The car waits in the circular drive.
Dante's hand finds mine. Guides me forward.
Pietro and Nora stand near the front steps. They arrived yesterday too. Pietro looks older than I remember. Harder.
Nora stands beside him. Her hand rests on her belly.
She's nine months pregnant. Ready to give birth any day. She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be standing. Shouldn't be doing anything except resting.
But she came anyway.
For Lorenzo. For the family.
Pietro catches my eye. Nods once. A silent acknowledgment.
I nod back.
Dante opens the car door.
I slide inside.
Two people already occupy the back seat.
Vittoria sits by the far window. Black dress. Black coat. Black sunglasses that hide her eyes.
She doesn't look up when I enter.
She doesn't speak.
Beside her sits a man I've never met.
He's tall. Broad. Dark hair with silver threading at the temples. Pale grey-blue eyes that assess me in a single glance.
Dmitri Baganov.
I've heard about him. Vittoria's husband. Bratva heir.
He watches me settle into the seat. His expression reveals nothing.
Dante climbs in after me. Closes the door.
The car pulls forward.
Silence fills the space between us.
Vittoria stares out the window. Her jaw is tight. Her hands are folded in her lap. She hasn't removed her sunglasses.
I wonder if she's been crying behind them. If she's been crying for days. If she'll ever stop.
Dmitri's hand rests on Vittoria's thigh. A quiet presence. A silent support.
I look at Dante.
His face is a mask. Controlled. Empty.
He stares straight ahead. At the back of the driver's seat. At nothing.
The car moves through the gates. Onto the road.
