I stand frozen, Leon squirming in my arms, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
He’s gone.
My legs give out. I sink onto the couch, Leon still clutched against me, and press my face into his hair as the tears come, hot and fast and unstoppable, all the terror I’ve been holding back flooding out in ragged breaths.
“Mama?” Leon pats my cheek. “Mama, why are you crying?”
I force myself to stop. Force the sobs back down. I swipe at my eyes and paste on a watery smile.
“I’m all right, baby.” I smooth his hair back from his forehead.
He accepts this with the simple trust of a four-year-old and wriggles free to return to his toys. I watch him for a moment, my son, my whole world, and then I rise on unsteady legs and head for the bathroom.
“Leon, baby? Come here for a second.”
He appears in the bathroom doorway, a truck clutched in his hand.
“Hold still.” I crouch down, tilting his face toward the light. “Let me take these out.”
He holds obediently still while I work. I pinch the edge of the first lens. Then the second. Brown contacts slide away.
Leon’s amber eyes stare back at me.
Montoni amber eyes. The same eyes that just looked at me across my living room. The same eyes that belonged to Leon’s dead grandfather. Agnello and Cristiano Montoni, dangerous, unstable men who only understand violence. But unlike his father, Cristiano is calculated and clever. He can hide who he really is for a few days, a few weeks. Sometimes for years. But the golden-eyed monster lurks inside him, waiting for you to let your guard down.
I won’t let him fool me again, and I won’t let Cristiano poison my son the way his father poisoned him.
I’ll die first.
I’llkillfirst.
“Can I go play now, Mama?”
“Yes, baby.” My voice is barely a whisper. “You can go play.”
He scampers off, and I lean against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge until my knuckles turn white.
From the living room, I hear Leon making dinosaur noises, crashing his toys together in elaborate battles. My son. My beautiful, perfect son with his father’s eyes.
Some loves leave scars. Some leave children. Mine left both.
Despite everything, I can’t bring myself to wish I’d never met Cristiano Montoni. Because that would mean wishing Leon out of existence, and Leon is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
3
Cristiano
Istride through the casino floor, past blackjack tables and roulette wheels, watching dealers shuffle cards with practiced precision while chips click against felt. The sound of money changing hands. Fortunes rising and falling. All of it flowing into Montoni coffers.
My casino now. My empire.
It should feel like victory, but all I feel is that same grim satisfaction as when I stuck a knife in Alfonso Galbiati’s throat. A job completed. A problem solved.
I take the stairs to the mezzanine two at a time. The corridor is quieter here, insulated from the noise below. The office I’ve made myself is at the end, and I like it better than my father’s old study at home, full of bad memories. I’ve had the office redecorated with new furniture, new carpet, everything the way I want it.
I haven’t made it to the door when a smile tugs at my mouth, unbidden.
Her.
