"Something amusing?" Pyotr murmurs, his eyebrow raised.
I compose my features instantly. "Just remembering something the Don once said."
The priest drones on about eternal rest and forgiveness. I wonder if Lorenzo found either in his final moments, when fire and metal tore through his car.
Did he have time to regret? To pray? To think of his children?
I straighten my spine, remembering my place. I’m here to represent stability between empires balancing on a dangerous edge.
Alessandro catches my eye again, his gaze calculating.
I maintain eye contact just long enough to show respect without challenge. The delicate dance of power never ceases, not even for death.
I think of Enzo, and of this world I’m having to raise him in. The thought of anything happening to him…
No. I won't allow fear to consume me.
I've survived this far.
Protected him this far.
Whatever comes next, even if it’s Luca’s return, I'll face it. I've built a life for my son. One man's return won't unravel everything I've fought for.
Even if that man is Enzo's father.
3
LUCA
The church doors creak as I step inside. My father's funeral. Not how I imagined my homecoming.
I hang back in the shadows, by order of my brother so as not to cause a stir.
I know in reality, he’s worried my arrival home will give others in the family, perhaps even in the Bratva, an idea that I’ve come to usurp my brother.
Whatever. I didn’t come home to cause problems or even to pay respect to the father who exiled me. I came home because of the anonymous note.
The Dante family sits front and center. Alessandro rigid with newfound authority, Adriano stone-faced beside him, Valentina's delicate profile stoic.
The rest are a sea of black suits, respectful nods, and calculating eyes measuring the power vacuum my father's death created.
Then I see her.
Katerina.
Auburn hair swept into an elegant knot, profile regal like a queen.
Seven years dissolve.
My chest constricts as if the bullet that should have killed me in Chicago had found its mark.
She's even more beautiful now, no longer the passionate girl who'd trace my tattoos with her fingertips, but a woman with poise and power.
Memories assault me.
Katerina stretched across my sheets, moonlight bathing her skin silver, her laugh low and secret against my neck.
Her whispered Russian endearments, the way she'd bite my shoulder to keep quiet when my family was nearby.
