A painful truth I should have seen, but I was pussy-whipped and blind.
Now I’m not.
But I won’t mourn. Not now. Not ever.
Especially with my new family watching me like I’m a puzzle piece they’ve finally snapped into place.
“We looked everywhere for you,” Matteo says, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I glance over. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching me like he still can’t believe I’m real and that this is happening.
“You were like a brother to me,” he says, his grin softening. “My mom said we were inseparable. Then you were just . . . gone.”
I nod slowly, a memory surfacing. “You had the red bike.”
His eyes widen. “You remember that?”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “You always wiped out trying to do wheelies.”
Matteo laughs. “God, I did. I have this scar right here”—he jabs at his elbow—“from that one summer we built a ramp out of plywood. You dared me to jump the fountain.”
“That was your idea.”
“You dared me.”
I almost smile. Almost.
It feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
“You were my best friend,” Matteo says, quieter now. Something raw flickers in his voice. “And then . . .” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, you’re here now.”
“Only because my boss sold me out,” I mutter.
My uncle glances at me, his voice as dry as bone. “Which worked in your favor. You’re lucky we found you when we did.”
“Lucky?” I echo. “For who?”
“For all of us,” he says. “Including you.”
He turns slightly, his gaze sharp as steel cutting open old truths. “We need you, Lorenzo.”
“Why?” I ask, even though something in me already knows.
“War is coming,” he says simply. “The other side of the family has cozied up to your father’s enemies in Boston. We think they’re going to make a play. We’ve managed so far to keep them down, but we need you.”
“Why?”
“Because your name matters. Your blood matters. It carries weight. And if what we think is coming . . . we’re going to need you with us. Not acting as a servant in a mansion.” His eyes narrow. “You’re an Amante. And you need to live like one.”
The name hits me like a door slamming. Amante. Sharp. Heavy. Dangerous.
A name people fear. A name people follow.
It tastes strange on my tongue, like something belonging to someone else.
Someone harder. Someone colder.
Someone who doesn’t waste his time getting into fights over stupid shit.
