I need to let her memory do the same.
Finally, I need to let my sweet girl go.
“I’ll leave you alone to relive your night,” Vin taunts, his footsteps tracking his retreat into the hall. “That cut looks nasty, though. When you wake up, hopefully, you’ll be in a good enough mood to let me apply some First Aid—”
“Vincenzo.” I lift my head as much as I can, straining my eyes to make him out through the dark. My side does sting like a bitch, but any treatment will have to wait. “I want you to pack your things. I’m sending you back to London.”
“Why?”
“I’ve changed my mind. A gangster’s daughter is not good enough for you. You deserve to struggle through medical school a lowly bachelor and find some sweet nurse to marry,” I rasp, letting my head fall back against the cushions. As I stare up at the ceiling, I think I’m trying to convince myself of this course of action more than him. “Who needs a Stepanov name when you have mine?”
And I’ll do whatever it takes to forge enough of a reputation that the mere whisper of the name Vanici will guard him well enough even in the afterlife. God himself wouldn’t dare touch him. I owe him that much.
“I’ve thought about transferring here,” he says, catching me off guard. Here, where the schools aren’t anywhere near as prestigious as the one he attends. And damn it, the boy is so damn sensitive I suspect that’s his real motive without having to hear his explanation. He thinks I can’t afford his shiny new future.
Either that, or he’s more concerned by my burgeoning vice than he’s let on.
“No,” I growl. “You’re getting your ass back to London even if I have to kick you there myself.”
“I’m not a little boy, Don.”
“You’re not,” I agree. “But you are my boy. Mine to protect, even if my love is overbearing in nature. You are all I have. So, let me spoil you to my heart’s content as any good Papa should. You’re staying at that fucking school.”
“I know, I know,” he says in a tone that betrays he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m your sole heir, burdened with the weight of redeeming your fearsome, gruesome reputation, dear uncle.”
“And you will,” I say in agreement. “I have no doubt about that.”
I may have failed Safiya, but Vincenzo will salvage this sordid legacy. He’ll live well into old age, find a good loyal wife, and spawn multiple children. He will know the peace denied to me.
So help me, God, he will know it.
“Goodnight, Don,” he says, closing the door to the room after him. “Try to get some sleep, and we’ll discuss this when you’re sane and less fixated on mulling over your eternal torment.”
I choke out a laugh. “Smartass.”
In the silence he leaves behind, the specters return. Olivia. Little Nico. Safiya…
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, reaching out for her ghostly figure. “I’m so sorry, my little Safy.”
She fades without an ounce of mercy.
Not that I deserve it.
For what I did to her, I deserve the pitiful conclusion no doubt awaiting me at the end of this miserable life.
And I’m ready for it.
A commotion of noise and chaos snaps me awake. Alarmed, I reach into my jacket for a weapon before I realize several defining realities. One, I didn’t think to arm myself before sleeping—a testament to just how badly the little tigre assassin has shaken my resolve.
Two, if the figure storming into the room I’m in now were my enemy, I’d most likely already be dead—and their first course of business wouldn’t be to wrench open the blinds, ushering in a painful stream of white-hot daylight.
“Son of a bitch.” I shield my eyes with the back of my hand, struggling to regain my bearings. Judging from the headache pounding through my skull, I’m long overdue for my morning shot of whiskey. “What the hell—”
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“Fabio?” I lower my hand and strain my burning eyes through a sea of white light. Sure enough, the accountant is the one glaring down on me from the center of the room. One look at his face, and I know the brutal wake-up call is the least of my worries. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me,” he croaks. His hands are shaking, tearing at his graying hair as he starts to pace. “What the fuck, Donatello? What the actual hell? I put my life on the line. For you! My literal neck on the chopping block, and you do something like this—”
“If you care to explain what it is that I’ve done, I’d be more than happy to apologize,” I grouse. It takes nearly everything I have in me just to get the words out.
Damn, I feel beyond hungover. Beaten. Wrecked. I could chalk it up to a near-death experience, but that only touches the surface of what truly ails me. Sleep was a poor refuge from her. That face. Those eyes. Not quite wide and innocent like little Safy’s. Colder. Harder, shaped by unmistakable hatred and rage.
She couldn’t be Safiya…
But she haunted me nonetheless. I see her still, daring me to make her talk. Taunting me with her silence as Fabio rants and raves around her.
“…know you have a suicidal, self-destructive streak,” the man growls, and I reluctantly attempt to focus on his ramblings. “But this? Even the mere thought of it is so insane I knew I had to ask you directly. You wouldn’t be that foolish. Not with this.”
I incline my head toward him, wincing as pain stabs through my skull. “With what?”
He stops short, frowning as he realizes he never exactly told me what it is I’m accused of. It must be bad, I suspect.
So bad that the calm, collected Fabio has lost his cool.
“Willow Stepanova,” he says, scanning my face intently as if to see how I’ll react to the name. “Her family is in an uproar.”
He pauses as if expecting a reaction from me. Groaning, I swipe at my jaw and shrug. “Let me guess. She didn’t enjoy her party?”
“No,” he rasps. “She went missing last night. Mischa has his whole damn entourage out looking for her.”
Alarm cuts through the fog in my brain, and I sit forward, trying to picture who would dare rip away the man’s daughter right from under his nose.
“Do they know for sure that she was taken?”
“Not yet,” Fabio says, still eyeing me sternly. “But there are rumors, Don. Rumors that claim you were seen at your hotel with a woman who suspiciously matches the girl’s description.”
I scoff. “I never even met the woman! You were there when I was unceremoniously thrown out on my ass.”
“Yes.” He nods, his eyes wide. “I was there, Don, when Mischa Stepanov insulted you. I was there when you left. But I wasn’t there when you supposedly dragged an unwilling blond from your hotel room in the middle of the night. I wasn’t there for that.”
My brow furrows. “That’s a rather interesting retelling of it. Especially considering a sniper tried to kill me in said hotel room and I was ‘dragging’ said woman to safety.”
“My God.” His face falls. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I want intel run on Antonio Salvatore,” I say, curling a fist. “If the bastard came after me directly, he won’t get to make the same mistake twice. He’s always been a jealous son of a bitch. I bet he’s pissed that I won the port deal over him. I’ve heard he’s been trying to buy a share for years—”