Rina snaps out of wherever she went to in her head and rolls her eyes. “Calm down, tiger. He didn’t mean anything by it.” She leans into my side, and I automatically wrap my arms around her. “I want to go home. We have a lot to talk about.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, and I suspect this took a lot more out of her than she expected.
“Fiero.” I call my buddy over. “Help Renzo dispose of the body and organize the cleanup.”
“You got it.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Renzo says, looking severely irritated.
“Trust me, it’s necessary.” I slant him a look that lets him know exactly how little I trust him.
“Get him cremated, and send the ashes to Anais,” Rina says. “She needs closure, and she’ll want to organize a funeral.”
I don’t think it’s necessarily smart, but I keep that opinion to myself because I know there’s no point arguing.
Ignoring Renzo, I look to my best friend—the only man I trust completely with my life. “Plant evidence that clearly implicates the Russians. I want this to lead to Anton Smirnov. A high-profile murder, bloody shootout, and the intel Catarina has compiled will be enough to have him evicted from the US in disgrace.” The Commission has contacts within the upper echelons of government. As long as we convince them this is all the work of the Bratva, they will ensure Anton is kicked back to Moscow with his tail between his legs.
“I’ll make it happen.” Fiero leans in and kisses my wife on the cheek. “Go home,regina. Your work here is done.”
* * *
“I poured you a glass of wine,” I say an hour later when Catarina emerges in the living room, dressed in leggings and an off-the-shoulder top. Her damp hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head, and her face is pale, but it’s not from the lack of makeup.
My wife is sad and terrified.
That much is blatantly obvious.
Her call to Ezio’s wife took even more out of her, and I know whatever else she has to tell me is bad.
“Come here.” I put my wineglass down and open my arms. She hesitates for a few seconds, biting down on her lower lip before she trots over to me and crawls into my lap. I bundle her up, holding her tight as I rub a soothing hand up and down her back. She buries her head in my chest, clutching my T-shirt and inhaling the fresh scent of my body wash still clinging to my skin from my shower. I tip her chin up so her eyes are on mine. “His death is not your fault. Every made man knows the risks when they swear an oath.”
“I’m responsible for every man and woman who works for me, Massimo. His death, like countless before him,ismy fault. It doesn’t matter that I always ensure their families are well taken care of. The guilt is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life along with the loss.” She looks unbearably sad as she peers into my eyes. “Ezio was a good man. A loyal soldier and someone I considered a friend. I will feel his loss deeply.” She slides a hand over her chest, rubbing at whatever pain she’s feeling.
“Your compassion is what sets you apart from your male counterparts.” I press my lips to her brow. “The way you care about those who work for you and the interest you take in their families is what has sealed their loyalty to you. Ezio died with honor, protecting his queen. He died knowing you would take care of his wife and kids. I doubt he had any regrets.”
“It’s all such bullshit,” she whispers, fisting her hand tighter in my shirt. “And I’m tired of it, Massimo.” She looks so vulnerable as she straightens up, and I know I’m seeing that part of herself she keeps hidden from most others. “It’s so exhausting, and it’s time for things to change.”
“Whatever you have to tell me will not change the way I feel about you.” I kiss her softly. “I love you, and I’m going nowhere.”
“You say that now, but you don’t know how you’re going to feel after I tell you this. You might hate me for real, Massimo, and that…” She chokes on a sob, and tears pool in her eyes. “That would kill me. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”
“We’ll work through this together. I promise you I’m going nowhere. No matter what you tell me, I am not leaving you.”
She inhales and exhales deeply, and I watch as she wrangles her emotions until she’s more in control. I protest loudly when she slides off my lap, sitting beside me. “I can’t tell you this all snuggled up against you.” She reaches for her wineglass and knocks back a hefty amount.
Tension bleeds into the air, and I just want her to tell me.
I know this is the final test.
The last hurdle we must pass before we can focus on building a real life together.
I want that so badly, which is why I know nothing she can say will alter my resolve.
“I need you to know that my feelings and my plans have completely changed since I put all of this in motion.” There’s a desperate pleading look on her face as she stares at me.
I nod, encouraging her to continue with my eyes.
“I don’t think I would ever have gone through with it,” she adds. “I have been too obsessed with my past. Consumed with pain and so much anger it blinded me to logic and reason. Vengeance is all I have thought about for years. I thought it was all I needed. That once I had my revenge everything would be okay, and I could start living my life.” An errant tear leaks from her eye, and my heart aches for her.
I have never seen her cry.
