Now, all I have is endless guilt that wails from my throat like a siren.
Cas falls to her knees beside me. I don’t know when I dropped to the floor, but her arms wrap around me now. Protective, reassuring. Holding me together with her bare hands as I wail and wail.
“Mia!”
The voice cuts through my grief like a knife.
“Mia, where are you?” The relief in Leon’s voice almost makes me start wailing again. I look up frantically, searching.
And then, there he is.
Leon strides toward us, his face bloodied, bruises already forming. But his eyes are crystal clear as he scans the room.
When he sees me, it’s as if the world falls away, leaving only us.
Before I can take a breath, he’s there, on his knees, pulling me into his arms. His hands cup my face, his touch so urgent, sofrantic. He pulls back, eyes scanning me, looking for any sign of injury.
“You’re okay,” he breathes, his voice rough. “Are you hurt? The twins—are you?—”
“My dad,” my voice breaks. “Leon.”
I see the moment he realizes as the grief floods his expression. It’s too much. I bury my head into his chest.
He strokes my hair as I cling to him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t get to tell him. I–I still loved him.”
“He knew,” he says with such authority I almost choke. “It’s okay, Mia. He knew. He did.”
He gently lowers his hand to my stomach, his touch tender and sweet. The twins are still moving; the soft flutter of life beneath my skin grounds me back into the moment.
My grief needs to wait. Our home is destroyed. There could be more to this attack than just an explosion. We’re not out of the woods yet.
Luckily, Cas is slightly more put together than I am. “What happened, Leon? Where is everyone else?”
Leon places a firm kiss on my forehead before pulling away and turning to address my friend. “A bomb, I think. It must have been planted somewhere upstairs. It should have been impossible.”
“Rocco?” Cas’ voice breaks.
“He’s alive, Cassandra,” Leon says gently before getting to his feet, holding an arm out to each of us. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
It takes us a moment to find our footing again, but then Cas is running, shouting for a husband like a woman possessed.
Leon’s arm wraps around my waist, helping me over every minor obstacle in my path. I lean desperately into his touch and take as much reassurance from it as I can as we clear the room and stumble out into the foyer.
The entire house looks like it’s been through an earthquake. Cracks have appeared up the walls, lighting fixtures have crashed into the floor. The glass of the Caravaggio has smashed into a thousand pieces and lies half torn beneath its previous spot on the wall.
But nothing is more harrowing than the expressions of the people who turn to look at us.
Rocco is already embracing his wife, while Teo and Isabella cling to each other desperately. Dante and Max are both on the floor—Max is suffering from a gruesome-looking head wound that Dante is attempting to bandage.
Each of them turns to look at Leon with a chilling sense of expectation. There’s anger in their faces, desperation. Pain.
I realize with a start that they’re looking to their leader.
And Leon Natali was forged for war.
“We retaliate,” Leon says, his voice now cold, as he steps forward. His hand lingers on my waist as if to reassure himself that I’m still there. “We go to war.”
