“I wanted it to be Thomas. I really did. Because I hated him, and I wanted any reason to go after him, and for that, I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmured, his hand still covering mine. “Plus, if he’d been responsible, that’d also mean it wasn’t my fault you were in danger.”
“Whoever murdered your sister is why I was in danger. Not you,” I reminded him, because he didn’t need any guilt eating at him. “You’re not prepared, and you barely slept. Can you please try and, um, reschedule?” Reschedule war? What the hell is wrong with me?
“This is what I do,” he whispered. “I’ll be okay as long as you’re not here.”
“This isn’t what you do. Not anymore,” I pleaded. “You’re a chef now. You’re . . . you’re mine. I—I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.” He helped me to my feet and gathered me in his arms. “When this is over, I can finally be free of the past, Maria. I can be free of it once and for all.” He held my cheeks and bowed his forehead to mine. “Don’t you see? This is why I was never truly able to let go and move on, because justice was never really served.”
I pulled back to find his eyes. “And she wouldn’t want you dying to get it.”
He brought his lips close to mine. “I won’t.” He kissed me. “We have a list to check off.” Another kiss. “Memories to make.” More kisses. “Babies to have.” A softer, longer kiss this time that nearly distracted me from what he’d said.
And then, before I knew it, he had me in the garage.
Just outside the SUV, I listened to protests from his mother and sister as they argued with Alessandro.
Enzo held me tight and brought his mouth to my ear. “I love you, Maria. I won’t die on you.” He swiped the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks, catching my tears as I processed his words. “I promise I’ll see you again, Tesoro,” was the last thing he said before tucking me into the car and closing the door.
TWENTY-NINE
Enzo
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to get to safety, too?” I strapped my chest and backplate on, then hid it beneath a black dress shirt and suit jacket. Not ideal for battle, but we couldn’t greet Nico and his family wearing Kevlar vests and not tip them off that we knew what was going on.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve fired one of these,” Dad said while chambering a round in his rifle. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be by your side through all of this.”
“I’d feel much better if you weren’t, though.” Constantine rounded the corner, joining us in the kitchen.
“You’re stuck with me, son.” Dad set down his rifle. “And there’s something I need to say before this goes down.”
Constantine held up his hand and lightly shook his head. “You don’t need to do this.”
Dad frowned. “I do, actually. I owe you all an apology for making a decision about your lives without so much as consulting you first.” He faced my brother. “But I owe you a separate apology. I’ve been hard on you. Forcing you to make sacrifice after sacrifice.” He gripped Constantine’s shoulder, his tone dropping an octave as he repeated his words in Italian.
“I’m good. I promise. You did what you thought was best,” Constantine answered, keeping his voice level and serious, and then he looked my way.
“What he said,” was all I could manage, not used to my father talking in such a manner, so it threw me for a loop. “We forgive you,” I finally added, since Dad so clearly needed to hear the words, and I didn’t want his head off for what we were about to do. And, I supposed, I truly did forgive him.
When Hudson walked into the kitchen a moment later, Dad cleared his throat and lowered his hand.
Hudson looked at the three of us as if realizing he’d interrupted a “moment,” but Dad nodded, a silent request for an update on his part of the plan.
“They’re on standby. Orders not to intervene until I give them the go-ahead,” Hudson shared. “And if they don’t hear from me by twelve hundred hours, they’ll come in anyway.”
“Not a fan of working with them,” Dad began, his shoulders back and confidence returned, “but I understand this is the best option.”
“The room ready?” Constantine asked as I tucked my Sig at my back beneath my suit jacket.
“Yeah, it’s rigged, and Hudson will be able to set his crosshairs on them from the boat.” I looked out the bay window at our family’s yacht. We had to assume the Brambillas would hit us by air, land, and water. A full-on assault. And our security detail would be hidden from every vantage point, waiting to take them out guerrilla warfare–style. No front lines. Not any fucking lines today. Just surprise hits that we hoped no one would expect.