Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Anya

I drift in a blue sky with little black soundless birds that float near the clouds. The trees with their branches weighed down with snow are visible far below, but the cold doesn’t reach into the picture. There’s no smell or sensation, only the hum of static noise.

I admire the portrait.

How pretty.

Beautiful.

The word pulls at my mind, conjuring a memory.

I sit in a car, staring at the face of a man.

A beautiful man.

We get out of the car and step into the painting with the blue sky and the black birds. A bell tower rises into the air, its shadow falling askew over the ground. Something about the image stirs my heart into a gallop.

I will myself to remember.

This is important.

I fight the blue and the black, struggling through the sky and the birds to reach that handsome man and the memory that evade me. Swiping at the silk threads that trap me like a butterfly in a cocoon, I push harder.

A sound breaks through—a beep—and then a steady series of beeps like the beat of a heart.

A man’s heart beats under my ear where my cheek is pressed on his hard chest. Gauzy curtains lift in the breeze. A big hand draws soft patterns over my back. I’m stretched out on top of him, his naked skin warm against mine and his broad torso a pillow for my head. Intertwining my fingers, I rest my chin on my hands and gaze into the bluest of blues, a color like heaven and tears. He reaches out and twists a lock of my hair around his finger with a smile that heats me like the sun.

Golden flames wink from the shadows. The light turns bright orange and white. The scene changes as color explodes around us.

I lie beneath him while he frames my face between his hands.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

Blood.

Red splotches on a white wedding dress.

“Remember what I told you about the money and the key in the safe.”

Flames.

And then it all comes rushing back.

“No!”

I jackknife into a sitting position, gasping at the pain that slices through my lower body.

My baby.

I cup my flat stomach.

“My baby!”

“Anya, calm down.” Hands grip my shoulders, pushing me flat. “You’re all right. Your baby is fine.”

I focus on the voice. It’s familiar.

A face comes into my vision, hovering over me—blond hair, brown eyes.

Dante, Saverio’s second-in-command.

I surge upright again, gulping for air.

“Easy now,” he says, holding fast.

“No!”

“Listen to me.” He shakes me softly. “Your baby is fine.”

My mouth is parched. My throat feels like sandpaper inside. It hurts to speak, but I force the words from my lips. “The explosion.”

He tightens his fingers on my shoulders. “Your friends are fine. Livy, Tersia, and Richard made it out. Unharmed.”

I grab the lapel of his jacket. “Saverio.”

A veil drops in front of his eyes. He lets me down slowly. Gently.

“Saverio,” I croak.

Dante’s tone is strained. “He’s alive.”

Alive.

I curl my fingers into a tight ball, fisting the fabric, unwilling to let go. “I want to see him. Take me to him. Take me to him and my baby.”

He pries my fingers open, frees his jacket, and lowers my hand to the white covers that are tucked around me. Watching me with a wary expression, he straightens behind the barrier of a metal rail on the side of the bed.

I take in my surroundings. I’m in a white bed in a white room with a monitor beeping next to me.

A hospital.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“Mount Sinai.”

There’s no crib beside the bed.

“Where’s my baby?”

Dante studies me from the safe distance he’s taken, his gaze guarded. “She’s premature. They’re keeping her in an incubator, but the nurse will explain everything. All you need to know for now is that she’s healthy.”

“I want to see her. Is it a girl?”

“Yes.” His smile is stilted. “They had to do an emergency cesarean. That’s why you have to keep still. You mustn’t tear your stitches.”

“At what time was she born?”

“Ten past five this afternoon.”

I look at the drawn curtains. “What time is it now?”

It’s a mundane question, but at the same time, it feels important.

“Close to seven,” he says.

Three hours since we got married. “Saverio?”

He averts his eyes briefly before meeting mine again. “He’s still in the operating theater.”

Alive.

He’s alive.

That’s all that matters .

“Here?” I ask.

Dante nods.

I try to wet my cracked lips, but my tongue is dry. “I want to see him. I have to see him.”

Dante takes my hand. A part of me vaguely registers how furious Saverio will be that he touches me. They have these unwritten rules. Then why is he breaking them?

“His injuries are extensive, Anya. He has second degree burns and multiple gunshot wounds. Damage to his right knee from shrapnel. One of the bullets entered his kidney. The rest…” His voice breaks. “Christ. The rest we don’t know yet.”

I stopped breathing at second degree burns. I don’t listen to the rest. I can’t.

“You have to be strong,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “For him, for you, and most of all, for your baby.”

“Take me to him.” I grimace with pain as I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed where the rail is lowered. “Now.”

Dante grabs my arm. “You have to listen to me. You can’t go to him. We can’t. He’s in surgery.” He dips his head. “The doctors, they’re doing everything they can.”

He’s alive, but it’s not all that matters. He can still die.

I collapse under the weight of that thought. It’s like the blast all over, the knowledge tearing me from limb to limb.

Dante comes around the bed. “There’s nothing we can do for now but be strong and wait.”

Be strong.

Wait.

It feels as if I may need a straitjacket. I want to fight like a lunatic. I want to claw my way through every person standing in my way until I’ve seen my baby and Saverio, but the logical part of my brain still functions. Understands.

“Here.” Dante sweeps an arm beneath my knees and lifts me back onto the bed. “You have to keep still.”

The skin of my stomach burns. My muscles protest when he pushes a pillow behind my back.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Helplessness and anguish assault me.

He hands me a cup with a straw. I drink, battling to swallow the water.

“How many?” I exhale a shaky breath. “How many dead?”

His jaw bunches. “Too many.”

“Who?”

He pauses for a second, his nostrils flaring as he finally says, “Luigi, Giorgio, and most of their men.” He adds in a strained voice, “The assailants targeted the people on their side of the church first.”

Dear God.

I don’t know how to process that. “The priest?”

“He has minor injuries.”

I look him over. “You?”

“Got lucky. I kicked over the communion table and took cover behind it. I got away with just a few scratches.”

“No gunshot wounds?”

“I rolled under the pew and leopard crawled my way to the attackers, but they threw the first grenade before I could get to them.”

“You kicked away that grenade. If not for you?—”

“I did what anyone would’ve done.”

I sink deeper into the pillow, scrutinizing my arms. They’re bruised and covered in scrapes, but no bones feel broken.

“You have some contusions but nothing serious,” Dante says.

Because Saverio took the bullets and absorbed the blast. He covered my head and my body with his to save my baby and me.

“Saverio…” I swallow back tears. “He could’ve gotten out. He could’ve taken cover. Like you. If he didn’t?—”

“Saverio acted the way he saw best,” Dante says harshly. “He protected you because he wanted to. That’s all there is to it. You’re not going to help him by going on a guilt trip.”

I look away.

“The feds are questioning everyone,” he says. “They’ll interrogate you too.”

I turn my face back to him quickly.

“We take care of our own justice.” He crosses his arms. “You know what to say.”

“That I don’t know anything.”

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Gnashing my teeth, I say, “I know who did it.”

He only watches me, his dark eyes gleaming with rage.

“Raphael Morelli,” I spit out.

The family don’t shed blood at weddings. Only one man is dishonorable enough to disregard the most sacred rule of their kind. Raphael and Elena should’ve been there, but they cancelled at the last minute. It’s no secret that Raphael and Saverio are enemies. Raphael has always been keen on taking over Luigi’s territory. Since the day he arm-wrestled Luigi into letting him manage Obsidian, their second biggest nightclub, he’s been out for blood. He manipulated Luigi and undermined Saverio at every chance he got. War isn’t only evident in bloodshed. It’s mapped out in an organization’s accounting if you know how to read the books. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s interpreting the numbers.

“What happened?” I ask. “ How could that happen?”

Dante glances at the closed door. “They ambushed Sav’s men outside like fucki—” He clears his throat. “Like guerrilla fighters. Knifed them down. That’s why we didn’t hear anything.”

Just as I thought. “It was a well-planned attack.”

“He put considerable effort into it, using the element of surprise to his advantage.”

“ Violating the rules to his advantage,” I say with loathing. “He knew Luigi’s men were unarmed.”

“The coward played dirty. We were sitting ducks.”

Of course. Our wedding was the perfect opportunity for him to strike.

Hatred and vengeance push up inside me. I open my heart and let those sentiments in. They not only become a part of me. They define me. As I embrace their darkness, a new person is born. I welcome her with open arms because it’s easier to operate when you have a purpose than when you’re helpless with paralyzing fear and devastating guilt.

“I want proof,” I say, my tone bitter.

Dante gives a tight nod. “I’ll find it.”

I grimace from the ache as I ease myself down the bed. “Good.”

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, his manner awkward. “Livy was here all the time. She went to the house to pack some clothes and essentials for you and the baby.” He points at a boutique bag on the nightstand. “In the meantime, I got you pj’s, a bath robe, and slippers from the gift shop downstairs in case you’d like to change out of that hospital gown. Livy helped me with the sizes. Hopefully, everything will fit.”

“I want to see my baby.”

“I’ll go get the nurse.”

As he turns away, I grab his wrist. “When Saverio comes out of surgery, put men in front of his room to watch the door. I want men on that floor twenty-four-seven.”

His expression is both troubled and resolved. He knows why it’s necessary. Like me, he’s worried. Raphael may send someone to finish the job he started.

There’s a knock on the door before Dante can reply. A tall man in scrubs opens it.

I let Dante go, an unspoken message passing between us when he gives me his agreement with a nod.

A wide, easy smile curves the man’s lips. “Ah. You’re awake, Ms. De Luca.” He comes forward. “I’m Dr. Loter, the chief surgeon who operated on your husband.”

I hold my breath, my heart pounding between my temples.

“Can we have a word in privacy?” Dr. Loter asks, glancing at Dante.

“He’s a family friend. I prefer that he stays.”

“Very well.” Despite the doctor’s smile, his tone is grim when he says, “I have an update for you.”