Page 23 of Bittersweet Endings (Agostino Crime Family #6)

CARMINE RAGETTI

M y fists connected in rapid succession, each hit sending a satisfying jolt through my arms. Across from me, Lorenzo threw his own punches.

His form tight, precise. He was good—too good for his age—but he was still learning.

Still figuring out how to channel that fire without burning himself in the process.

I, on the other hand, was already burning alive.

The need to get my hands dirty clawed at me, the urge to kill sitting heavy in my chest. It wasn’t just anger—it was necessity.

Peiro was still breathing, still a threat.

As long as he lived, Octavia wasn’t safe.

I couldn’t have her back in my arms until I was sure no one could take her from me again.

And that meant Peiro had to go. Permanently.

Lorenzo’s fist barely missed my ribs, snapping me back to the moment. I countered hard, making him stumble back. He scowled, shaking out his hands, but didn’t complain. He knew better.

I took a breath and rolled my shoulders. It didn’t help. The rage was still there, pumping through my veins, making it impossible to think of anything but blood.

The gym door swung open, and Matteo strolled inside. He took one look at me and stopped. He had news. I could see it in the way he hesitated, the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. But he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes watching me. And I knew exactly what he was thinking. Since that stunt in the club, Octavia had gained the upper hand, and I couldn’t have that.

I gritted my teeth and turned back to the bag, landing another brutal blow. Matteo didn’t press me for answers. Because we both knew I didn’t have them.

Not yet. But soon.

Because one way or another, Octavia was going to be mine again. None of the how, the when, or the why mattered. I’d let her go, and now I decided I wanted her back. It was that simple.

My fists pounded into the bag, each hit sharper, harder, fueled by the fire raging beneath my skin. My knuckles ached, but I welcomed the pain. It was better than the itch crawling through me, the one that demanded blood, demanded action.

Matteo was still leaning against the wall, watching, waiting.

“Spit it out,” I snapped, not bothering to look at him. “I know you didn’t come here just to stare.”

He exhaled through his nose. “One of our informants got something interesting.” A pause. “Peiro’s acting up again.”

My rhythm faltered for half a second before I forced myself to keep going. “That so?”

Matteo nodded. “He’s been throwing money around, trying to hire a hitman.” His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. “He wants you dead, Carmine.”

I stopped. Just like that. Breathing hard, I stepped back, rolling my wrists as I turned to face him. A slow, vicious smile spreading across my face.

“He wants me dead,” I repeated, tasting the words, letting them settle. Then I chuckled, the sound dark and hollow. “Good.”

Matteo frowned. “Good?”

I wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. “Find someone willing to take the contract,” I ordered.

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t look surprised.

“We’re going to trap him in his own game,” I explained. “Let’s see how he likes being the one with a target on his back.”

Matteo studied me for a beat, then nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

I turned back to the bag, cracking my knuckles before I sent another brutal punch into the leather.

Peiro thought he could take me out? He had no idea who he was playing with. By the time I was done, he’d wish he’d never been born. Octavia deserved to sleep better at night, knowing her final demon had been buried.

Shrugging off my rage, I nodded my goodbyes and walked towards the showers. I was having an early dinner with Eva. She’d been behaving at the Slabs—as much as she knew how to. And I was having Alessandro bring her out.

A gift, if you will.

Once I was ready, Diego met me out front and we headed off together. The two of us were silent, both needing a moment to disconnect from the chaos. And where we were headed was the perfect place. Off the beaten path and away from wandering eyes.

We pushed through the door and sat off to the side by ourselves. Settling in, I felt a calmness I hadn’t in what seemed like forever. The ocean always looked better at night. Maybe that was it .

From our corner table, the glass walls framed the water—moonlight dancing across the surface both delicate and doomed.

I took a sip of the liquor in my hand, the ice clinking against the crystal as it hit my tongue.

Cold. Smooth. Familiar. A small indulgence in a world that didn’t seem to know how to be enjoyable.

Across from me, Diego leaned back in his chair, swirling his espresso like it mattered. “Feels like we’re pretending to be normal,” he said with a half-smile.

I didn’t bother replying. My eyes were on the entrance.

She was late. Eva. Always had a flair for timing. I checked my watch, more out of habit than concern, and that’s when I saw her.

She came through the door like a breeze. Laughing. Bright. Too bright. For a girl who’d been locked away for an extended period of time in the middle of a desert, Eva seemed… happy.

But that wasn’t what made my fingers go still around the glass.

It was the way her hand curled around Alessandro’s arm.

And the motherfucker didn’t push it off.

He walked beside her like a fucking statue—posture straight, eyes scanning.

Doing his job. But Eva wasn’t clinging to him for protection.

No. Her body leaned into his like it belonged there.

Then she looked up at him and smiled. Not polite. Not rehearsed. Real. And I knew.

That instinct in me, the one that always kept me alive, rang loud in my chest. A screaming siren. I didn’t like this. Fucking none of it.

I set my glass down harder than I meant to. Diego’s brow lifted slightly. “You see it too?” he asked, voice low.

I didn’t answer. Just watched my sister walk towards us, talking to Alessandro like nothing about this was wrong. Like she hadn’t just pulled a pin from a grenade and tossed it into the room.

I leaned farther back in my chair, schooling my features. I’d worn masks longer than she’d been alive. But inside, I was anything but calm.

Eva was my little sister. And Alessandro? A made man in my employ. And he… he was about to have a problem.

She slid into the seat beside me like she owned the room—typical Eva. Dropping her purse, she kissed my cheek, like I hadn’t just watched her all but draped around her bodyguard.

“Missed you, fratellone ,” she said, voice full of fuckin’ sunshine as if she hadn’t cussed me out during the last four conversations we had.

I murmured something about her being late, but my eyes were on Alessandro. He took the seat beside her. Not across, not leaving space. Beside . Close enough that their arms brushed when they shifted, and neither of them flinched.

That was another tell.

He didn’t act like a guard on duty. He wasn’t scanning the exits anymore.

He was watching her. Every word that left her mouth, every tilt of her head, he soaked it in like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing, while she laughed too easily.

She was suddenly so pleasant. She touched his arm again, and her fingers lingered.

And I picked up my glass just to keep from clenching my fists.

It made sense . Sure. Alessandro had been with my sister nearly every day for years now. I trusted him with her life. But this wasn’t protection. This wasn’t loyalty. It was bordering on something else. Something soft. Something sensual . And the bastard knew Eva was off-limits.

Diego saw it too. He didn’t say anything else, but I caught the glance he gave me over his cup. Subtle. Sharp. I didn’t need confirmation. I wasn’t imagining it.

“So,” Eva said, breaking the silence, “are we actually having dinner?” Her tone was light, teasing. Innocent.

I smiled. Not the real kind. “Depends,” I said. “You planning on introducing me to your new boyfriend, or is he just keeping the seat warm?”

Alessandro tensed. Not much. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

Eva blinked. And then she laughed. Too loud, too quick. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, brushing me off with a wave of a hand. “Alessandro’s like family.”

That word sat wrong in my mouth. Family. Not with the way she looked at him. Not with the way his jaw clenched when she said it, like it tasted like a lie.

I draped an arm over the back of the chair, keeping my posture loose even as heat crawled up my spine. “That right, Ale?” I asked, turning my glare on him now. “You feel like family?”

His eyes met mine. Steady. Controlled. But not convincing. “Always, sir,” he said. “Because you’re a good boss. All your men are family.”

The lie was so smooth I almost respected it. Almost. I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him sweat.

Alessandro held my stare like he wasn’t afraid. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he thought he had a right to whatever this was between him and my sister. Or maybe he was just too used to hiding it until recently.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “There’re a lot of lines. In the world. In this family . Ones you don’t cross. You know what the first one is?”

Eva stiffened beside me. Her fork hovered above her plate, her hand frozen mid-movement. Alessandro didn’t speak. Smart .

“Family,” I said. “Blood. That’s the line. And anyone who forgets that, they get taught a lesson. In fuckin’ blood.”

“Carmine—” Eva started.

I cut her a look. Not loud. Not angry. Just sharp . She clamped her mouth shut.

Across from me, Diego hadn’t moved. But he was alert now. Jaw tight. Eyes flicking towards the windows. He felt it too—that creeping itch down the spine. Like something worse than this conversation was coming.