Adrian, please be all right. Come back to me. I love you.
Lucia whispers, “Girls, look at me.”
Sofia and Charlotte turn toward her.
“Remember what Daddy said,” Lucia says softly. “Quiet game.”
Sofia nods, her little face too serious.
Charlotte nods too, tears slipping down her cheeks without sound.
I will never forgive these people for that.
Never.
The thought shoots through me. Not in fear or panic. In rage.
They brought this to my home. To my table. To children who wanted yellow roses and fancy macaroni.
Something calm settles inside me.
Maybe that is what Papà feels. Maybe that is what Vito feels. Maybe this is the part of our blood I have tried so hard to dress in silk, and financial reports, and legitimate businesses.
But it is there.
It is mine.
And suddenly I want names.
Not guesses. Not shell companies. Not arrows in my notebook.
Names.
I want to know who did this.
There is another sound above us. Louder this time.
A hard impact, a muffled grunt. Something falls.
The children flinch.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Was that him?” I whisper.
No one answers. No one can.
Vito and Nico stand locked on the door, weapons ready, faces carved from stone.
Then Vito curses. Lucia flinches, probably on behalf of the kids.
“Fuck this. I’ve had enough,” he says viciously.
Teresa’s head snaps toward him. “Vito.”
“No,” he says, already reaching for the lock. “He is out there alone.”
Nico shifts with him, jaw tight. “He shouldn’t be.”
