"And me," I add for good measure. Looking at Massimo. "I'll be right there with you. By your side."
The next morning…
Jenna's words stay with me long after she falls asleep again. Not the fear in them. Not even the resolve. The certainty.I'll be right there with you. By your side.That should comfort me. It should feel like victory. Instead, it disturbs something deep and buried, something I thought I'd already dissected and put to rest. Because if she's stepping fully into my world, then every lie, every omission, every half-truth becomes a fault line.
I don't sleep after that.
Morning comes gray and quiet; the noise of Vegas is hushed behind the glass like it's holding its breath. Jenna and Amauri are still asleep when I slip out of bed. I stand by the window for a long time, coffee untouched, jaw tight, thoughts circling one name.
Bello. Again.
The memory comes without warning.
Pain first. Always pain. Crushing. Wet. Everywhere. I'm floating in and out, drugged and heavy, lungs burning like I've swallowed fire. Machines beep. Voices blur. Light hurts. Darkness hurts worse. There's a taste of blood in my mouth I can't spit out.
Enzo is there.
I know it's him because he smells like smoke and leather and home. His voice cuts through the fog, low, controlled, but tight around the edges. "Easy, boss. Don't move."
I try to speak. My chest seizes instead. Time doesn't make sense. Days blur into nights. Weeks maybe. I wake and sleep and wake again, trapped in a body that doesn't answer to me anymore.
One night—or day—Enzo leans closer.
"I found out who ordered it," he tells me quietly.
My vision swims. I focus on his face like it's a target.
"Bello overheard it," Enzo continues. "Your uncle. He gave the order himself."
The memories land slow. Heavy. Impossible.
Bello overheard it.
Bello.
Always Bello.
I try to lift my hand. It barely twitches.
"Your cousins pushed," Enzo adds. "But the call came from him."
I remember thinking—through the morphine, through the haze—that at least the rot was contained. Family business. A clean line. A betrayal I could understand. I trusted Bello's ears. I trusted Enzo's voice. I built everything that followed on that foundation. The memory snaps loose. I'm standing in my kitchen now, knuckles white around the mug I never drank from.
Jenna's father. Kingsley.
Northstar.
The money.
The date.
And Bello—again—standing right at the point where truth bends. My jaw tightens until it aches. If Bello lied then—if hefilteredwhat he overheard—if Enzo knew more than he said…The implications are catastrophic. From a drawer, I pull a notepad with the hotel's icon on it and scribble a hasty note for Jenna.
I'm just about to pull my phone out when I hear thetap tap tapof little feet. Amauri stands in the doorway, looking devastatingly adorable in his dinosaur pajamas and sleep-tousled hair. A big yawn nearly splits his face in half.
"Good morning, buddy, you're up early."
"I'm thirsty," he declares and, without fanfare, shuffles into the kitchen, opening the industrial-sized fridge. I watch him pull out a chair, climb on top of it—while resisting the urge to help—and pull out the orange juice. He's a resourceful little man. Pride swells my chest. I decide to intervene when he goes for the glasses and hand him one down.
