Page 36 of The Cost of Silence

There’s a long pause.

“You’re welcome,” he says finally. His voice is rougher now, almost quiet enough to be a secret. “Get some rest.”

The door closes nearly shut, not all the way. A sliver of hallway light spills in, a thin line across the carpet.

Their voices drift faintly through the walls after a minute, lower now, serious, words I can’t quite make out. I catch myname once. Bratva. Rossi. Then nothing but a murmur, like the sea through glass.

My body sinks into the mattress, heavy and too light at once. The day starts to slide away, inch by inch. The muted murmur of their voices soothes me, making me feel safe.

And for the first time since everything went sideways, I let myself believe I’m not facing this alone.

Three men in the next room are planning how to keep me alive.

It might not be tidy, or simple, or safe.

But as my eyes finally close, as sleep drags me under, I feel it: the faint, unfamiliar sensation of not carrying all the weight myself.

And even though I know I shouldn’t trust it, shouldn’t trustthem,a traitorous part of me already does.

11.Nico

I leaveher door almost shut with a sliver of light cutting across the carpet, enough that if she wakes, she’ll know she’s not alone and I’ll hear her if she needs me. Seeing her break at the scene of the fire caused something to shift inside me. The stakes have changed now.

My father always said people sleep better when they know someone is standing watch. I used to think he meant soldiers. I’m starting to realize he meant all of us.

Voices drift from the kitchen, low and threaded with tension. I scrub a hand over my face, push the clawing exhaustion down, and head back out.

Adi is seated at the island with his laptop open, sleeves rolled, tie tugged loose, all precision and control, relaxed now that we’re alone. Matteo sits on the far stool, spinning it slowly with one heel, staring at the city lights like he’s trying to decide which one to set on fire. He looks the calmest, but I know my baby brother, and he’s a volcano ready to erupt.

Rossi stands by the window, a solid wall of muscle in a dark jacket, arms folded. His eyes track me as I cross the room. They’re tired but sharp. He’s been up all night too. He’s the one man outside of my brothers who I trust implicitly.

“How is she?” Matteo asks first.

“Asleep,” I say. “Or close.” I grab the bottle of bourbon, pour a little into three glasses, then a fourth. I slide one to each of my brothers and put the last in front of Rossi. “She’ll crash hard.”

Adi gives a tight nod. “Good. She needs it.”

I lean against the counter, glass in hand but untouched. “Talk.”

Rossi clears his throat. His voice is steady, the same tone he used when he’d give status updates to my father. “We got what we needed from the guy in her apartment,” he says. “Took some time, but he broke.”

Matteo smirks. “They always do.”

Adi shoots him a look. “Details, please.”

Rossi nods once. “Name is Oleg Sidorov. Small-time Bratva muscle, mostly enforcement and intimidation. He was hired for two jobs, both tied to Romano.”

My grip tightens around the glass. “The car yesterday and the apartment.”

“Yes.” Rossi shifts his weight, gaze flicking briefly to me. “The instructions were simple. First, scare her, make her back off whatever story she’s chasing. If that didn’t work, escalate. Make it personal.”

My jaw clenches. I remember the way she looked on the floor, arms over her head, trying to make herself small. Fury burns hot in my chest again, sharp enough to cut.

“Who gave the order?” Adi asks.

“That’s where it gets interesting.” Rossi reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper, sliding it across the island. “Oleg didn’t have a name. He had a number. Disposable phone, Russian country code. We traced the calls that phone received in the last week. Most are dead ends, but one pinged from a landline we know.”

I don’t have to look at the paper to know I’m not going to like what he says next.