Maria flipped my forearm over, tracing the rosary with her finger. Then she skated a path along the words no mercy.
“Not everyone deserves mercy,” I said, thinking about the evil I’d encountered.
“But do some?” she whispered. “Does Thomas?”
“I don’t know,” I hoarsely responded, and I really didn’t know, that was the problem. “I, uh, should go.” Emotion caught in my throat as I freed us from our entangled state and we both stood.
I seized her cheeks, holding her face with a bit of terror fastening around my heart that I might not make it home alive, a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind in thirteen years. I’d had no one to come home to after those missions, so I’d always felt invincible. It was harder to hurt a man who didn’t fear death, and it was much easier to attack someone who had everything in the world to live for, and now . . .
“Get the bad guy. Stay safe. And come back to me, okay?” Her voice was so tender, I could nearly hold it in my hands as if it were a tangible thing.
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered, hoping I could follow her orders. All three of them.
“But, Enzo,” she began while pressing up on her toes, her mouth seeking mine, “you don’t need to show mercy to the asshole who killed your sister.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “Not a drop.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Enzo
“You got laid, didn’t you? About damn time.”
I winced at Alessandro’s comment; then memories of my time with Maria a little over an hour ago tore through my mind. And I’d give anything for us to be together, her safe in my arms. Chiara asleep in her crib. No worries in the world.
Instead, I was on a jet heading to Syracuse to steal a man from CIA custody, and Maria was left alone to handle my parents and sister.
“You’re really asking me that?” I wasn’t in the mood to discuss my sex life with a man who’d been using my home to get laid so women didn’t find out where he lived.
Alessandro casually leaned back in the leather seat aboard our private jet. We’d been in the air for twenty minutes, and it was his first time talking since he left the office.
I looked over at Hudson as he busied himself with prepping his MK 13 sniper rifle. Not made for rubber bullets, clearly. More like .300 Winchester Magnum caliber. The rifle was a bit more compact but had greater accuracy. One of my preferences as well.
We really did owe some hefty Christmas bonuses this year to our people at the airport who helped ensure our gear and weapons safely made it to our jet without getting flagged. We weren’t flying commercially, but it helped to have an inside man, or woman in this case, to get our shit into the hangar.
“I need a distraction from the fact our father ruined our lives.” Alessandro wasn’t going to let this go, was he? The man had been an impossible thorn in my side ever since I moved to Charlotte and he realized how I felt about Maria. For a man who claimed he had no heart, he’d spent a year pressing me to follow mine.
“What are you thinking about?” Alessandro glanced at Constantine, who was putting away his Ruger Precision Rifle, his preferred long-range shooter.
Constantine positioned his hand on the ceiling overhead. “Dad did what he did for Mom. She wouldn’t have survived the death of her daughter and her three sons in prison. Everything he does is always for her, you know that.”
“He told you that?” I asked in surprise.
“He didn’t have to. That woman is his world. He’d do anything for her.” Constantine’s neutral expression softened a bit, a message to me: You’d do anything for Maria. And I would. “In Dad’s mind, he did what he believed needed to be done, even if it meant betraying his word to her in never letting us live the same life as he had in Italy.”
Alessandro stood and went over to the scattered gear, moving aside the case that held our M4 carbine, a short-barrel rifle meant for close-quarter combat.
“None of us had a chance anyway. You realize that, right?” Constantine reached for Alessandro’s arm, urging him to look at him. My brother slowly turned to face Constantine, his shoulders still squared back, body taut. Ready for a fight. But he couldn’t shoot his way out of this problem. Our past. “We were all fucked long before Bianca died.” Constantine drilled in the point. “Just look at our family’s background.”
“I don’t buy it. We could have done something else with our lives.” And yet, defeat penetrated Alessandro’s tone.