Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Absolutely not,” I say, cutting him off sharply, and he looks as surprised as I feel.
That’s not the reaction I expected to have.
Saul’s offering me the chance to go home, which is basically all I’ve wanted since getting off the plane in Chicago. It might only be a visit, but still, two months ago I would’ve thrown myself at the chance.
Now, I can’t imagine leaving here.
Not with things the way they are. Not with my relationship with Davide blossoming into whatever the fuck this is. Not with the war looming. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him while I was away.
Because I care about him. And I care about his family. Freddie and Elena, even Simon and Alessandro, and Laura in a weird way. They’ve made me feel welcome—well, Laura hasn’t, she’s actually tried to do the opposite—and I’ve fallen for them just like I’ve fallen for my husband.
“Are you sure?” he asks, shaking his head. “I kind of figured you’d be happy.”
“I’m sure. My place is here. Maybe if you had called me—”
“How many times am I going to apologize for that?”
“A dozen more, you fucking asshole.” I grin at him and punch his arm. “But really. I can’t leave, even if that offer means a lot.”
He sits back and studies me for a second, a sly smile on his face. I hate that stupid look. “Well, alright,” he says. “Seems like you’re happier here than you’re letting on.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, shaking my head, but I’m smiling too, because he’s right. I’m happy here. I want to be here with my husband and his family.
This is where I belong.
Chapter 39
Davide
Four blissful days. I get four days of pure joy with my wife. We cook, watch movies, sleep together on every single surface in the house, basically act like newlyweds. We laugh, drink wine, fuck some more, and spend all of our time together.
I expected her mood to tank after that visit from her brother. I didn’t hear what they said, but she’s been pining for home ever since she got here. I figured speaking with him would only make that worse.
Except the opposite happened.
She seems lighter, happier, freer somehow, like all that tension and worrying were suddenly gone. Like she was really here with me now, not halfway between our life and the life she gave up.
It couldn’t last. I wanted it to, needed it to, desperately craved her touch and her laugh every waking second of every day, but when I woke up to a message from Bruno, I knew it was time.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, kissing her brow lightly enough that she doesn’t stir. “But I have to.”
Even if I’d rather stay in bed. I have to.
I get dressed slowly. My wounds are still painful, but I’ve healed enough that I can get around. I put on my suit and shove my gun into my waistband, and I stare at myself in the mirror. I wish Stefania were with me, her arms draped over my shoulders. But I can’t have that, not really, not when I know Santoro is still out there.
Emilio picks me up at the edge of the oasis. “It’s for real this time,” he says, gliding the car to the south side of town. “Not the big man himself, but one of his best Capos. Fucking Louie Lombardi.”
I lean back in my seat. If they really know how to find Lombardi, that could break this whole war wide open. He’s one of Santoro’s top lieutenants, and so far, he’d been impossible to track down. The story Emilio tells is entirely plausible: they took the intel we’d gathered over the last few days and stumbled on a lucky break. Apparently, Lombardi has a girlfriend in this part of town, and he likes to visit her once a week.
“He’s coming tonight,” Emilio says. “We’re parked outside of a decent apartment building. It’s not new, but it’s not beat to shit, either. The exact sort of place a mobster would hide his little fuck-toy. I hear she runs the books for half his clubs. Who knows.”
“We’re setting an ambush.” I can already see Lombardi at the end of my knife, spilling his fucking guts. “He knows where Santoro’s hiding. If we can get at him—”
Emilio nods, grinning huge. “Bruno knew you’d say that. I was starting to worry that injury put you on the sidelines for good.”
“Fuck that,” I say, staring out the window and thinking about Stefania. “I’m still in this fight.”
It’s a last-minute thing. We don’t have a lot of time to plan and get set up, but it shouldn’t be complicated. I get Emilio into position in the parking lot and order him to watch the door. He’ll send a message when he spots Lombardi then he’ll drive off. Bruno will take over from there and tail the Capo once he leaves. I’ll nab the fucker on his commute back to whatever snake hole he crawled out from.