Page 125 of Brutal Vows

He doesn’t say it, but we all know Carla has sunk into depression, what with her pregnancy and her bodyguard, Vito Rossi, still missing. It’s been months now. There have been no leads, and the man is probably dead, but there’s no way of knowing what happened to him.

Stephano drops our suitcases and waves at the house beyond the foyer. “Feel free to explore,” he says to Milana. “Nobody is here except Carla. I’m taking Luca upstairs.”

Ugh. Not stairs.

“Oh my…” Milana is looking around at the imposing entry way. “Sure I won’t get lost?”

The house’s classical architecture, all the art, and the rich colors of the wallpaper and warm wood are imposing, but then come the views. The place is to die for.

Steph chuckles. “No, it’s big, but there’s a lot to discover. I suspect you won’t go far. I’ll get you settled later. The doctor is in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Here, I’ll take Zoe.” Milana steps in, and I hand Zoe over to her.

“I won’t be long,” I say, circling her shoulders in a side hug as I kiss her temple.

My heart is in my throat as I strain against this separation. It’s ridiculous, but over the past weeks, we got woven together in a way I didn’t anticipate. Now I don’t want to leave Milana’s side, or Zoe’s, ridiculously overprotective. I’m never going to shake it, am I? Not after everything we survived.

“We can come with you,” she suggests. “I—” She breaks off, but it’s in her voice, this same fear we’re going to live with forever.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here. There are guards outside, and the property’s perimeter has electric fences, beams, the whole fucking nine yards. This house is safe,” Stephano reassures us. “Ever since that night with Franco Fiore, Don Trapani upgraded everything. Brought out the big guns.”

But are they big enough? We aren’t going to rest easy until we’re back in Boston, but after what happened with Gabi in Matteo’s apartment, I’m not even sure that’s safe enough for my princesses, either.

“It’s fine, Milana,” I force myself to say. “Go explore.”

“Okay.”

As I limp my way to the stairs in Steph’s wake, I feel how her gaze follows me, her worry over me eating at her. By the time we’ve reached the second floor, Milana has stopped in front of a painting, showing it to Zoe in an enthusiastic voice, pointing out little details. I exhale the tension I’ve been holding in check. Normal. Everything will return to normal. With a suppressed grunt, I put being normal on my top-ten list of things to achieve after we’ve fully processed these past weeks.

“It’s quite the place, isn’t it,” I say to Stephano as he guides me down a corridor.

“Yeah. It’s a bit of a mind shift to live on a lake in Italy, but Gigi grew up here and it’s home.”

He comes to a halt, and I stop too. He glances down the empty corridor, to the spacious sitting room with windows overlooking the lake.

“You’re going to have to tell them, Luca.” Our gazes connect, and I read in his eyes everything his words aren’t saying.

I have to tell Matteo and Dominic. Ivan Petrov is going to want to sit in on that meeting too.

“I know. And I will.” Here’s the thing I haven’t told anybody yet. The Russians are looking for Franco Fiore, and we’ve skidded into a war zone without knowing what the fuck we’re getting ourselves into, or who our enemies are. “You’ve had your ear to the ground here? What’s going on in the aftermath of Randazzo’s death?”

“We need to sit and talk this through. Now isn’t the time.”

Fuck me. Things aren’t settling here, either. With Steph no longer in the States, he is close to the action here through Don Trapani, even if he’s been lying low, incognito.

“Okay.” There is no turning back time. There is only one way to get all this shit dealt with, and it’s by going forward. We have no choice.

At the end of the corridor, he holds open the door to a bedroom. An older man is waiting for us, impeccably dressed, but with a white doctor’s coat draped over the dressing table chair.

“This is Doctor Umberto Morandi. He’s Don Trapani’s personal physician and also a trained surgeon. He’ll look after you, Luca.”

“Good, thanks.”

I nod to the doctor, and as Steph leaves, sink onto the bed with a grunt of relief, admitting to the pain I’ve been hiding from Milana as best I could. My darling wife went through enough; she didn’t need to worry about this too.

59

MILANA