Page 162 of The Bratva King

“A friend. Where is Greg?”

A long pause. “What’s your name?”

My grip tightens around the phone. “Gabby Collins.”

“Your real name.”

I close my eyes. “Gabriella Castellano.”

Papers shuffle on the other end.

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Wallace. I have Greg’s phone. He told me you might call. I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone.”

I shake my head as if that will stop the next words from coming. I know. I feel it before he says another word.

I sink to my knees.

"Greg Jones was killed this afternoon."

The air leaves the room, and I double over. Lila kneels beside me, rubbing my back.

"No."

"I'm sorry, but it's true."

"How? Who?"

He clears his throat. “We’re still confirming, but everything points to the Castellano organization. Someone started digging into the old cases connected to your cooperation. Greg knew too much. Whoever is behind this decided he was a loose end they couldn’t leave alive.”

"Because of me," I whisper.

"Because of what he knew. Not because of you."

It doesn't feel like a distinction that matters.

"He was protecting me," I say.

"Yes." A pause. “He cared about you. He told me to take care of you if anything happened.”

A sob breaks loose from my throat. That was Greg. Carrying so much and never saying a word. I kept piling my problems onto him, and he never once complained.

“No one else knows about this number or that you might call,” he says. “Greg swore me to secrecy. I don’t know where you are or what’s happening there, but I’m here if you need me.”

"Thank you."

I hang up and drop the phone. Lila wraps her arms around me, and the last little piece of me still holding it together finally breaks.

“What happened, Gabby?”

“Greg is dead.” The words leave me hollow. “He was the federal agent who helped Luke and me disappear and kept us safe all these years. He was the closest thing I had to a father.”

She doesn’t say she’s sorry, or fill the silence with kind words that can’t fix this. She just holds me like she’s the only thing keeping me together.

I think about my son, who never got to meet the man who kept him safe all these years. Greg and I always talked about the day they would meet.

And now, he’ll never meet the man I wanted him to know as Grandpa.

“Let’s go get something to drink,” Lila suggests after I’ve sobbed myself dry.