Page 27 of Die for You (Kiss or Kill #2)

I’ m sitting in the basement, with Lewis’s body laid out on a table in front of me.

The only thought I have is, where did this table come from ? I don’t remember seeing it down here. Or in the house. Is it real marble? I wonder how much it cost, as it looks expensive.

In times of crisis, the mind does what it can to survive.

And this right here is a perfect example.

Regardless of his choices, Lewis doesn’t deserve this.

The multiple stab wounds, missing eyeballs, and the gash to his throat are not the way I wanted my brother to die. I can’t help but feel responsible for this. If only I’d let him be, he’d still be alive—a junkie, but likely still alive.

I just wanted what I thought was best for him. But this isn’t what’s best.

His face isn’t peaceful as they portray it in the movies. His last few minutes on this earth were excruciating. He suffered, suffered because of Valentina.

I did instruct her to do whatever it took to convince Gianna.

I cradle my face in my palms, bowing my head.

What a fucking mess.

“I’m sorry about Lewis.”

Bria sounds genuine, but she’s angry with me for pushing Valentina out of the firing line. She has every right to be mad. Bria is my wife, and I’m disrespecting her with my loyalty to Valentina. My loyalty is with my daughter too—but this is something Bria can’t know about.

For now, anyway.

She sits beside me, gently placing her hand on my leg. “She needs to die, Lenny. Now. Look at what she did.”

I remain quiet. So she tries another tactic.

“If the roles were reversed, what would you expect me to do?”

She’s right. This is a double standard. I know that it is.

But I don’t have a choice.

She doesn’t understand because I haven’t told her the truth, and I don’t think I ever can.

“I think it’s best if we have some time apart. I’m not making you happy. And I don’t blame you for being angry with me. But please understand, there’s a reason for all of this.”

“Look at me,” she pleads.

The hurt in her voice has me lifting my weary head.

“I love you. So much. Why are you doing this? What does she have over you? There has to be a reason.”

I don’t deserve Bria’s love. Most wives would have left by now, but Bria has been loyal from the very beginning.

“It’s complicated.”

Such a cop-out.

Bria holds her composure like the Mafia princess she was born to be.

She stands, her eyes filled with pity. “You know something, she won’t destroy you…you’ll end up destroying yourself.”

And she leaves me alone with the corpse of my brother.

Reaching out, I stroke his cold forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Taking one last look at him, I cover him with the black sheet and make a call to one of my men. He won’t have a funeral. I mean, what would I write on his headstone? And who would mourn him?

I certainly won’t.

And neither will Gianna.

She would have promised him the world. And he fell for her smoke and mirrors. Or more like, he was lured in by the copious amounts of drugs she supplied him.

Every action has a consequence, and this was Lewis’s.

My cell rings, and I see it’s Taylor, calling me from the gatehouse.

“What now?” I groan to myself before answering.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a man at the gates. He doesn’t speak a word of English.”

And the day just keeps on giving.

“Send him up.”

Taylor doesn’t argue.

I forgot I agreed to allow Nico to stay here.

But how the fuck did he get here so quickly? According to Valentina, he was beaten within an inch of his life. Alarm bells begin to sound. If this were true, then how is he standing, let alone able to fly halfway across the world?

Valentina’s attacker was a man. Could it be closer to home than we thought?

Quite frankly, everyone is a suspect. And I intend on treating him like one.

I go upstairs and decide to check emails while I wait for my guest. I sit at my desk, but when I see one hundred seven emails waiting for me, I slam my laptop shut.

Roberto knocks at my study door.

“What?” I snap, my elbows propped on my desk as I rub my temples.

“Sorry to intrude, but Nico is waiting for you in the foyer. Shall I escort him in?”

My temper is already boiling over, and seeing this asshole will just make it worse. This meeting will not go well. But this day is already a disaster, so what’s one more dilemma to add to the shit pile?

My leather seat rolls and hits the wall as I stand abruptly. “No, it’s fine.”

Roberto quickly moves out of my way as I storm past him. Nico’s back is turned, but he quickly spins when he hears my boots pound on the polished floors. His face is badly bruised, and he has tape across the bridge of his broken nose.

His hair is snarled.

His face unshaved.

His shirt crinkled.

Overall, he looks like hell, and when he throws a punch, connecting with my jaw, I realize why he got here so fast.

He’s here to find his— my daughter.

Regardless of his injuries, he traveled in the state he’s in for his family.

Valentina got up and left.

Lettie is missing.

He’s doing what any man should do when his family is at stake.

“Cazzo di bastardu!”

I may not understand Sicilian, but I’m pretty sure he just called me a fucking bastard.

Rubbing my jaw, I grin, impressed ’cause his little delicate hands can surprisingly throw a punch. If I didn’t hate the dude, I would respect him for being here and standing his ground.

But I’m not that kind of a forgiving guy.

Nico has memories of my daughter that should be mine. He protected my family when I should have. Valentina calls him darling. And my daughter calls him Daddy.

I’m envious of him because I may be rich in possessions, but I would give all of them up for the life he lived. To me, he is the wealthiest man in the whole world.

So now, I get it.

I get why Valentina loves the guy.

He’s honorable, protective, and puts his family first—he’s everything I’m not.

He raises his voice, asking me something, using his hands as all Italians do. Unlike Valentina, I don’t have the patience for a translator, so I call out to Roberto, who isn’t far away.

My men know to be on hand in case shit hits the fan, which is often.

“You’re Sicilian, correct?”

He nods.

“Good. From now on, you’re my translator. Tell me what this motherfucker is saying.”

I gesture to Nico that the floor is his and for him to speak his piece, and fuck me dead, does he speak. But it’s far from peaceful.

His monologue goes on for what seems like minutes.

His voice gets louder and louder.

His cheeks redder and redder.

Roberto nods, appearing to take it all in.

When Nico finally shuts up, I look at Roberto, who opens but soon closes his mouth. He rubs the back of his head, clearly attempting to sum up what Nico just spewed.

“He said…he said he’d rather not stay here.”

I look at Roberto for a full ten seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter. Both he and Nico look at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I probably have.

Once I’m done cackling like a schoolgirl, I say, “I think he said a little more than that.”

Roberto adjusts the thick gold crucifix around his throat. “He wants to know where his daughter and Valentina are. That America is an ugly place with terrible food.”

“And?” I prompt, as there is more.

“And that you’re a fucking asshole, and when he gets better, he’s going to kill you.” Roberto takes a subtle step backward while I cock my head to the side, impressed once again with Nico’s balls.

“Anything else?”

“Nope,” Robert replies, popping the P. “I think that sums it up.”

Nico can insult me all he wants. Nothing can hurt me more than the fact that he raised my daughter as his own and that he has Valentina’s heart. If it wasn’t for this, he would be dead by now. But I can’t do that out of respect.

But if he hits me again, I won’t be so understanding.

He looks me dead in the eye and snarls, “Where is Valentina?”

It seems love is the universal language because I understood him loud and clear.

My cell rings, and I wish it was a case of saved by the bell, but it’s Romeo, my bodyguard. When he calls, it usually isn’t with good news.

“For the love of God, what has happened now?”

“Sorry, boss, but you might wanna come down to Mario’s Deli.” Romeo’s thick Brooklyn accent is what you expect to hear out of every gangster movie.

I hang up and walk back to my office. I pull the infamous oil painting of The Last Supper aside, revealing the hidden wall safe beneath. I punch in the code and retrieve some guns and cash. I don’t know what I’m walking into, but weapons and money always seem to help in one way or another.

Once everything is packed into a duffel, I charge out the door and bump straight into Nico. He makes clear he’s not done. His tenancy is about to get him a black, or rather, a blacker eye.

“I don’t have time for this shit.” Without warning, I knock Nico out cold.

I leave him on the floor. One of my men will ensure he is detained until my return. And then I’ll decide what to do with him.

Jumping into my Mercedes, I make the forty-five-minute drive downtown. I keep to the speed limit. I don’t run any red lights. Even though a lot of cops are on my payroll, I don’t want to draw any attention my way. After the day I’ve had, odds are I’ll end up getting pulled over.

It’s hard not to think that even with the power I wield and the people I know, I can’t find my daughter. It seems it’s one shit show after the other, with no hint of things getting better.

And when I pull up at the deli, I just add this establishment to the shit pile.

I put money into this place when it was on the brink of bankruptcy.

Mario makes the best meatball subs in town.

Too bad his gambling problem saw him flushing his profits down the toilet.

He sold to me for cheap. I said he could stay on the proviso that he turned a blind eye to the unlawful dealings that took place.