Page 85

“Do not insult me.”

“In a church outside Rome.”

Raze stared at me. “Zeno said you became an actual priest.”

“Yes.”

“Christ.”

“Sometimes.”

Gianni made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh, then covered it by coughing.

Marcello did not move. “It’s been ten years, man. Without a single word. You let us bury air.”

I looked at him. “You buried me?”

Marcello looked away from me, somewhat resentfully.

Cold slid beneath my ribs, a stark reminder that I had been gone a long time and no longer understood their nuances. “Why isn’t Alessio here?”

No one moved. The fire cracked behind me.

Raze’s jaw locked. “You don’t know.”

It wasn't a question. My heartbeat stumbled once, then settled into something slow and heavy.

“Know what?”

Gianni had gone pale. Marcello stared at the floor. Atlas kept his face turned toward the window, but his hand had curled into a fist at his side.

Footsteps sounded behind us.

Tone stood in the doorway without Adriana. Her arms were folded, but it did nothing to hide the tremor in one hand.

“Alessio is dead.”

The words struck me, heavy and painful, enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

For a moment, I heard nothing at all. Then the room rushed back in around me—the fire, the breathing, the blood pounding inside my skull.

Dead.

My brother was dead.

“How?” I asked.

“Russians,” Tone informed me. “He was shot. It was a fucking mess.” She shook her head. “Another funeral you missed.”

Raze said her name softly, reproaching, but Tone ignored him.

“He waited for you, you know.”

I couldn’t move.

Tone’s eyes shone now, but the tears didn’t come.

My chest closed.