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“Stirring, but not true.” Cillian shrugs and looks at me. “No, you formed a bond with your physical therapist, and now you want her back. I don’t blame you, she’s a very pretty girl.”
“Got the best genes around,” Ronan said and barks a laugh, grinning.
Genaro snarls like a dog. I stare at him, frowning, and think back to what Cillian said in the park about knowing Mirella. Her worries swirl around my mind, and Genaro’s reaction to Ronan’s presence is like an icepick in my brain. Why does Genaro care about Cillian’s father? Why does Cillian seem to care so much about Mirella, despite trying to hide it? He went to great lengths to get her. He took some serious risks to meet her. That means something.
But before I can try to make the pieces click together, Cillian’s laughing as Gavino puts a steadying hand on Genaro’s shoulder, practically holding him back.
“If you can’t get yourself under control, I’ll send you back to Nico,” I snap at the old Capo. He stiffens as if punched and clenches his jaw again, but seems to stop struggling. Gavino releases him and shoots me a confused and worried look.
“Strife in the family. I understand. This is a stressful time.” Cillian’s beaming. He must fucking love this. I’m going to break Genaro’s face for embarrassing me like this when we get back to the villa.
“Enough bullshit. What do you want for Mirella?”
“The price has gone up. I want all the territory the Federov family took and you stole back during that war. Every club, restaurant, every corner and block. I want it all, along with a guarantee that you will not meddle in my affairs. Once your people are pulled away from my turf, I’ll send Mirella back, safe and sound.”
I let out a single, sharp laugh. “There’s no way.”
“That’s my demand. All the turf. Every single fucking inch. If you want the girl, then you should play along, Fynn.” Cillian nods to Gavino, turns, and starts walking back.
I’m trembling with fury. That’s an unreasonable offer. We went to war with the Federov bratva—I nearly got killed in that war—all to regain what they took. If we turned around now and gave it all away, all that bloodshed, all that strife and fighting, it would’ve been for nothing.
It’s an impossible request. And he knows it.
Cillian knows how these families work. If our men think we’re fucking them over and asking too much, only to give away their spoils for our own selfish gain, they’re going to stop doing their jobs and revolt. I can’t have that, and I know Casso will never allow it.
Which means Cillian is asking me to choose.
Either my family or Mirella.
If I give up the turf to Cillian, I get Mirella back. But I’d be betraying my men and my responsibility to the Famiglia. But if I don’t, then Cillian will keep her and do whatever he wants with her—and some dark, horrible place in the back of my mind’s whispering that he will do very bad things, depraved, wicked things, all because of this connection I’m missing.
“It’ll never happen,” Gavino calls out. “Ask for something reasonable. She’s just a damn physical therapist, what the hell do you care about her for?”
Ronan’s eyebrows waggle and he nods to Genaro. “Ask him.” Then he turns and follows his son at a slow, loping shuffle.
I watch them go, seething. Once they reach the bluffs and disappear into the rocks, I turn to Genaro, whip my cane back, and bring it down into his thigh.
He gasps in surprise and pain. He doesn’t fall over—I didn’t hit him hard enough to break anything—but it’ll leave a bruise. He glares at me in surprise and anger.
“If you ever make me look like a fool like that again, I will kill you. I don’t care if you’re a Capo. Do you understand?”
Genaro grunts and nods once. “I understand.”
“Now what the fuck did the old bastard mean when he said to ask you?”
He looks away, back toward the bluffs. His squints like he can see something then shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
He’s lying. I glance at Gavino who looks as confused and disconcerted as I feel. It’s obvious Genaro is lying, but why? What does he have to hide?
“Let’s get out of the open before Cillian decides we’re better off dead,” Gavino says, heading back to our trucks. “Casso’s not going to be happy about this.”
“He never is,” I say and follow after my brother.
Genaro hesitates. He stares for a long moment like he thinks he’s going to spot something. I almost wish Cillian would pull the trigger and kill the bastard.
But he turns and follows, and no gunshot rings out. The morning is quiet. The ground’s getting hotter.
It won’t remain quiet for long.
Hell’s coming, and it’s coming fast.
