
The kindness in her gesture almost undoes me. "Thank you."
"Enzo called. He's at the hospital with Lucrezia. She's awake now."
My heart twists. "I need to see her."
