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“I won’t be a burden,” I say, staring down at the cane. I grip it so tight I feel like my hand might crush the wood. “I won’t let you treat me like I’m a burden.”
“That’s not what we’re doing. But we are being realistic here. The streets say you’re soft, and we know they’re wrong, but right now we’re in the middle of a war. Any hint of weakness will be exploited by half a dozen crews that want us all dead. You know that, brother. You have to be strong right now.”
“Be strong by being soft,” I say quietly and shake my head. “I don’t know how long I can take this.”
“You’ll take it as long as you have to, because you’re a Bruno. You’ll work with Mirella every day and improve. You’re already so much better than you were when you first woke up, and you’ll keep on getting back to the way you used to be. One day at a time, brother, just one day at a time.”
I nod once, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. Before I can speak, the door opens and Nico strides into the room. We all turn to him, and his face is grim as he holds up his phone. “They got Petro.”
Gavino groans and Casso comes around his desk. “Where? What happened?”
“He was making a delivery this morning and got jumped by three Irishmen.”
“Cillian’s men,” I say, shaking my head.
“They sent this.” Nico passes the phone to Casso.
The picture is blurry, but unmistakable: Petro’s dark hair, his wide eyes, blood covering his mouth and face, bruises mottling his skin already.
“Alive or dead?” Gavino asks.
“We don’t know, but we’ll find out.” Nico takes his phone back. “Give the word and we’ll get out on the street.”
“Find Petro. If you can’t, kill as many of those Irish fucks as you can. And make sure the streets know the bounty on Cillian just fucking doubled. I want that man dead.”
“Understood.” Nico turns and gestures for Gavino to follow. Gavino shoots me a look, but I turn my chin, unable to accept the pity in his stare.
The two men leave. Casso returns to his desk and sinks down with a sigh, visibly angry as he leans forward on his elbows.
“This is what war brings,” he says, staring down at his hands. “These are our people. Every man that dies is a death on my head. I’m their leader, their Don.”
“Their blood doesn’t stain your hands, brother. Remember, we’re Brunos.”
Casso nods, but his gaze is distant, and I can only imagine the weight he feels as the head of the Famiglia during wartime. Most Dons, they don’t have to deal with this level of violence. Death and killing and blood are bad for business, and usually the crews and gangs find ways to work together. But Casso is a war Don, and he’ll do what has to be done.
Like I will.
“One more thing,” Casso says distantly. “I spoke with Genaro. I don’t believe he’s a traitor, but there is something he’s hiding. I didn’t resort to painful interrogation methods, but I can if you believe it’s worthwhile.”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I’ll follow up with Mirella.”
He nods once, staring off into the distance.
I turn from my brother and leave him to his thoughts and plans. In the hallway, I linger in the shadows and lean against a wall.
How did I get here? How did I come so far only to feel as though I haven’t moved at all? Mirella was right—I wasn’t ready. All that celebrating last night seems like an embarrassment now.
But in comparison to Petro, my situation isn’t bad. I have to keep it in perspective. I’m injured, but I’m not dead. My legs work, my life is still on track, I still have worth. I’m still a fucking Bruno.
I take a deep breath and head to the gym.
Chapter 20
Mirella
I sit out by the pool alone in the middle of the day and stretch my legs out. The shade from a large umbrella keeps the worst of the sun from my skin, even though it’s still hot. Thoughts of Fynn plague me. His anger, his rough hands. His body against mine, pinning me to the floor. The way he drifts closer all the time, like he can’t stay too far away from me.
There’s a truth right on the edge of my awareness, but I’m not ready to admit it yet. I’m not ready to take that last step.
I close my eyes and drift toward sleeping, and I’m about to slip under, right on the edge where dreams and daydreams are still the same thing, when my phone buzzes in my lap.
I grumble but raise it to my ear. “Hello?”
My mother’s voice wakes me up the rest of the way. “Hi, sweetie. How are you?”
