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“Sure,” she replies.

CHAPTER 14

BROX

Lana stayed. Not as a guest. Not as a temporary fix. But as our pet. She settled into the penthouse as though she had never truly left it.

From my side, adjustments followed. Practical ones. We’d made sure after she lost her cell somewhere in the basement, to give her a new one, already set up, numbers loaded, no restrictions in place. It’s how we know where she is.

Especially when this week she still went to work—she insisted on it, and Rio allowed that insistence more than he liked to admit. Over the course of the week, we made it clear we wanted her shifts reduced, gradually, until we dealt with Valentino’s will.

I want Lana inside these walls. Protected. Close. Where I can see her. Where I could follow her presence through the house like a pulse, never losing her.

Alessio got discharged, and then disappeared. I had Sol check on him. He was holed up in his condo, healing. Morty doing his errands. Probably petrified Pasqual would come after him.

He would, if he knew where he was.

The unexpected part out of this whole mess was that Pasqual believed us when we said Alessio acted alone. That he took matters into his own hands. Ran on ego and stupidity. But I also made sure he understood how angry we were. I didn’t need volume for that. Pasqual read me the way a man read a gun left on a table–aware of its purpose, its danger and the speed with which it could end him.

After our conversation, he returned every cent he’d taken from us.

He was grateful we hadn’t killed him yet, and that gratitude showed in every message, every update, every careful request for permission. Fear, when handled properly, could be shaped into loyalty. You just have to keep the leash short.

Rio and I talked about it a few days ago. Lana was there too. She sat with us, tucked into the corner of the sofa, her bare feet pressed into the cushions. Her eyes moved between us, following each shift in tone, learning the rules as we spoke.

We agreed not to kill Alessio yet. We needed to resolve Valentino’s mess before shifting our focus elsewhere.

And it was Lana who pointed out Alessio’s potential value if something misfires. A fallback, she called it. I don’t plan for failure. But foresight isn’t weakness. And I noticed she was already thinking about our protection.

That same instinct was already in motion elsewhere. Shiaou moved into Greta’s room, and restored the structure in the penthouse without asking and without announcing himself. He’s been doing a good job so far.

The penthouse gained another set of eyes. Another pair of hands making sure nothing slipped through our walls. And more importantly, nothing reached Lana. That mattered more than anything I admitted aloud.

My cell buzzing pulls me away from my thoughts. I check it, and on the screen flashes the name Waddington. Perhaps I got entangled too much with Lana because I have had no thoughts about our childhood, and what Waddington said all week. It’s Friday, and it’s time to head to the club for yet another night of hard work.

“Got any news?” I answer without a greeting. Rio is in the shower with Lana. I won’t bother him with this until I know whether it’s worth the breath.

“Um, y-yes. Yes. We think we found you,” he says, breathing heavily.

“What the fuck do you mean?” I have no patience, tonight we’re fully booked, and it’s Lana’s first night back. She knows what she’s doing, but still, I’m a little nervous. Rio and I have been talking about her training. We even cleared a room in the kennel for her. We want her to go through every stage. Discipline plays a great role in serving us and I don’t know how she’ll take it.

With our mafia cartel growing, now including the Puccini’s, or what’s left of them, and other associates from every corner of Miami, Lana must be ready to take them all at some stage. She’s not a party entertainment treat for nothing.

Waddington’s pause carries a hint of fear. “I meant–we got to the bottom of it. There wasn’t anything under your name, so we expanded the search, ran the name through the AI platform and it gave us alternatives, then we cross-checked those with people born the year you were, and I–actually, my team came up with something.”

“What?”

I hear the shower turn off.

A door opens down the hall, soft, and footsteps follow–bare feet or damp soles. My eyes flick toward the corridor. They’re not in the room yet.

Waddington clears his throat. “Please take this with a pinch of salt, since we still have to check it, but one of my team members is from Chicago and he remembered something, so–”

My stomach turns. “What the fuck did he remember? Why in Chicago? What about Miami?”

“Well–that’s the thing,” Waddington says, his voice small. “We believe you were born in Chicago. And taken to Miami at some point.”

Taken. The word lands and detonates.