I look at Santino’s body.
“Santino’s dead. Cash was working with the Bratva. Set a trap. Santino went through the door first.”
The silence stretches. I can hear Dario breathing.
“I killed them,” I add. “All of them. Cash too. There’s one still alive. Tied up.”
Nothing.
“Dario?”
“I’m on my way.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone. The screen goes dark.
The bar is quiet. Neon buzzes. Somewhere, a pipe drips.
Santino’s blood is still spreading across the floor.
I sit there in the silence and wait.
31
SIERRA
Something is wrong with Matteo.
The thought gnaws at me as I navigate Vegas traffic with Ma in the passenger seat beside me. She’s chatting about her garden, about a recipe she wants to try, and I’m nodding along while my chest aches with something I can’t name.
It started the night after Julian went into the hospital. Matteo left early the next morning and didn’t come home until I was already asleep. Since then, I’ve barely seen him. He’s gone before I wake up. Home after dinner, sometimes not until right before I leave for work. We pass each other like strangers sharing the same space, and every time I ask what’s wrong, he gives me the same flat answer.
I’m fine.
He’s not. I know he’s not. We haven’t known each other long, but we got close fast, and I can read him now. The way his jaw tightens when he’s holding something back. The clipped edge to his voice when he doesn’t want to talk. The distance in his eyes when he looks at me, like he’s already somewhere else.
The only time I’ve gotten a real reaction out of him was yesterday, when I called to tell him Julian was awake. My brother still has a long recovery ahead, but he opened his eyes and recognized me, and I was so relieved that I burst into tears right there in the hospital room.
When I called Matteo, his voice went warm. Genuinely happy for me. He asked questions. He sounded like himself.
But that night, he came home late and gave me one-word answers. Barely looked at me. We’re still sharing his bed, but there’s been no heat between us, no midnight wandering hands. He’s even sleeping in a shirt now, which feels like a wall going up.
I miss the way he used to reach for me in the dark.
I pull into the clinic parking lot and find a spot near the entrance. Ma pats my arm as I help her out of the car.
Matteo was supposed to bring her, but he asked me to do it instead. Then disappeared out the door before I could say more than yes.
“Thank you for bringing me, dear,” she says. “I told Matteo I’d be fine on my own, but you know how he worries about the people he cares about.”
I force a smile, even as something bitter curls through me.Does he?
But that’s not fair. He’s been there for me when it counted. He’s just…not here right now. And I don’t know why.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “He’s really protective.”
The clinic smells like antiseptic and floral air freshener. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we check in, and then a nurse leads us to a treatment bay where Ma settles into a big cushioned recliner. I pull a stiff chair close to her side while the nurse gets the IV started.
