It’s wrong.
As much as I want to go back there, load her and the boy up and tell them they’re moving in with me, end of story, I can’t.
She needs me out of her life.
After the way I behaved in front of her child, I can’t blame her. I would never allow my own child to see such a thing.
And just like that, the pain of losing Mia is so fresh again, it surges to the surface, mingles with the ache of leaving Desiree. Desiree and Jasper.
Because, yes, I care about that boy, too. He’s part of Desiree. He’s her entire world. I would do anything for him, same as her.
I drive home and drown myself in a bottle of Scotch.
Let her go.
I have to let her go.
Even if it kills me.
* * *
“You ever coming out of this office?” Gio pokes his head in my den, where I’ve been sitting for the past seventy-two hours.
I can’t seem to move.
Or speak.
Or do anything.
Paolo called, he’s chasing down a lead on Vlad, and he asked me what to do if he finds him. It turns out the guy was in Russia when the meet at Milano went down, so I don’t know if Ivan was operating on his own or not. Vlad only just turned up back in town to find his entire operation shut down by me.
The order should be, “kill him.”
It’s seems pretty plain, right? Vlad sent his men to kill me, so now that I’ve killed his men, I should hunt him down and kill him.
Except I can’t seem to give the order.
Desiree wouldn’t like it.
Hell, I don’t even like it. I have no proof that Vlad gave the order. And I have no evidence that Vlad is coming after me, though logic says he would. I should be prepared for an attack. I should go on the offensive and take him out.
But I don’t want to.
I don’t actually want to do anything.
“Have you eaten? Or slept?” Gio asks. He left my house the day I drove to Indianapolis—his recovery nearly complete. Now he’s stopped in without an invite. And without knocking.
Or maybe he knocked and I just ignored it.
“You sure as hell haven’t showered.” Gio wrinkles his nose.
I want to pull an old Junior and be an asshole so he’ll leave, but it’s hard for me to be a dick to him. I just keep remembering how it felt to think he might die. Or maybe I just don’t want to be that guy anymore.
“You ever think about getting out of the business?” I ask Gio.
“What?” He walks into my office and drops into a chair across from the desk.
“Like Nico and Stefano. Ever want to leave? Or hope they’ll need you over there?”
Gio’s quiet long enough that I know the answer.
“Why do you stay?”
Gio shrugs. “I’m not going to fucking leave you here to run shit on your own. That’s not fair.”
I’m floored.
One of my brothers is concerned about being fair to me? The biggest dick in the family? All I’ve ever done is thrown my weight around and demand their absolute loyalty and obedience. There’s a hierarchy here, and I make sure they follow it.
My throat closes.
“And someone has to be here to run shit.” I say flatly, although it’s really a question. Is there any chance we could close up shop?
Hang our hats up and retire? Or move onto something better—whatever the hell that may be?
Gio considers me for another long moment. “Is that true?”
“Pops thinks so.”
“Yeah.” Gio fiddles with his Rolex. “But what for? He’s gonna want to kick it on a beach with Ma when he gets out. He’s not going to want this business back.”
“It’s his legacy.”
“The Bellissimo is his fucking legacy. His money, his business—our fucking business—started that. Yeah, Nico was smart. Nico leveraged it right. Hit it big. But we can all hang our names on that project. Because we’re the ones who risked our fucking lives from the time we were old enough to curl our fingers into a fist to earn that money. We gave up our fucking souls for that money.” There’s bitterness in Gio’s voice.
The same bitterness I feel. The kind that’s mingled in with intense loyalty, so it turns inward in shame and crushing darkness.
Would I wish my fate on my own brothers? Have them stay in this business just so I’m not alone?
Hell, no.
I almost lost Gio over this stupid Cosa Nostra.
“Let’s end it.” My throat goes dry as soon as I say it. Shame washes over me. But bigger than the shame, the fear I’m betraying my father, comes relief.
So much relief.
“Yeah?” Gio sounds as shocked as I feel.
“Yeah. Unless Paolo disagrees. We make this unanimous.”
Gio cracks a grin. “I thought this wasn’t a fucking democracy.” He throws the refrain I used to always use back at me.