2
KATERINA
I smooth the black dress over my hips.
My reflection stares back, composed, controlled, diplomatic.
The mask I've perfected over years of walking between two deadly families. Don Lorenzo Dante would have approved.
He always valued composure and control above all else.
"Show nothing," he once told me, his voice like gravel, "and they can take nothing from you."
I blink back the sting in my eyes. Lorenzo wasn't warm but he was fair.
When my brother, Pyotr, and I arrived at the Dante home as little more than glorified hostages disguised as diplomats, it was Lorenzo who saw my potential, who gave me responsibilities beyond my station.
Who trusted me when others saw only a Russian liability. Especially when I arrived pregnant and refused to name the father.
Now he's gone, blown to pieces in his car, and the fragile peace between the Dantes and the Bratva threatens to follow.
My phone buzzes. Pyotr again. Third time today.
I silence it without looking.
Whatever my brother wants, it can wait. Today belongs to Don Lorenzo Dante.
I reach for my pearls. The clasp clicks into place just as my door swings open.
"Mama, is it time to go yet?" Enzo, my sweet, albeit a handful, six-year-old son rushes in. His small hands smooth down his little black suit jacket. "I'm ready."
I turn to him, my heart swelling with so much love, and yet fear because of the world we live in.
"I even combed my hair," he points out, reaching up to touch the brown strands he's clearly attempted to tame himself. A few rebellious pieces still stick up.
I crouch down to his level, balancing carefully in my heels. "Enzo, we talked about this. You're staying here with Mrs. Russo today."
His gray eyes, Dante eyes, cloud with disappointment. "But I want to say goodbye to Nonno Lorenzo too."
"I know you do." I straighten his collar. How do I explain that I can't bear the thought of him at a funeral where unknown dangers might lurk?
That whoever planted that bomb might be watching?
"You said it's important to show respect," he argues, his little jaw setting stubbornly. "That's what the Dantes do."
I swallow hard.
Six years old and already, he speaks of the Dantes as if he belongs to them, which he does, though he doesn't fully understand how. No one but I knows the truth.
"Some goodbyes aren't for children," I say gently. "And today might be… complicated. There will be many strangers there."
"I'm not scared." His chin lifts defiantly.
"I know you're brave." I cup his face between my palms. "But this time, I need you to be brave by staying here where it's safe."
"But—"
"Please, Enzo." My voice edges toward annoyance. "For me."
