“You can hear Lev?” I ask. “What’s happening? Why the fuck aren’t you helping him?” My voice gets progressively louder with each question, until I’m basically yelling.
“We did all we were allowed to,” Enzo tells me testily.
I frown. Why wouldn’t Lev want as many men assisting as possible?
“Isabella’s dead,” I state.
“We have her body,” Salvatore says. “Her family will be able to have a proper funeral.”
That doesn’t feel like it matters much, but I hope the ceremony will be some comfort to Isabella’s parents. They’re as religious as she is. Was.
“Comms are off. They must have him,” Leo comments.
“Or they switched to their own gear,” Luca says. “Not like we speak Russian anyway.”
I frown again, then ask, “Who’s Lev talking to in Russian?”
“He has his own team here.”
“Who?”
Enzo flings an impatient look over his shoulder. “They weren’t wearing name tags. A bunch of Russians.”
“Why aren’t we helping them?”
“Because your Russian put a no-kill order out on More?—”
“Lorenzo,” Salvatore snaps.
“A no-kill order? On Nico? Why?” I feel stupid, asking the question, but I assumed, out of everyone, he would be the most likely target.
Silence.
“Why?” I repeat.
Salvatore sighs. “He will kill him. Not with bullets.”
The meaning registers, and my stomach roils with a fresh wave of nausea. I hate Nico Morello more than I’ve ever despised another human being. I’ll never forget how callously he pointed that gun at Isabella and fired. Or his crimes against me. But I have some sense—or maybe I really don’t—of how he’ll be tortured, and the possibilities are horrendous. Endless. There are so many ways humans can hurt each other.
“Can I talk to Lev?”
“Comms are one-way,” Leo answers. “He was notified once you were located.”
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. Of course, now that I can sleep, I can’t.
I’m still wide awake when we pull into the circular driveway. My steps are sluggish as I’m ushered inside. Dr. Ricci is waiting in the dining room. She appears alert, despite the time, greeting me with a kind smile before disinfecting and covering the cut on my arm with a clean bandage.
The graze took off several layers of skin. I’ll have another scar. This one won’t have any positive connotation, like the one on my palm from my wedding day.
Sienna hovers in the entryway, wrapped in a silk robe, offering coffee to the men as they return. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing no makeup. It’s the least put together I’ve ever seen my stepmother. The sight is jarring rather than comforting. Another example of how wrong everything feels.
I don’t belong here—I’ve never felt like I did—but this is the first time it feels like I should. Everyone knows I’m Salvatore’s daughter. These people are my blood, plus those who’ve sworn allegiance to them, and they all just risked their lives for mine. Yet I feel like a foreigner.
After Dr. Ricci finishes, I pass them all and head upstairs. In my room, I shower the best I can, one-armed to avoid wetting the bandage. Some of the water runs pink down the drain. Not all the dried blood was mine, which makes it worse. I’ve killed three people now. I wonder if I’ll ever lose track, like Lev has.
Dressing is easier than showering, but my arm throbs from the slightest movement. My body has burned through all its adrenaline. I should have accepted the painkillers Dr. Ricci offered, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to fight the drowsy effects of medicine the same way I’m battling my natural exhaustion.
I sink down into the chair by the window, staring past the lights that illuminate the courtyard. Pinpricks of light travel along the main road that runs closer to the water, but none turn up the driveway in this direction. I count twenty-two cars passing before there’s a knock at the door.
