I found myself back in the study, sinking into the chair behind my destroyed desk. Domenico followed and closed the door behind us. Poured two whiskeys from the bottle that had miraculously survived the firefight.
Macallan 18. The good stuff we saved for bad nights.
"Can't believe that's still intact," I said, taking the glass he offered.
"Neither can I." He settled into the chair across from me. "Eva's birthday would've been next week."
"Thirty-one." I took a long drink, let the burn ground me. "She should be here. Should've met Valentina, should've been planning to be an aunt."
Domenico set down his glass and gave me his full attention. We didn't talk about Eva often—the wound was too deep, even fourteen years later. But when we did, he was the only person who understood. The only one who'd been there.
"She would've loved Valentina," he said quietly. "Would've dragged her shopping within the first week, made her laugh, taught her all the family dirt you're too stoic to share."
Despite the ache in my chest, I smiled. "Eva never met a secret she didn't immediately spill."
"She would've been furious with you for the blood debt, though. For putting Valentina in danger in the first place."
"She was furious with me about everything. That's how she showed love." The memory was bittersweet—Eva screaming at me in rapid Italian, throwing things, making a scene. Always passionate, always fierce, always protecting me even when I didn't deserve it.
"Remember when she found out you'd officially joined the family business?" Domenico's mouth quirked. "Threw a lamp at your head."
"Antique Murano glass. Worth five thousand dollars. Mother was livid."
"Eva didn't give a shit about the lamp. She just wanted you out. Wanted you safe." His voice went softer. "Like I did. Like I still do."
The unspoken truth hung between us: Domenico had been there that night. Had held me back while I screamed Eva's name, while I tried to run into the burning building where the Suarez soldiers had trapped her. He'd helped me hunt down every single person responsible over the next two years and make them pay in blood.
And he'd never once questioned my rage or tried to stop my revenge.
He'd just stayed. Through the darkness, through the brutality, through the nights, I couldn't tell where justice ended, and madness began.
My best friend. My brother. The only family I had left after Eva died.
"I can't lose Valentina the way I lost Eva," I said, the admission scraping my throat raw. "I can't survive that twice, Dom. I won't."
"You won't have to." His voice was absolute certainty. "Because this time, you're not a nineteen-year-old kid with more rage than sense. This time, you have resources, power, and an entire organization behind you. And this time, you have me watching your back with twenty years of experience instead of fumbling through it together."
"What if it's not enough? What if—"
"Alessio. Look at me."
I met his eyes.
"We're going to keep her safe," Domenico said firmly. "Keep both of you safe. I swear it on Eva's memory. On everything we've survived together. You're not doing this alone."
The tightness in my chest eased slightly. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If it comes down to choosing between protecting me or protecting Valentina, you choose her. Always. No hesitation."
"Already decided that the day she walked into your life." No pause, no doubt. "That's what Eva would want. That's what you need. And that's what I'm going to do—keep her alive so you can have the family you deserve instead of the one you lost."
I nodded, throat too tight for words.
"Besides," Domenico added, voice lighter now, "someone has to survive to name a daughter after Eva. Make sure the family remembers her the right way—as the fierce, brilliant pain in the ass she was."
"If I have a daughter one day, I'm naming her Eva. Already decided." I paused, met his eyes. "And I want you to be her godfather—padrino. The old way, with witnesses and everything."
