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A sudden swell of emotion hits me.
I’m a part of this family. I have a plant in their garden. That’s not just some random butterfly bush—it’smybutterfly bush. Maddie included me in her family tradition, and it makes a little piece of my heart swell.
“Oh, no,” she says, looking horrified as I start to cry. She hurries over. “It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, I wasn’t trying to?—”
“You made the girl cry,” Renzo says. “Way to go.”
“Happy tears,” I say, absolutely mortified. “I swear I’m not normally a big crier.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Maddie hugs me tight. “I was a big baby when I was pregnant. Always sobbing all over the place.”
“She still cries wheneverBlueyis on,” Renzo complains.
I laugh a little and wipe my face, getting it together. “I’m fine. Really, totally fine. I’m going to head out before I have another breakdown.”
“Are you sure?” Maddie looks concerned. “I can have someone drive you if you’re not up to it.”
“I’m totally sure.” I hug her again and say softly, “Thank you.”
It’s not what I pictured. This isn’t my family—these aren’t my people—but they could be. Maddie’s trying to welcome me the best she can, and it means so much more than she’ll ever understand.
I may be confused and unsure about my future, but at least I’ve got a bush.
Chapter 35
Allegra
Gian’s black SUV rolls through West Philadelphia. My husband seems almost bored behind the wheel. Ahead of us, another Rossi Famiglia truck’s making lazy turns, while behind, a black sedan’s got a couple more soldiers keeping their eyes peeled.
“We’re in enemy territory now,” he says and sounds way calmer than I feel. “The Russians hold this part of the city. They took it from a bunch of different gangs and organized under their bratva structure. Now those little groups all owe fealty to Jasha Aslanov.”
“And he’s our main enemy, right?”
“Exactly. If anyone knows where those two Irishmen are, it’ll be him.” Gian seems thoughtful as we move through yet another quiet neighborhood. The area seems nice, not the sort of place I’d ever associate with gang turf, but that’s what it is. That’s what the whole city is.
“How are we going to find them?” I ask, feeling the weight of our mission press on my back. “It seems simple, right? Get the guys that attacked my father’s club and win him back to our side.”
“You’re right, it’s easily said. But don’t worry, baby. We have our ways.” He nods at a bar and slows to a crawl. “That’s a Russian spot.”
“Looks pretty normal to me.”
“That’s what they’re going for. They’re not going to advertise their Bratva connections. That’d defeat the purpose of safe house.”
He has a point. And even if they did, the police in this area probably wouldn’t mess with them. I learned a long time ago that the police are only people, and there are a lot more gangsters than there are cops. If the Famiglia’s can promise peace on the streets, if they can make sure most of the drug dealing stays far away from the tourist sections, if they can pick up trash and plant trees and build parks, then the police won’t touch them. Or at least if they did, it’ll only be the lowest end of the hierarchy.
It’s the same with the Bratva. The Russians run their territory like clan chiefs. They make sure everyone’s taken care of, everyone’s happy, while they profit. The police take their cut, get a few arrests out of the deal to keep their statistics looking solid, and the world keeps turning.
“What about the Irish?”
“They’re mostly in South Philly.”
“I thought that was Rossi territory.”
“Mostly, but the Irish still have pieces. Your father runs Old City, while Milano Famiglia has chunks of Center City and North Philly. It worked pretty good like that for a while.”
“Until what?”
“My father died. Renzo tried to keep it together, but it was hard. Eventually, the Russians smelled blood in the water and decided they didn’t like playing second string to the Italians. The Irish joined in. And here we are.”
