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It was him.
He was the man in my house a year ago, the one who brought two chained-up women into a room that I never heard or saw them come out of. The moment was so brief, so fleeting. I had only seen him and those women for mere seconds, but I’m confident now. That’s why he looked so familiar.
And the hair. One blonde. One brunette.
The timing.
My pulse skyrockets as fear swarms inside me.
Fear and complete and total anger.
I desire nothing more than to reach out and slap the stupid smile that forms on his face right off it. Fucking bastard.
The puzzle pieces slowly start to spin, giving me a different perspective, and I’m one step closer to understanding what’s happening than I was before being thrown into this mess.
I take in the biggest breath I can manage, but it doesn’t fill my lungs. It’s not even close.
Because right now, I’ve just realized something that may be bigger than all of this. And if I would’ve never had that flashback of the women in the hallway, I don’t know if I’d remember those small, ornate details about the women…
The photograph in Dante’s house, the one I admired of Julissa, the one I told him not to put away on account of me… It’s her. The family photo of Dante and his brothers and his parents and Sofia that I admired…
The two women in my house that day, the ones being carted around by Enzo…
It was Julissa and Sofia.
We approachthe neutral conference hall, and I immediately recognize Amato men trickling into the building. Leo’s already in there somewhere, hijacking the hall from whoever the fuck is using it. A few old men walk briskly out of the doors and head toward cars as we walk in.
Nothing has helped me calm down. Not the pills the doctor rushed over or the splashing of water on my face. Not even the shot of my favorite whiskey.
My frantic mind feels like there’s a fucking ping-pong match going on inside it. I see red. Pure blood fucking red. And my attention cannot divert from wanting to make every last one of these fucks pay.
If anything happens to her…
I do my best to shake thoughts of Giana out of my head for these last few quiet moments. If I go in there with her heavy on my mind, I don’t think anyone will be pleased with me. I have too much to say to Gabriel about what he’s done to her and even more I’d like to do to him with different weapons of my choice.
I can’t shake her. Can’t undo or erase the places in my mind that she’s etched herself into. And I’d never want to.
I’m fucking obsessed with that woman.
With every single beat of my heart, with every single pump of blood that rushes through my veins, the desperate need for her father’s blood on my hands becomes that much more.
Guilt gnaws at my skin. Guilt for getting so wrapped up and tangled in Giana that I’ve lost a piece of my spark to avenge my late wife and sister. The thirst is there. It’s festering and bubbling under the surface, but now that I have Giana, my mind has had something else to focus on.
If I lose her, too, I will never come back from it. A man can only be so fucking strong. And three losses like that in a lifetime? Christ.
I scrub my hand over my face as we reach the double entry doors, trying my fucking damnedest to erase all thought of the three women I love out of my mind so I can think clearly.
Because it’s clear to me now. I do love Giana. I’m not just getting fucking feelings for her. I’m in love with her. And this gaping hole in my fucking chest is proof of it.
My sono innamorato di suo.
I fell in love with her.
I want to be able to tell her.
Please let me be able to fucking tell her that I love her.
My father, and our Underboss, Francesco, step up and into the hall, me and our other capos only steps behind. Just as my father moves to open the door, it flings open and Leo is ushering us in.
