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I travelled first class with the family I was accompanying when I came to Torino. With two rambunctious kids to handle, it’d been hard to revel or even relish in the surroundings. I’d thought it was the epitome of luxe, especially coming from someone who’d never set foot on a plane before. I had my passport because the school went on a bus trip north to the Canadian side of the border once.

Yet, that flight had nothing on this one. Who knew people traveled in this kind of opulence? Even in movies, I’ve never seen such a luxurious jet, and I can’t believe I’m sitting in one as we’re taking off for the US.

When Don Giacomo came to find me a little over an hour ago, it hadn’t dawned what was really happening. Valentino and Stefano were going back to New Jersey, and I could tag along for the trip, could save the hundreds of dollars for a ticket. I didn’t have much to pack, so it didn’t take long. It sounded like the solution to all my woes—I wasn’t staying in Turin any longer than I had to now I had the money to start afresh, and Stefano and I had been through everything we needed to speak about.

Only more slow decaying death awaited us. None of us could live like that, with that…

I’m tempted to glance at him, two seats back, but I don’t. My gaze has snagged on Valentino sitting across the aisle from me, and it’s only now I realize I haven’t extended my condolences. But what will those words mean? Ultimately, Valentino has lost his father, and the strain on his features tells the world how much this loss is afflicting him. He’s a man of few words, I’ve come to find, though I’m sure he batted in my corner throughout the time Stefano and I have been together. Valentino has been a steadying influence on his more over-the-top cousin.

I can’t help it, I reach out across the aisle and touch the sleeve of his jacket. When he glances at me, his blue eyes are pained though a hint of a smile touches his lips and relieves the austere mask of severity on his carved features. We don’t need words; I smile a little, clench his arm tighter, then let go. With a nod of acknowledgement, he returns to his musings.

He must have a lot on his mind, starting with who murdered his dad. I don’t hold mine in great regard anymore, but even so, the idea of losing him slashes at my heart. What would it be like to lose a loved one?

Yet, this is indeed what I’m going through. Stefano is just a few paces behind me, but we could have the entire Atlantic Ocean between us. He makes no move to come speak to me, and the entire flight is spent like this. And maybe that’s for the best.

I doze on and off, then we’re landing, a motorcade of Cadillac Escalades is waiting for us, and I’m bundled into a car alone with the driver, Stefano going with his cousin. I suppose they’re going to the police station directly.

I’m taken to a big white house in an affluent part of New Jersey. I’d always thought the state was a brick and steel decrepit behemoth reminiscent of the world of Gotham in the Batman-verse. This is way more uber-rich Real Housewives of Wherever .

It’s bustling with people inside, and a single glance tells me these are Borgata soldiers. So Valentino is a hot shot in the East Coast Mafia world? I never would’ve guessed, given how he doesn’t lord it over others. And with his father dead, him being the eldest, he’s the one primed to take over.

I’m shown to a guest room by the housekeeper, a buxom older woman named Ina. The faint accent tells me she’s from Romania—I’ve met so many girls from Eastern Europe back in Torino, it’s easy to distinguish who’s from where now. Strange how there’s so much luggage in the space. Unless they think Stefano and I are together?

Exhaustion slams over me, and I fall on the bed, asleep within minutes. When I wake up, it’s dark outside, and it’s to find Stefano bundling a blanket and pillow in his arms.

“I’ll take the sofa,” he says quietly when he notices I’m awake.

Jet lag is doing a number on me, and when I next wake up, he’s not here. Hunger takes me downstairs, where Ina serves me breakfast, but it feels wrong to be waited on hand and foot, and I ask her to put me to task. The house is even fuller, with a lot of comings and goings now.

We all fall into this kind of rhythm for the next couple of days. Then it’s the funeral, and I’m standing under the shade of a tree at the cemetery, dressed in a demure knee-length black dress complete with pillbox hat and a small veil over my eyes. Turns out the luggage was mine, courtesy of Don Giacomo. He’d even had a funeral outfit packed for me.

One more thing I have to be grateful to him for, and one more reason I’m still sticking around. On the way to the airport, the Don looked out the window the entire time, though no one would ignore the weight of his words.

“Stefano will accompany you to your home.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist.” He’d chuckled then. “He will insist, too. Once the funeral is over, he will take you back to Portland.”

Silence then stretched for a moment.

“Stefano,” he’d continued. “Even Valentino. They’re a new generation, boys who’ve been told it doesn’t make them a sissy to cry. Such permission is a liberation as much as it hides a sharp blade on the other side. It permits them to feel, but they also don’t know how to deal with this hurt. It leaves them bereft…unless they have a strong woman they can lean on, who they can rest with.”

I’d been dreading what he’d say next, and I wasn’t wrong.

“You are Stefano’s anchor in this storm, Kaya. Don’t toss him to the waves before he’s okay.”

I made a promise in that car, which I’m now upholding.

My gaze travels across the expanse of this gathering to find Stefano. He’s standing to the right of Valentino, one pace behind him. The lineup of siblings extends at the front.

One thing that’s striking seeing all the Andrettis like this is how this lot has sure won the genetic lottery. Every brother is hotter than the other. Valentino is the epitome of tall, dark, and broodingly handsome, with his unruly black hair and those piercing deep blue eyes. The next one in the lineup is the second eldest, Luciano. Also with the unruly hair, but with clean-cut features, his jawline always appearing freshly shaved, leaner with the physique of a swimmer.

Then comes the true stunner, Franco. Sharp features that look like they could cut glass, perfect stubble on that hewn-from-marble jawline, same blue eyes yet more striking with his deep-set gaze. He’s like dialing up the hotness factor on boy-next-door Luciano, their resemblance akin to twins. The youngest brother, Victor, strikes by his sheer size even though he’s also got the staggeringly beautiful looks. He resembles a small mountain, the hardness of his frame and features softened somewhat by his intense eyes which convey come-hither more than I’ll-smash-you-with-a-finger-alone.

Next is the outlier—the baby of the family and the only girl, Francesca. She looks nothing like her brothers. In fact, Stefano could pass for her sibling, their eyes the same clear hazel. She’s no less a stunner, though, that crystalline skin, full lips, and long red hair marking her as a siren who could get and doom any man she wants.

Closing the front-row lineup is an older man who has his arm around Francesca’s shoulders. I’ve heard her calling him Padrino , so he’s her godfather, not her man. Antonio is his name, I think, and he’s been around a lot, always in the vicinity of Valentino when he’s home. In his fifties, suave though not sleazy, more than a ladies’ man: a player is how I’d describe him. But the family seems to hang on to his every word, so he must be someone important to them.

There’s another man who sticks to Valentino almost like glue here, and today, he’s standing to the side, slightly behind Stefano. He’s dark-haired with grey eyes and the gorgeous features of a teenage heartthrob grown into a magnificent man. He tends to keep to himself, and we haven’t been introduced so far. It’s clear, though, he’s as much a part of this family as blood members.

It's always a heart-clenching moment when the time comes for the departed one’s near and dear to approach his lowered casket and drop a handful of dirt on it before moving away. My feet stay glued even though people are starting to leave, unable to tear my eyes from Stefano as he takes his turn to say a few words while dribbling soil on his late uncle’s coffin.

The Andretti brothers are leaving, all of them falling over their sister like a protective mantle wrapping around her.

Seeing Stefano left behind, my chest starts to ache, and I can’t help it when my feet start in his direction and I’m there beside him, placing a tentative hand on his upper arm.

“It’s me,” I say softly when he jumps slightly at the contact.

“Kaya.” He blinks down at me, his gaze coming to rest on my face.

It’s almost like he didn’t expect to find me here. Like he’s entirely alone in the world.

The clenching in my chest, it implodes now, collapsing everything inside that cavity.

I’m here, Stefano.

But I’m not, am I? I’m staying back in the US, and he’s leaving for Torino again.

We’re not going to be together again.

Why does it hurt so much to reckon this? We were drifting away, him and me. There was no future for us, not after he became the Don’s enforcer. That man took my precious Stefano away and left a husk of that beautiful being behind. Me and him, we were slowly snuffing the life out of each other. How much longer would we have held on?

When his hand comes up to clasp my jaw, everything inside me stills. My mind stops galloping a mile a minute, and the warmth of his touch, the strength of his palm, the gentle pressure of his fingers, they all ground me in this moment. In him.

“Stefano?” someone calls.

The spell is broken, and we both turn to find one of the Andretti siblings calling us. Clean-cut good looks of an angel: it’s Luciano.

Stefano’s strong jaw clenches, and his hand is flexing and closing as it drops from my cheek. Luciano is still waiting for us, though, and we can’t hold them back. Buoyed by the feel of his touch on my face, I risk grasping his hand, breathing out a sigh of relief when he lets me thread our fingers together.

Strange how normal it feels to be joined like this. We’ve strolled hand in hand a few times in Torino, shoulders brushing in the tiny passageways of the flea market they call the Balon there. Still, it pains me to have this silent man with me now. I miss his spirit, his vivaciousness, his wit, the way some words came slightly off when he put his Italian thoughts into English words to converse with me.

We’re dying, me and him, and how bittersweet to realize this even more poignantly at a funeral, of all places. Yet, I can’t let him go. So I stay by his side, and we gravitate around each other all afternoon at the subdued reception happening at the big house. Little by little, we’re left among the house dwellers as everyone leaves. The family needs privacy for this, so I take it as my cue to head up to my room.

Stefano surprises me by not releasing my hand as I start out of the main room. Silently, we ascend the stairs and close the door to our room, shutting out the world behind us.

Here, in this enclosed bubble, our hands fall away. It hurts. I don’t even have a scale anymore to gauge the levels; I just know it’s hurting like hell. One step, two, and I’m walking away from him where he still stands near the door.

It’s over now. The funeral’s happened—I have no more reason to stay. I’ve upheld my promise to the Don.

Fuck if I want to leave now. Faced with this inevitability, I’m starting to ask myself a single question that’s gaining strength to blink like a distracting Times Square marquee at me.

What have I done?

I shouldn’t have come here. I could’ve stayed back, could’ve given us a chance. So what if we’d lost ourselves? Isn’t that what’s happening here now? I paid heed only to my broken heart, hearing only its loud wail of misery. My soul got silenced in that screeching lamentation, when I should’ve been listening to its plea and not this fickle, immature, drama queen beating in my chest.

“Where did I go wrong, Kaya?”

Tears clog my throat so suddenly, I choke for a second. Why isn’t he putting the blame on us, on me? Why is he taking it all on him? It’s not all his fault. Yes, he became a different man when he turned into the enforcer, but did he have a choice? I know the world of the Mafia now—I have no doubt Valentino is keeping apprised of the police enquiry into his father’s death so he’ll be the one who’ll bring justice to the motherfucker who killed his dad. An eye for an eye takes its full meaning in their world. So how could Stefano not have lost his soul on such a path?

Slowly, I turn to him, my throat closing once again upon seeing the pain etched on his face.

“You did nothing wrong, Stefano.”

A small smile graces his lips. “I love how you say my name.”

“How do I say your name?” I ask, frowning.

“Say it again.”

“Stefano.”

He states his name aloud, too. “Can you hear it?”

It’s a definite stress on the f lengthening the full sound.

“I’m serious, Kaya. Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn’t—”

“ Porca miseria ,” he mutters. “I was only trying to protect you.”

Something he said on our last night in Torino comes back to tickle my mind. “Protect me from what? From Don Giacomo?”

He waves a hand in the air. “No. Not from the Don.”

“Then what? Who?”

It’s only a short moment, but I can see a full spectrum of emotions run over his face. Doubt, worry, deliberation, reluctance, resignation.

“Daku.”

The word hits me like a cannon blast, and I step back without realizing, falling into a heap on the bed when my calves make contact.

“What…what are you talking about?”

I almost think Stefano is either going to barge out or slam his fist in the wall, so much anger and the inevitability of forbearance seem to flare over him.

“The night I was activated,” he starts then pauses. “It was to find him. Because he’d threatened to kill you.”

I open my mouth to say something, but no word comes out.

“But I took care of it. He’s never going to hurt you again.”

My breath hitches. “You killed him?”

“There are fates worse than death.”

The quiet certitude in this statement sends a shiver down my spine. This is the enforcer talking. Not Stefano. Not the man I fell in love with.

That person, he is well and truly lost to me.

Loss. It doesn’t have to happen via death. Just look at us here, now. We’re both still very much alive, yet we’ll never find what we had again.

It’s well and truly over.

He has to go on his way, I have to make mine. And this will only happen once he’s fulfilled his promise to the Don—he’ll have to deliver me home. Only then will he be able to leave.

Only then will I be able to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and try to put them back together again.

There’s only one way.

“Take me back home, Stefano. Please.”