And now, as I stare after my son, shouldering his loss and grief on top of my own, I’m starting to wonder if I should’ve found another way.
I can’t ignore the truth anymore—Jackson wasn’t just happy when Gio was around.
He was thriving.
Laughing more, running faster, talking more about his dreams.
He finally had a male figure in his life who looked at him with pride.
And I’d never realized before Gio came into our lives how starved Jackson has been for that.
It’s been just the two of us for as long as Jackson can remember.
And while I’ve done my best to fill every role, there are some things I just can’t be for him.
Gio stepped into those gaps for me without even trying. And I ripped that away without asking my son what he needed.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes because if I don’t, I might cry.
Protecting Jackson was the right thing,I tell myself again.
The Mafia doesn’t fade away because you wish it would, and you don’t invite danger into your home just because it’s wearing a kind smile.
But when I think about Gio—his patience with Jackson, the way his eyes softened when he listened to my son ramble about his favorite soccer players forhours—I can’t help but think he would’ve been an incredible father. If only I’d let him.
It’s nearly dinner before Jackson comes downstairs again.
He doesn’t look at me, just sits at the table, arms folded, as I set a plate of macaroni and cheese before him—a peace offering that I didn’t even put broccoli in this time.
I want to apologize again, to explain more, but I don’t even know where to start.
Because how do you tell a seven-year-old that the man he looks up to and loves has a father who once had me kidnapped? How do you explain that some choices aren’t about what’s fair but about what’s safe?
So I just sit across from him, my fork untouched, watching him push his food around his plate.
Finally, he says without looking up, “You should’ve talked to me first.”
My throat tightens. “You’re right,” I whisper. “I should have.”
He glances at me then, just for a second, and I can see the hurt still there, deep and raw.
And in that moment, I know it’s going to take more than words to fix this.
31
GIO
“Why can’t I just handle it myself?” I demand, planting the sides of my hands pointedly on the conference room table as the tension in our meeting escalates. “Kenji thinks I’m out of the game. It’s a perfect opportunity. I’ll infiltrate the Yakuza compound and kill Kenji and his parents before they even see it coming. And in the chaos that follows, the Yakuza will quickly crumble.”
If my brothers were surprised when I decided to jump back into the thick of things with two feet, they never showed it.
But ever since my conversation with Miko the morning after Stephanie ended things, I’ve had only one motivation.
To kill Kenji.
Because Miko was right.
Stephanie and Jackson won’t be safe as long as Kenji’s breathing.
