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8

ROMIRO

T he car hums softly beneath us as I drive, my fingers gripping the wheel a little too tightly. The city blurs past in streaks of yellow and white, streetlights flashing through the windows, painting Alessia in a wash of color and shadow. I glance at her from the corner of my eye—her hair tousled, her lips slightly swollen, a small smile still playing on her mouth. She’s talking, her voice a soft melody in the enclosed space, but I barely hear her. I can’t focus on her words. I can’t focus on anything except the image burned into my mind: my mother. Helen. Alive .

I thought she was dead. No, I was sure of it. But I saw her, walking out of the darkness in Midtown like she hasn’t supposedly been dead for years now—at least she should’ve been. She trafficked and threw me away like garbage, all for a bag of fucking cocaine. I grip the steering wheel even harder, feeling my palms strangle the leather, trying to steady the rush of memories, the flood of anger, confusion, and something I can’t even name.

Alessia’s voice breaks through, a soft, curious note. “Romiro … are you okay?” She’s trying to catch my eye by leaning closer. Her hand reachs out to touch my arm, but I flinch at the contact, my muscles tensing involuntarily. I don’t mean to, but I’m too wound up, too lost in my own head.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice sounding flat even to me. “I’m fine.”

But I’m not fine. Not even close.

Alessia’s brows furrow, concern flashing in her green eyes. “You seem … distracted,” she says gently. “Did something happen back there? Other than …that.”

Back there. In the restaurant. With her, pressed against me. With me sinking into her like she belonged to me. Her lips on mine, her breath hot against my skin. Her moans echoing against the shell of my ear, I should be thinking about that. I should be feeling something—satisfaction, desire, anything. But fuck, all I feel is this cold, creeping dread clawing at my insides. And all I can fucking think about is that bitch—Helen.

“I’m just tired,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but I can’t hide the edge. She picks up on it, of course. She always does.

“Romiro, you’ve been quiet since we left,” she presses, her hand still on my arm, her touch warm, grounding. “If there’s something you need to talk about?—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I cut her off, sharper than I intended. I see her flinch, and guilt twists in my stomach. I can tell she’s doubting the truth behind what we talked about at the restaurant, the way her eyes are cast down, her face dropping into a cold mask, shutting me out. This is my fault, and I want to reach out, to apologize, to reassure her, to explain, but the words get stuck in my throat. I don’t know how to tell her that I just saw a ghost. A ghost that could tear my whole world apart.

She pulls back slightly, her hand falling away, her expression resolute. “Okay,” she says quietly, looking out the window as the darkness casts shadows over her face. I can see the hurt there, the confusion, and it makes me want to punch something. I’m already screwing this up. I’m screwing everything up. And this is only the start. I can’t do anything properly.

I focus on the road, trying to keep my hands steady, but my mind races in a hundred different directions. Do I tell Eli? Nicolo? What the hell do I even say? Hey, remember how I thought the woman who trafficked me was dead? Surprise, she’s not! My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together. If she’s back, she’s not here alone. That woman always had someone backing her up. Always had someone pulling the strings. If she’s here now, it means there’s a reason.

The silence between us grows thicker, more suffocating. Alessia shifts in her seat, glancing at me again. “Romiro … are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time, like she’s afraid to push too hard.

I nod, but it’s a lie, and we both know it. “I’m fine,” I say again, but the words feel hollow. She watches me for a moment longer, and I feel her eyes on me, searching for something, trying to read the chaos in my mind.

I don’t know how to explain it to her. I don’t know if I even want to. She doesn’t know about Helen. Doesn’t know what that woman did to me, what she turned me into. And I don’t want Alessia to know the kind of monster Helen shaped me into. I don’t want Alessia to see that side of me, to see the darkness that still clings to my bones, no matter how much I try to bury it.

I keep my gaze fixed on the road, forcing myself to breathe, to think. I need a plan. I need to figure out what the hell Helen is doing here, and more importantly, what she wants. If she’s back, there’s a reason. And I need to know what it is before she makes her next move.

But right now, all I can see is her face—the way she looked at me, like she knew I’d be there, like she was waiting for me, like a predator waiting for its prey. I feel a chill run down my spine, my fingers digging into the wheel. She shouldn’t know where I am. She shouldn’t even know I’m alive. And yet…

“Romiro, you’re scaring me,” Alessia says suddenly, breaking through the fog in my head. Her voice is small, almost fragile, and I realize I’ve been gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles are white.

I force myself to relax, to take a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice softer this time. “I’m just … dealing with something. It’s not about you, okay?”

She nods, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the doubt that’s probably eating at her, the way she’s biting her lip, like she wants to ask more but doesn’t know if she should. I hate that look. I hate that I’ve put it there. But I can’t deal with her questions right now. I can’t deal with anything except the fear crawling up my spine, whispering that everything I’ve built, everything I’ve done to protect myself, is about to come crashing down.

We’re almost at her apartment. The streets are quieter here, fewer people, fewer lights. I pull up to the curb, the car coming to a stop with a soft squeal of the brakes. Alessia looks at me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I feel like I’m suffocating.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says softly, her voice tentative, like she’s trying to gauge my mood. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She reaches out, touching my arm again, only this time more hesitantly. “If you need to talk … if there’s anything?—”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, a little too quickly. “Just … go inside, okay?”

She frowns, pulling her hand back, hurt flashing in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. She opens the car door and steps out into the cool night. I watch her go, my heart pounding in my chest, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind.

She glances back at me once more, and I try to smile, but it feels wrong, forced. She nods, then turns and heads toward her building. I watch her until she disappears through the door, then I’m alone. Just me and my thoughts, the city stretching out around me like a labyrinth of dark clouds.

I let out a long breath, my hands still gripping the wheel, my mind spinning. I need to figure this out. I need to know what Helen wants, who she’s working with, and why the hell she’s back. I can’t let her destroy everything I’ve built—everything I’ve tried to protect.

I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly. I falter, my thumb hovering over Eli’s number, then Nicolo’s. Who do I tell? Who do I trust with this?

The only thing that keeps repeating in my mind, over and over like a chant, is the one thought I can’t shake.

She’s back. She is back. Fuck.

Helen’s back. And I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it.

I sit in the car, the engine idling, my mind racing. I watch the door to Alessia's building for another moment, hoping she’ll come back out, that she’ll defy me, walk back to me, and just sit with me, even if she doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t. The door stays closed, and the silence inside the car feels suffocating.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I can’t just sit here. I need to move, to do something. I grab my phone from the console, my fingers moving on instinct as I dial Eli’s number. It rings once, twice, and then he picks up.

“Yeah?” Eli’s voice comes through, gruff and annoyed. I hear the noise of the street in the background; he’s probably on a date with Val or heading off to one of the clubs.

“I saw her,” I say, cutting straight to the point. My voice is lower than I intend, almost a growl.

There’s a pause, a beat of silence. “Saw who?” Eli asks, like he’s already bracing himself for bad news.

“Helen,” I say, my voice flat, but the name feels like a punch to the gut. “My mother. I saw her, Eli. She’s alive.”

I hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end, the rustling of movement. “What the fuck, Romiro? You’re sure?” His tone is all business now, sharp and focused.

“I know what I saw,” I snap, pounding on the wheel. “She was across the street from the restaurant. I saw her come out while I was leaving with Alessia.”

Eli lets out a low curse, and I can almost envision the way his face tightens, the way his eyes narrow when he’s thinking hard. “Shit. This is the last thing we need right now. We’ve already got the Russians breathing down our necks and the Outfit lurking around like fucking ghosts. And now this?”

“I know,” I mutter, the anger is rising in me again. “I thought she was dead, Eli. I thought we were done with her.”

“Well, apparently not,” he snaps back. “And if she’s here, it means trouble. Big trouble. Who the hell is she working with? Why now?”

I don’t have answers, and it’s pissing me off. “I don’t know, but we need to figure it out. Fast.” My phone signals another person is attempting to call me, and I merge the calls together.

“Yeah, no shit,” Eli grumbles. “This is gonna put more heat on us, more than we can handle right now.”

I hear a click, and Nicolo’s voice cuts in, cold and controlled. “What’s going on?”

“Romiro saw Helen,” Eli tells him. “She’s alive.”

There’s a pause, a moment of heavy silence. I can almost hear Nicolo’s brain working, processing the information. “Alive?” he repeats, his tone measured, almost disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” I snap. “I saw her with my own eyes. She was in Midtown, coming out of a different restaurant. It looked … like she knew I’d be there.”

Nicolo is quiet for a moment, and I know he’s thinking, calculating every possible angle. “That complicates things,” he says finally, his voice steady. “If she’s back, she has a reason. She never did anything without a reason.”

“No kidding,” Eli mutters. “And it’s a bad reason, you can bet on that.”

Nicolo takes a deep breath, and I hear the decision in his voice before he even speaks. “I’m coming back to New York,” he says, calm and commanding. “I’ll be on the jet in the next hour.”

“From Italy?” I ask, surprised. “I thought you were handling deals over there.”

“I was,” Nicolo replies. “But this takes priority. If she’s back, it means she has a plan, and I need to know what it is. We can’t let her catch us off guard.”

“She already has. She deliberately let me see her. To unsettle us. Fucking bitch,” I mutter, frustration bubbling to the surface. “She’s clearly already been watching us.”

“We can’t just drop everything we have. The Outfit’s gone too quiet. We’ve got our hands full as it is,” Eli says

Nicolo is unfazed. “I’ll make a few calls, rearrange things. The deals can wait for now. This is more important. I can’t afford to ignore this. We can’t afford to ignore this.”

Eli swears under his breath, clearly not happy, but he knows better than to argue. “This is fucking up everything,” he mutters. “But we need to move fast. If she’s in the city, she’s already a step ahead of us.”

“I agree,” Nicolo says smoothly. “Eli, set up a meeting with Dominico and the enforcers. You’ll need to get everyone on the same page and figure out our next move.”

Eli exhales sharply. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll make it happen. But I’m telling you, Nicolo, this is gonna stir shit up.”

“I know it’s going to stir shit up. You think I want to be drawn back into the damn Camorra? We deal with this now, or it’ll deal with us.” Nicolo’s always been like this, even when I was younger.

There’s a tense silence, and I hear the low rumble of the jet engine in the background of Nicolo’s call. He’s already moving, already acting. That’s Nicolo—never a second wasted, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t sense Helen coming back into the picture.

“What about me?” I ask, my voice quieter, calmer than I feel. “What do you want me to do?”

Nicolo hesitates for a moment, and I can feel his calculating brain running a mile a second. “Keep your head down, Romiro,” he says finally. “Stay out of sight for now. Let Eli and me handle this. Don’t do anything stupid.”

I bristle at his words, my pride flaring. “I’m not a kid, Nic. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” Nicolo says, his voice softening just a fraction. “But this is bigger than you, bigger than all of us. We can’t afford mistakes.”

I grit my teeth, swallowing back my frustration. He’s right, but it doesn’t make it easier to hear. “Fine,” I mutter. “Just keep me in the loop.”

“You’ll know when there’s something to know,” he replies, and then his tone shifts, back to that commanding coldness. “Eli, I trust you’ll do what’s necessary on your end. I’ll see you both soon.”

“Right back at you, Nicolo,” Eli says, and then there’s a click, and the line goes dead.

I toss the phone onto the passenger seat. I’m angry. Angry that she’s back, that everything I thought I’d left behind is creeping up on me again. Angry that I have to wait, have to sit on the sidelines while Nicolo and Eli make the moves.

The city rushes by outside, but I barely see it. My thoughts are a whirlwind, my mind jumping from one thing to the next—Helen’s face, her smile that always hid a thousand secrets, the way she looked right through me, like I was nothing. I tighten my grip, feeling my knuckles crack.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to think. I need to get back to my apartment, regroup, and figure out my next move. I know Nicolo will take care of things, but I can’t just sit back and do nothing. Not this time.

I drive through the streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of color, my mind racing somehow faster than the car. I can’t shake the feeling that Helen’s appearance is just the beginning, the first step in some twisted game she’s playing. And I have no idea what her endgame is.

I pull up outside my building, cutting the engine, and sit there for a moment, staring at the darkened windows. I need a plan. I need to figure out what she wants, who she’s working with, and why. Why now? I reach for my phone again, hesitating for a moment before dialing another number.

It rings once, twice, and then a familiar voice answers. “Yeah?”

“Dominico,” I say, my voice steady. “We need to talk.”