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“It’s not safe, and I don’t want to put anyone there in danger.” I decided to change the subject. “How are the babies? How is Frankie?”
Zia launched into stories about my half-siblings, and I missed them all with a bone-deep ache. Raffaele was a mini-Fausto, already demanding and difficult at three years old, just like the true future leader of the ’ndrina. At almost two, Noemi was quieter, but no less energetic than her brother.
“You must be exhausted,” I told Zia.
She grunted to express her displeasure. “They hire nannies. Too many nannies, I think. They don’t want to bother me, but I’m not so old that I can’t control that devil child. After all, I could control you!”
I smiled. I never truly inherited my father’s temper or stubbornness. I took more after my mother, supposedly, who was killed when I was very young. “That’s true. I remember the time I was caught eavesdropping.”
When I was nine, Zia found me outside Fausto’s office, listening to one of the ’ndrina meetings through the door. I was desperate to wrap my head around what it meant to be the Ravazzani heir. What did my father do all day? In these meetings, what did they discuss? What would be required of me when the time came?
My aunt had grabbed me by the ear, made me confess to Fausto. Then I weeded her garden every day for a week, sunup to sundown.
Seeing a weed still made me twitch.
“And you learned, no?” Zia asked.
“I learned I never wanted to garden.”
She chuckled. “You always hated the dirt.”
True. I glanced out the window. Light was shining on the horizon. “Zia, I should go. I have to go on a run.”
“You don’t need to run. You’re already too skinny.”
This was an old argument. She never understood my need to exercise. “To stay alive I need to stay in shape.”
“Then go, ometto. When will you call again?”
“I don’t know, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll stop worrying when I’m dead. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to step into a church every now and again,” she chastised.
I tried not to roll my eyes. The Catholic Church was less than progressive when it came to my community, so that was a hard pass. “I’ll try, Zia. Ti voglio bene.”
“Ti voglio bene, ometto. Call soon, per favore.”
“I will. Ciao.” Like ripping off a bandage, I disconnected quickly. Then I destroyed the burner phone.
My chest churned with anger and regret. Whoever planted that car bomb in Belgium was going to suffer. They had destroyed my life, caused my family anguish and worry. But first, I had to deal with Ricci.
Already dressed to run, I pulled on my knit hat and went outside. The wind tore through me, chilling me to my bones, and I cursed. I hated this godforsaken place.
As soon as I killed Alessio I was on the first boat to Portugal. Then I would restart my search for whoever planted that bomb in Belgium.
The cold ground crunched beneath my feet as I ran. The air punched into my lungs like needles, sharp bites of pain that stung. I headed toward the hills. My thighs burned as I charged up the incline. Madre di dio, was I so out of shape? I focused on my breathing and continued climbing. I needed to clear my head and figure out what to do about Alessio. I still ached from our fight yesterday. His blows felt like hammers.
For a split second he’d almost won. When he shoved me against the wall with his hand on my throat, his eyes went flat and lifeless, looking more machine than man. There was no mercy, no kindness in him and I knew he was about to strangle me there in that small apartment.
For a split second I thought I was about to die.
Which only proved I didn’t deserve to inherit Fausto’s kingdom. I would never be strong enough, resilient enough. Not like him. So it was good he had Raffaele. The boy would make a great don one day.
I shoved all those thoughts aside and kept running, pushing myself harder until there was no room in my head for anything except for my breath. My feet. The swing of my arms. The pounding of my heart.
Minutes later, a noise behind me nearly caused me to trip. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Alessio jogging up the path. He wore a baseball cap and running clothes that looked older than he was. Stopping, I bent over and put my hands on my knees, never taking my eyes off him as he closed the distance between us. Why was he up this fucking early? Was he exercising or following me?
And why hadn’t I brought a gun with me?
