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The four of us crack up laughing.
I missed them. It isn’t like the old days when we studied together at Royal Elite. We were inseparable. Now, we barely have the chance to see one another except for special occasions.
“What are you doing here?” I ask them.
Vitali inclines his head toward Anton. “This motherfucker filled us in on what’s been going on.”
Kenzo shakes his head and narrows his gaze at me. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us what was going on,otouto. We would have been here in a second.”
“That’s what I told him,” Anton ribs. There’s a teasing smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes are still serious. He’s just as worried as I am.
“I didn’t want to burden you,” I admit shamefully. “If I hadn’t been so weak, none of this would have happened.”
Vitali steps in front of me, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. “You are never a burden, brother. We are all in this together.”
“Yeah,” Kenzo speaks up with a broad grin. “That’s why we're a Brotherhood. You know,Brotherhood.” He enunciates the last word. “We’re not the brotherlones.”
The three of us stare at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. Fuck, I missed them. We’d all attended Royal Elite University. It is a specialized training institution for those in the mafia founded by Tomas Ivankov. It’s neutral ground, anyone can send their men and women there to be trained as heirs, enforcers, or second in commands.
Vitali, Kenzo, and I were trained to take over from our fathers. Anton learned how to be mySovietnik. Most of my men have gone through their training and so have the others. Matthias has a similar school for youngsters where they attend school and training from as young as kindergarten, but it is only designed for thebratva.
“Alright, point taken.” I give a sigh of relief. Friends like these are hard to come by in our world. Trust is a word that not many people know.
“So,” Vitali starts. “What do you need help with,fratello?”
“Kenzo, can you see what you can find out about where my fiancée disappeared to?” I ask him, tossing him my phone. “There’s an app on there that tracks the chip in her neck but it’s not working. The signal keeps bouncing all over the place for some reason.”
Kenzo nods and makes himself at home at the kitchen island, dragging out his laptop from his backpack and getting to work.
I turn to Vitali. “I need information on the death of Cora Berisha. Vanya had requested the file not that long ago, but it all went up in flames, along with my house.”
Vitali winces. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that man.”
I shrug.
“It never felt much like home anyway.”
Vitali nods in understanding. His father was usurped by this uncle when he was eighteen in Italy, and he’s never been able to go back. Unfortunately, even with our combined power and reach, it would be a battle we might not win. We’ve told him many times that if he wanted to fight, we would stand by his side, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.
“I’ll see what I can dig up,” he tells me and heads to the kitchen to join Kenzo. Anton turns to me.
“I’m still working on the identity of that man and his daughter,” he tells me. “I have the facial recognition software working overtime and Matthias let me borrow his best hacker.”
“Thanks.” He bobs his head and goes to join the others. Meanwhile, I head to my bedroom to see if I can find some clues about Vanya. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I find it odd that she lugged a duffel bag up to the roof with her. She’d been clinging to it tightly, unwilling to let it go. It’s the same bag she’d used to pack her meager belongings from the Castellanos house.
What is she protecting so fiercely?
Where did she put it? I dig around the room, searching high and low for the bag. There it is. I find it hidden at the back of the walk-in closet, behind a box. Crouching, I zip open the duffel and peer inside. Clothes, clothes, more clothes, and… gotcha.
Wait. Is this—?
My hand reaches in to grab the stack of bound, folded papers. Pulling them out, I sit back on my ass and turn them over in my hands. The paper and specific fold are easily recognizable. My messy scrawl can be seen on the top of the first letter.
My little lioness.
I never called Ada that. Not once. I meant to, but whenever I attempted to call her by the nickname, it never seemed to fit. Is this why? Untying the ribbon, I sort through each letter I’d placed in that tree over the years. There are dozens of them, all perfectly preserved. Just like the ones I kept in the box in my office at work.
What this? There’s an extra letter at the bottom, messily folded, with my name on it. Setting the rest aside, I run my thumb gently over the paper. It’s tear-stained. Swallowing back the lump that has grown in my throat at the emotion building up around me, I open it.
