Turns out the Russians got creative. While we’ve been cozying up to the cartel, Kozlov formed his own little alliance with some motorcycle club from San Jose. The Devil’s Brood MC, according to our intel. Kozlov promised them a custom clubhouse and a fatstack of cash if they’d relocate to Vegas and play muscle for the Bratva until this war is over.
Smart bastard.
The bikers aren’t as organized as the cartel, but they’re vicious. Today they went straight for the family. Lorenzo and Dario were walking into their hotel when the ambush hit. If my uncle hadn’t insisted on traveling with security after what happened to Mia, they’d probably be dead right now.
“Your mom made it to the safehouse too,” Paige adds, and some of the tension bleeds out of my shoulders.
I wanted to collect Antonia myself, but she’s stubborn as hell. Told me to focus on getting Paige and the twins safe while her own security handled the rest. Sometimes I forget she grew up in this life just like the rest of us.
The city fades behind us as I take a sharp right toward the desert. The safehouse sits isolated on the edge of nowhere, surrounded by empty land that makes it impossible for anyone to sneak up on us. It’s a sprawling place with enough bedrooms for the whole family, though we’ve never needed it for more than a night or two.
The driveway’s packed with cars, so I park in the grass and help Paige by carrying one of the twins inside. The little guy has an N stitched on his hat. Nico. His pacifier fell into his lap, so I slip it between his lips. Finally, blessed silence.
Dario’s already pulling Paige into his arms when we walk through the door. He buries his face in her neck, and she makes this small, broken sound that tells me she’s crying. I look away and head for the great room where the rest of the family’s gathered.
I set Nico’s car seat next to Santino on the couch. Lorenzo’s consigliere and longtime friend might not be blood, but he’s family where it counts.
My mom appears at my elbow, giving me that quick once-over she’s been doing since I was a kid. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine, Ma.” I kiss her cheek. “I wanted to come get you myself.”
“My security knows what they’re doing.” Antonia squeezes my arm once before moving back to where she was sitting. She’s tough as nails, but I catch the relief in her eyes. We’re all rattled by today.
“Where’s Luca?” I ask, noticing he’s the only one missing.
“Five minutes out,” Dario says, following me into the room. Paige trails behind him, eyes red but composed again.
The room smells like antiseptic and blood. Lorenzo’s sitting in a chair while Mia fusses over a nasty cut on his forearm. Blood’s soaked through the makeshift bandage someone wrapped around it.
For half a second, I wonder what it would feel like to have someone look at me like that. Like my life mattered beyond the cash I stack or the bodies I leave behind. Uninvited, Nina’s face flashes in my head, and I hate myself for it. She’s the last person who should matter.
I force the thought down and turn to Lorenzo. “Those fuckers get a piece of you?”
My uncle flexes his blood-slicked hand like it’s no big deal, even as Mia glares at him for moving.
“Impatient bastards broke my window before I even got out of the car.” He winces as Mia cleans the wound. “Tried to drag me out by the arm. Got cut up on the glass, but I put a bullet between the leader’s eyes, so I’d say I came out ahead.”
He chuckles like it’s nothing, but Mia’s face is tight with worry.
“You need stitches,” she bites out. “This is deep.”
“Later. Business first.”
“Stubborn ass,” Mia mutters, but she finishes bandaging him up before taking one of the baby carriers from Paige.
“Take Paige to our room?” Dario asks, and Mia nods, leading his wife out of the room with both twins.
Lorenzo sighs once they’re gone. “Mia thought the worst was behind us with the Bratva.”
“So did Paige.” Dario’s jaw is tight. “But we knew better.”
The door opens and Luca walks in with Matteo. They must have been together when the call came in. Matteo’s not family either, but he’s solid. No one minds him being here.
“Any casualties on our end?” Luca asks, scanning the room.
“One of my guards. Alec.” Lorenzo moves to the wet bar and pours himself three fingers of whiskey. “Guy’s got four kids.”
No one speaks. Paolo drags a hand over his face, jaw locked, while Matteo’s shoulders bunch tight against the wall. Even Luca stops fidgeting, still for once, the silence heavy.
