I can’t stop the concern that this has nothing to do with Don Lorenzo and everything to do with Pyotr using again.
I’ll never forget the day I found him unconscious in his bathroom, the needle still hanging from his arm.
The frantic rush to the hospital.
The promises he made afterward, swearing he'd never touch that poison again.
Don Lorenzo had been furious.
Not at the drugs themselves, but at the weakness they represented. At how easily Pyotr had been compromised.
"He'll never touch that shit again," Don Lorenzo had promised me, his voice like gravel. "Or he'll be gone.”
And Pyotr had stayed clean. But now, the mood swings have returned. The secretive phone calls. The disappearances.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window as I have to consider that Pyotr is off to meet a dealer.
God, there’s no worse time for him to relapse.
If Alessandro catches even a whiff of this…
If any of the Dantes suspect Pyotr might be compromised again…
Anger fills me that Pyotr would succumb to his urges again.
I’m not the only one Enzo relies on for safety.
He needs his uncle to stay clean, to stay safe, to stay alive.
By the time we approach the wrought iron gates of the Dante estate, my resolve has hardened.
Pyotr isn't just my brother.
He's my only remaining family besides Enzo. My parents are long buried. We might have been Bratva born, but we’ve been with the Dantes so long, I don’t feel connected to my Russian origins. Pyotr is all I have, and I can't lose him, too. I won't.
I'll keep my eyes on him, I decide. Watch for the signs I ignored before, the pinpoint pupils, the restless energy, the sudden flashes of paranoia. If he's using again, I'll catch it. I'll stop it. Before Alessandro notices, before anyone can use it as leverage against us.
The car slows as we drive through the gates and up the long drive to the house.
I straighten my shoulders, adjust my black dress. I prepare for my role.
Grieving the loss of Don Lorenzo. Steady and controlled ambassador between the Dantes and the Morozova Bratva.
I think of Enzo and wonder if I can keep him from this gathering that I promised he could attend.
My hands curl into fists as a greater fear than Pyotr using again fills me.
His whole life, I've kept Enzo safe, kept him hidden in plain sight.
Six years of carefully constructed stories about a father who left before he was born, who didn't matter, who wasn't worth remembering. All of that could blow up today.
What would Luca do if he knew? Would he even care? Or would he simply look at Enzo with those cold gray eyes and feel nothing, the same way he must have felt nothing when he left me without a word, without a goodbye?
The car stops before the main house. I draw in a deep breath, center myself.
Today is about getting through this gathering, keeping an eye on Pyotr, and making sure Luca Dante stays far away from my son.
I step from the car into the crisp autumn air. Whatever storm is coming, I'll weather it. I've survived worse than Luca Dante's return.
