Page 42

TWENTY-ONE

L eone

The office is dark, the only light coming from the glass decanter catching the desk lamp’s glow. Whiskey untouched. I haven’t poured a glass. Not tonight.

I made a promise to Rocco. Told him I’d look into helping him get Sienna back when the dust settled. The dust hasn’t settled, still I owe him more than promises.

I pick up my phone and call Volkov.

No answer. I don’t try again. Knowing that bastard will be harder to deal with than her father.

I scroll down to Dominic’s number. Her father. A miserable bastard, but smart businessman, unfortunately not so smart in the husband and father department. Still, he is the kind of man who doesn’t sleep easy, like me. Like all of us. So I hit call. He answers on the second ring.

“Leone,” he says, voice tired. “It’s late.”

“And you’re still awake, old man.”

“You calling to cash in some favor I forgot I owe?”

“No,” I say. “I want to meet. It’s about Sienna.”

The line is quiet for a second. Then he laughs. Not amused. Just some broken sound that crackles through the phone.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

I frown, Dominic doesn’t usually turn down my meetings, rarely in fact. “Why?”

“I’ve got a funeral to plan.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before they make sense. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say carefully. “If there’s anything I can do?—”

“Yeah,” Dominic interrupts. “Go back in time and make sure I listen to you.”

I stop, falling still hearing that. “What?”

“I should have listened to you,” he says. “Volkov killed her. On their honeymoon. She’s dead, Leone.”

Something in my chest shifts. I press my palm against the edge of the desk in horror.

“She didn’t make it home from the honeymoon,” Dominic continues.

“And I didn’t ask questions. I thought… I thought she was choosing to stay away because she was still angry with me.

Thought that she’d call. Instead, he buried her and sent flowers to her mother like he was grieving her, too.

“So… I’m looking at his body right now actually.

Miserable bastard didn’t even get her a headstone, just buried her next to the other ones like a shrine of wives in his gardens. ”

I can’t speak.

“She trusted me,” Dominic finishes, voice cracking. “And I got her killed, my only daughter.”

The call ends with no goodbyes.

I sit there for a long time, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen like I could undo the last minute if I tapped hard enough.

There’s no undoing this.

Sienna is dead. And I now have to break that news to Rocco.

I lean forward, rest my elbows on the desk, and close my eyes. Another weight. Another coffin to bury.

There’s a knock on the office door.

Milo pushes it open, peering in. “Your mother’s here,” he says. “To say goodbye to Dante.”

I nod.

He steps closer, catches the look on my face. His expression tightens. “What is it?”

I swallow the answer, the words come, anyway. “Where’s Rocco?”

Milo straightens. “Patio. Why?”

“When I’m done with Dante,” I say quietly, “bring him to my office.”

Milo’s brows furrow. “Did you get word on Sienna? Did you talk to Volkov?”

“No,” I say. “I spoke to Dominic.”

He waits. Then I say it. “Sienna is dead. Volkov killed her on their honeymoon.” Milo takes a step back like the words physically hit him. He doesn’t speak, just lowers his head.

“Fuck!” he curses knowing also how horrible this will be to tell Rocco.

He nods slowly. “I’ll get him. When you’re done.”

“Thank you.” I walk toward the door, and Milo doesn’t follow. The hallway feels longer than usual. I descend the stairs to the basement, each step heavier than the last. I’ve carried bodies through these halls, heard confessions soaked in blood. Tonight, tonight is something else.

When I reach the bottom, I find my father waiting. The man who built empires out of fear. Who taught me how to cut a man down with words before I learned to do it with steel.

He looks… old .

Not in the physical sense. He still wears his grief in expensive suits and perfect posture. Yet, there’s something gone in his eyes. He peers up at me when I stop in front of him.

“Do you want a moment with him?” I ask.

He stares at the door. Dante is just on the other side, bound and waiting.

He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t face him. Not while knowing what I’m about to allow you to do.” His voice is raw. He’s never sounded like this before.

Like he finally sees the price of looking away.

I nod. “I can’t let him walk”

“I know,” he says, then trudges past me, up the stairs, and out of sight. Milo offered to come with me. I told him no, he is my brother, so I need to do this.

This part is mine alone, and something I should have done years ago. Instead, I held on to the old adage that blood is somehow thicker than water despite years of being shown the opposite.

I unlock the reinforced door at the end of the basement hall and step inside. The lights hum overhead, casting everything in cold white. No shadows left to hide in here. Just cement walls, chains, and torture devices.

Dante sits on the metal chair, hands cuffed behind him, ankles shackled to the bolt in the floor. His lip is split. One eye swollen shut. Santos’s men didn’t go easy on him when they dropped him here, but they didn’t do what needs doing.

That’s on me and I would have it no other way; he needs to pay for what he did to Fallon.

He lifts his head when he hears the door. He smirks through blood and cracked teeth.

“Well, if it isn’t the conquering Italian prince,” he drawls. “Come to slay the monster and hang his head on your wall? How did that conversation go with Papa?”

I don’t answer. I close the door behind me and lean against it, arms crossed.

Dante laughs. “Still dramatic as ever. So, what’s the plan? You gonna give me some long speech about loyalty, family, honor?” He spits blood onto the floor between us. “Don’t bother. I’m not the one who started this.”

“No,” I say. “You’re just the one who sold us out. Who handed my wife to a psychopath and didn’t care if she or the baby lived long enough to see the sun again.”

“ Your wife,” he says, mocking. “Always about you, huh? About your empire. Your name. You think the rest of us didn’t bleed to get this far?”

“You bled for power and at the cost of your family.”

“Oh, save it,” Dante snaps. “You were born the golden one. You think I didn’t see how Papa looked at you? How every time he said ‘legacy,’ he meant you ? Never me. Never, not once.”

“You earned that,” I growl, stepping forward. “Every time you lied, every time you took a shortcut, every time you acted like the family was a burden and not a privilege.”

“That family you’re so proud of?” He laughs again, harsh and bitter.

“You mean the one that would crumble without you? You think any of them would lift a finger for me now? I gave Mikhail information, sure. I didn’t put the gun in his hand.

Papa did, when he took Mama. You did when you killed Lydia.

I just helped him by showing him where to fucking aim. ”

I clench my jaw. He’s trying to bait me. It almost works.

“You’re wrong,” I say quietly. “You didn’t just hand over intel. You made sure Fallon was vulnerable. You made sure she’d be alone, and killed my men knowing exactly what Mikhail planned.”

Dante shrugs. “It was just leverage. I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. You were supposed to betray Santos, start a war, and he’d hand her back and I would be free to run the strip when Papa realized you’d choose her over everyone.”

“She was pregnant.”

He blinks. The smallest flicker of something flashes across his face. Then it’s gone.

“Well. That’s unfortunate.”

I take another step toward him. “She could’ve died.”

“She didn’t,” he snaps. “She’s still breathing, isn’t she? You got her back. Everyone’s so damn lucky. ”

That word again.

I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “You think I can’t kill you because of Papa, don’t you?”

Dante leans back in the chair, as much as the chains allow. “You can’t. He’ll never forgive you. Killing your own brother? That’s a line even you won’t cross.”

“Funny,” I murmur, “because he said the same thing about betraying your blood.”

Dante goes still.

I knock on the door twice, and a moment later, it opens behind me.

My mother steps inside.

Dante’s breath catches. “Mama?”

She looks so small. She’s wearing one of her black dresses, her rosary twisted tight in her fingers. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying. She hasn’t said a word yet, so I can tell how much this is killing her.

Dante tries to play it off. “They dragged you into this? Jesus. Tell him, Mama. Tell him this is insane.”

She just stares at him.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he says, his voice higher now. “I didn’t know what Mikhail would do. He was supposed to scare them. That’s all. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Still, she doesn’t speak.

“You’re not seriously going along with this,” Dante says. “Mama. Please. Get Papa. He’ll stop this. He won’t let Leone kill his own son.”

Finally, my mother moves forward. Slowly. Like every step costs her something, and I have no doubt that it does.

She kneels in front of him. Reaches out. Brushes his hair back from his forehead the way she used to when we were boys. Dante leans into her touch.

She presses her forehead to his.

Then she whispers, “ I love you. But I won’t protect you from what you’ve done. ”

She stands quickly.

“Wait, Mama?” Dante panics and sobs escape her chest, she wanders closer and at first, I think she might beg me to spare him, instead her hand touches my arm, and she looks up at me pleadingly.

“Please don’t make him suffer long, this is hard enough, I can’t…

I…” she drops her head and rushes out the door. It slams shut behind her.

Dante’s face shatters. “ Wait! ” he screams. “Wait, Mama please you can’t let him do this! ”

I take my time walking over. No need to rush. He knows what’s coming now.

“Leone,” he says, voice breaking. “Come on. Please. You don’t want to do this. I’m your brother!”

“I didn’t,” I admit. “I wanted my brother back. Then I realized you never truly were one to begin with.”

“We are blood,” Dante gasps. “I’m still your brother— that has to mean something!”

“No,” I say. “You’re a traitor who hid behind Papa’s shadow long enough to fool the world. Not anymore.”

I reach into my coat and pull the small pistol from the holster under my arm.

Dante’s eyes widen. He struggles against the chains, twisting. “Leone. Don’t. Please. ”

“Our mother has suffered enough, so I will make this quick. I wanted to drag it out. Now I am so done with you, I just want you gone.”

I aim for his heart. So there’s no chance he survives it.

“No one’s coming to save you,” I say. “This is the only legacy you left behind.”

And I pull the trigger.

The sound cracks through the basement. His body jerks once. Then stills.

I stare at him for a long time. Long enough for the silence to feel loud again.

Then I lower the gun and finally, finally, I breathe.

Milo’s waiting near the top of the stairs. He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t have to.

He just looks at me. “Are you okay?”

I nod once. “Yeah. The past is buried. All that’s left is us.”

“And Igor…” I nod slowly, having forgotten about him with everything going on.

“I suppose we better see what she wants to do with him besides remove his arms.” I peer around wondering where my mother and father went and Milo quickly notices.

“They went home.”

“Rocco?” I ask, already dreading the next part of this night.

“In your office.”

I sigh, not wanting to do this next part. I peek at Milo.

“I’ll come with you.”

Relief floods me and I move toward my office.