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“Yours, Giovanni.”
“Bullshit. I don’t have a sister.”
“You do. Her name is Sloane, she’s in Russia right now. She’s eighteen. Raised in an orphanage. Your father put her there. I’m shocked you never knew. She was right under your nose.”
“Tell me more.”
“Let me live.”
“That’s how I know you’re lying to me.”
“Why would I lie with my life on the line? I’m only telling you now for leverage.”
“Her last name. I want it now.”
“She doesn’t have one.” He stiffens his stance. “I have a picture.” He reaches into his wallet and takes out a small photo.
I grab it from his hands, not taking my gun off him. “Guns.” I tell Max and Enzo to take over as I look at the girl who might be my sister.
Her hair is long and blonde, eyes as blue as the shoreline. There is no denying she is my sister because she looks just like my mother.
“How did you find her? This doesn’t make any sense—my mother died when she was pregnant.”
I look down at him, waiting for answers, but he stays quiet.
“How is Sloane alive?” I ask, pressuring him for answers.
“Your father had his men take her body to the hospital. Once Sloane was healthy enough, he had his men take her to Russia. He was not a bad man, Giovanni. He cared for your sister, just not as his own. He lost all respect for your mother when she slept with a lead in the Bratva. If you kill me, Mikhail will be taking over and he’s worse than I am.”
I turn toward him, folding the picture of my sister in my pocket.
“Thank you for the information.” I pull the trigger, leaving his brains everywhere. On the door, Carlo, Max, and myself.
And I couldn’t be happier even if I just declared war with the Bratva.
After all these years, I have finally achieved justice for my mother.
“Your daughter is mine, Rolando. If you know what’s best for your family, you will not complicate this.”
He nods as he understands that my name is at the top of the chain. “Nina, come now.”
“Boss. What do you want me to do?”
“I have to deal with other shit first. She waited this long; she can wait a little longer.”
The door opens, and Nina walks calmly at first, then with fear on her face. The door opens further and hits Kirill’s blown-out head.
Nina eyes can’t pick a face to look at. She has no idea who did this because we all have blood on our hands.
Except Rolando.
“Wha—?” She stumbles back, covering her mouth with her hand.
She looks down at her feet to see them covered in what would’ve been her husband.
“Nina,” her father says in a flat voice, “go pack your bags.”
“Papa.” It’s all she can say as she looks at me. As if I am the one who wants to hurt her.
