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No way. Van is loyal as hell.
Well, whatever his problem is, I want to make sure I clear the air with him—once the meeting with Anna-Vittoria is done.
“So I got word from the hospital,” I tell Max as he puts a plate full of bacon between us, and hands me a plate with hot buttered toast. I load it up, add another slice of toast on top, and bite in. “Nico’s doing better. Came round early this morning, and they think he’ll be okay. Even better, Jazz said Giddy is sitting up and talking and bugging the hell out of Tank.”
“Good,” Max replies, his focus still on picking out particular slices of bacon. “We should pay Anna-Vittoria that visit after breakfast.”
“Yeah,” I say, though my stomach knots at the thought of facing her.
I eat the rest of my breakfast in silence.
CHAPTER23
MAX
The day is lesssunny than usual for LA as Bricker and I step out of his car, the guards of Anna-Vittoria’s estate staring at us and saying nothing. There are dark clouds on the horizon, that change in weather that’s been threatening for a while now.
The house looms over us, imposing in a different way than when I first saw it. The Villa reminds me today how implacable and disciplined and—yes—how bloodthirsty our Roman ancestors were. I told Bricker last night that his Maestra wouldn’t kill him, but I said it without really knowing if it was true. Ibelieveit to be true, because I understand how Sandro Castellani thinks.
But Anna-Vittoria is not Sandro.
At least Bricker isn’t going into the Colosseum alone. If she tries anything…
I glance at him as the four guards at the door surround us, their hands swift and efficient as they pat us down, no courtesy wave-through this time. The cold glint in their eyes is a warning of what could happen if I resist, but I have no plans to make things difficult. After we’re cleared, we’re marched into the house without a word, led briskly through the hallways.
All business today, no show.
The closer we get to Anna-Vittoria’s salon, the more determined I am to make her understand that Bricker isn’t to blame for Nico or Giddy’s shooting, or Rook’s death.
Rook. God, that poor kid. I fight down the pain when I think of him, those last words. I can’t help Rook anymore. But Bricker needs me now.
Finally we arrive at the waiting room, the grand doors to the salon both already thrown open to reveal Anna-Vittoria sitting on the settee in there, dressed in head-to-toe black. She’s alone, not even the Shadow with her today.
She rises when she sees us, her eyes as sharp as the stiletto heels she wears. She turns her gaze on Bricker first. I see the strain in her face, the dark circles still peeking through cleverly applied makeup, the pallor of her cheeks even under heavy rouge.
“Fabrizio,” Anna-Vittoria says, and takes a step forward. I brace myself—but then she embraces him.
It’s not what I expected.
I don’t think it’s what Bricker was expecting either, because after a moment of shock, he makes a strangled noise that suggests he’s trying not to cry. I take a step back to give them some privacy, and Anna-Vittoria gives me a nod at the doors. Understanding her, I turn away to shut them quietly, and then I stand to the side as she takes Bricker to the settee and sits him down, all the while holding him as close as a mother.
“I’m so sorry,” she tells him. “So sorry.”
“But Nico—” he chokes out.
She gives a little breathless laugh. “Yes, Nico. As his mother, I am furious.”
I feel the anger rising in me, but I force myself to remain calm. This is my chance to convince her of Bricker’s innocence. Before I can speak, though, she holds up a slight warning hand, silencing me without Bricker seeing it.
“However,” she continues, her gaze never leaving Bricker’s face, “I knew the risks in placing Nico with your crew. Nico also understood the risks. He is a grown man. He made his choice, just as you did. And though my heart cries out for vengeance—blood for blood—my head is more preoccupied with the fact that there is a mole in your crew. Andthatis the person I blame. Not you. You understand?”
I’m almost taken aback by the wisdom and restraint she shows. Sandro’s mother would not react like this, I’m pretty sure, if Sandro ever found himself on the wrong end of a bullet. I’m beginning to understand why the Espositos are so fiercely loyal to Anna-Vittoria.
A mother to them all, it seems. And then it hits me, one of the things she looks for in her people. Motherless children. There might be something cunning about that, if I was being uncharitable. Or there might be something loving about it.
It’s hard to tell with Anna-Vittoria.
Bricker, visibly relieved, stammers out an apology for Giddy and Nico’s injuries, and his voice breaks over Rook’s death. It’s poorly phrased but it’s very genuine, and Anna-Vittoria hears him out patiently, though she waves away any blame he lays on himself. “I won’t hear that talk. The responsibility for this mess is PacSyn’s to own. And if they won’t take it, I will be happy to force it on them. So. We have cried together.” And indeed, I can see her eyes are damp. “And we will cry again at Rocco’s funeral—thank you for calling his grandmother, by the way.”
