Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dante

I adjust my AirPods as I navigate the familiar streets to Sal's luxury condo, wishing I could replace the music with Addy's voice instead. I need to be done with this fucking war, get her safe so we can be a normal couple. I want to be able to call her anytime. Take her out. Live with her.

I'd just returned from the ruins that Voltex was left in. This second fire did so much more damage than the first and called for a forceful and excessive retaliation. But we need to put our house in order before engaging the Mob, which is why it's time to reel in Orlando De Luca.

I pull up to Sal's condo, my tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Sal's door opens before I can knock. "You look like shit, fratello," he greets me, a smirk playing on his lips.

I brush past him, my eyes scanning the apartment, and instantly note that something is off. The usual clutter is gone, replaced by an almost clinical neatness.

"Going somewhere?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Then I see the book on the coffee table, its cover embossed with raised dots. Braille. My gaze snaps back to Sal, who's watching me warily.

"What the fuck, Salvatore?" I growl, taking a step toward him.

Sal holds up his hands, palms out. "It's not what you think, Dante. I'm just learning to read Braille."

I freeze, my eyes darting around the room. Now that I'm looking, I see other changes—tactile markers on light switches and labels on kitchen cabinets. My chest tightens as understanding dawns.

"Kira," I breathe, the name both a question and an accusation.

Sal nods, his expression a mix of defiance and apprehension. I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. When I open them, I fix Sal with a hard stare.

"If you hurt her, Salvatore, I will tear your heart out. I'm dead serious."

"It's nothing serious. We're friends, that's all."

I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the past few days. "I just hope Kira knows what she's getting into."

"I should be the one being asked that," Sal mutters under his breath

"You're on your own there, prick. Anyway, get dressed," I snap. "We're going to Orlando's."

Sal's eyebrows shoot up. "De Luca? Why?"

"We need him back in the fold yesterday. All our ranks need to be tight as shit."

I pace the room, tension making it impossible to stand still. "I've just returned from Detroit. A source tells me Boston is getting ready to strike a deal with a big syndicate."

Sal slumps against the counter and sighs. "You heard right, fratello. It's the Shadow Gang in Philadelphia. They're about five hundred strong."

I pause, surprised by this.

The Philadelphia Shadow Gang. Hired fighters, barbarians who've gotten rich by contracting themselves out to fight mob wars. They're a force to be reckoned with, but not an insurmountable threat to the Outfit.

"Sure, they have the numbers, but they're disorganized. They're mercenaries, not strategists. They fight for the highest bidder, not for loyalty."

Sal puts up his index finger. "That may be true, but they more than make up for it in brutality. Dante, these fuckers would carve up their pregnant grandmother if she crossed them."

"Which only shows how weak and desperate the Mob is to descend to that level."

"They mean to win this time by any means necessary. On the other hand, we should rethink this non-engagement rule and take decisive action against the Mob ASAP. Dante, watching them contract a five hundred-man army to fight us is like watching gangrene spread."

The weight of Sal's words sinks in. It's true, but Addy needs to know what this means for Benjamin O'Shea. It's a conversation I'm not looking forward to, but it needs to happen today.

"Agreed," I muse aloud. "We should act before they do more damage. I'll speak to Nico today."

"Fuck yes!" Sal does a subtle fist pump and then heads to his bedroom to change. His voice drifts back to the living room. "Though I do feel bad for the Mob. To have the Italians murder Naomi eighteen years ago and now lure and do the same to her daughter? That's cause for war in any book."

I snort. "Someone needs to tell them we might be fucked up, but we generally never carry a grudge for that long."

Sal emerges, buttoning up a fresh shirt. "I know. They're actually the ones that behave like pussies. No offense to Addy."

"None taken. She's not Irish. She's mine." The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me.

Sal looks ready to vomit. "Fucking kill me right now," he mutters.

I glance at my watch and snarl, "You might get your wish if you don't move your ass now. You have two minutes. We're on a clock here."

I need to get back to Addy. I promised her I'd be with her today. It's been five days. Too long.

As Sal disappears back into his room, my gaze lands on the Braille book on the coffee table. The raised dots seem to mock me, a tangible reminder of how this all began.

If Kira had seen me talking to Addy that day in Loyola gym, she would have warned her away long before either of us had the chance to sink hooks into each other irrevocably. And now, I can't help but wonder if Sal isn't already heading down a similar path with Kira.

God help Kira because Salvatore is messed up.

***

The tense silence in the car is broken only by the purr of the engine. It's unusually silent because Sal keeps fidgeting with his phone, dialing and redialing a number obsessively, and fiddling with his cufflinks, a nervous tick I've never seen before. It sets my teeth on edge.

"What?" I bark when I'm inches from planting my fist in his temple.

He shrugs. "You don't want to know."

"Sal, if you don't spit it out right now—"

"Kira's unreachable—her phone is switched off."

"You're right. I don't want to know. Maybe she's come to her senses and doesn't want your ‘friendship' anymore."

"No, we're good. Very good, actually."

"You can't be all that good if she doesn't know that switching off her phone doesn't deter you from finding her."

"She knows I track all my friends and doesn't mind me doing the same to her."

"Really?" Part of Sal's job is keeping tabs on the Capos, which is a welcome layer of security should anyone get ambushed or kidnapped. To anyone else, it would be a gross invasion of their privacy. I'm surprised Sal is open about it, even more so that Kira lets him do it.

"So, what's the problem then?" I ask. "She probably forgot to charge her phone."

"Dante, the problem isn't the cell phone being off. The problem is where the phone is right now."

"Where is it?"

"Her phone has remained in a single spot at Logan Airport for the past four hours."

A dark chill settles in my bones. "Kira hates flying."

"Precisely. This is what is driving me up the wall, Dante. What the fuck is she doing at an airport with a switched-off phone for four hours."

Before we can say more, the huge composite gates of the De Luca estate loom. They slide open silently as we approach.

"He knows you're coming," Sal states the obvious.

"Of course. And I bet he also knows why."

The driveway, lined with perfectly manicured topiaries, winds its way up to a mansion that wouldn't look out of place in the Italian countryside.

"Jesus," Sal mutters, eyeing the stone fountains and marble statues dotting the expansive lawn. "Forget Intelligence, I should've been on the Narc's side of the business."

I shoot him a wry glance as we pull up to the front of the house. "You can't stand drugs anymore, Sal."

He chuckles wryly. "Yes, but fuck. It's easy money."

The front doors open before we reach them, and I'm hit with a wave of cool air, heavy with the scent of lemon polish and something floral. Bianca De Luca stands in the foyer, regal in tan pants and a flowery blouse, and not a hair out of place. She's slim and graceful, but her posture remains rigid, her eyes calculating and her chin jutting in hostility.

"Dante. What an . . . unexpected pleasure." She turns to address someone behind her. "I told you he'll be back, cara ."

My eyes slide past her to Alina, hovering uncertainly in the background, and I groan inwardly. The hurt in her eyes is palpable, but there's something else there too, a resignation that makes my gut twist. No woman should ever be turned down the way I did Alina. But I wasn't thinking straight that night.

"Bianca," I nod, keeping my voice neutral. "Alina. I'm here to see Orlando."

Bianca's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Of course you are." Her words drip with venom as she turns to her daughter. "Vitelli men can never change. They'll trample on your heart every chance they get."

The bitterness in her voice makes me imagine—a younger, more desperate Bianca engaged to my father. Until he fell for another woman. Something tells me that if Bianca had not compelled Alina to choose me, Nico would have done the exact same thing I did to Alina. The same thing Father did to Bianca.

I push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present. "Let Orlando know I'm here."

A gleam of hope flashes in Bianca's eyes, but I can see that Alina knows better. Bianca must think I'm here to renegotiate the marriage deal, now that my ‘mystery woman' is dead and the Irish are closing in on us.

"Certainly," Bianca's smile widens, becoming almost predatory. "Although Orlando's been sulking like a wounded dog since he threw his tantrum in front of the entire Outfit. But it looks like it worked. I'll go get him for you."

I exchange a glance with Sal as Bianca saunters off, leaving Alina standing uncertainly. That Bianca resents her husband is no secret, but that she'd be willing to openly disrespect him in front of his fellow Capos is shocking, to say the least.

"Alina," I say softly, taking a step toward the woman. "How have you been?"

She meets my gaze, her eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. "I've been better," she admits in a faint voice. "But I'm managing."

"I'm sorry, again."

"You're an asshole, Dante."

"That too."

Her lips twitch in response, and she rolls her eyes and leaves. Moments later, heavy footsteps announce Orlando's arrival. The man who enters the room is a far cry from the proud, powerful man who stormed out of the conference room weeks ago. His shoulders are slumped, defeat written in every line of his face.

"Dante," he says, his voice rough. "If you've come to ask for my daughter's hand now that you need to bolster your ranks against the Irish, I can tell you right now to fuck off."

Bianca hovers in the doorway, her eyes sharp and hungry. I say nothing but Orlando must see something in my eyes that makes him shift uncomfortably and turn to Bianca.

"Leave us," he commands, but his tone lacks conviction.

"Not on your life, Orlando. The Vitellis have fucked us over for too long," Bianca snaps, moving further into the room. "And now they've broken my daughter's heart. I'm staying to see that things are made right again."

I raise a surprised eyebrow. It's not that I disapprove of a woman having a say in her home—quite the opposite. But I'm taken aback that Orlando, whom I've always thought of as old-fashioned, allows it so openly.

Meeting Orlando's eyes, I choose my words carefully. "Orlando, is the snow fresh?"

It's a code, one that means, ‘I need to tell you something in private.' Orlando's gaze flicks to Bianca, then back to me. He shrugs, a gesture of defeat that speaks volumes. He's not going to get her to leave.

"Sit," he says, waving toward the leather armchairs. "Say what you came to say, Dante. I doubt there's anything left that could surprise me now."

I lower myself into the chair. Sal remains standing, taking his guard behind me. The tension in the room heightens as I stare into Orlando's pale blue eyes. I take a deep breath and begin.

"Orlando, your Don wants you to reaffirm your loyalty to the Outfit. Just as soon as you pay the price for your disrespect."

Orlando's eyes narrow. "What price?"

"You and I know you should pay with blood. But Don Vitelli is willing to take your grievances on board. So instead, you're done with narcotics."

The words hang in the air for a moment before all hell breaks loose.

Orlando's temper explodes like a powder keg. He leaps to his feet, his face flushed with rage. "You come into my house after everything, and you dare—"

My voice cuts through his tirade like a whip. "We know Naomi Ritter and her child were yours. Eighteen years ago, the Irish asked for a name, and rather than give it, my father chose a decade-long war. You may want to consider your next words, De Luca."

Orlando becomes still as a stone. "You're blackmailing me? Either I join forces with you or you'll throw me to the Irish dogs?"

"In a nutshell, yes. Give up the narcotics, fall back in line, and never ever break faith again. Or face the Irish on your own." I pause, letting my words sink in before unleashing the killing blow. "And forget about meeting Naomi's daughter. Your daughter."

Orland freezes. "What? What are you saying?"

"She's alive, Orlando. Adele is alive. Like a phoenix, she survived Emil Novak's gunshots. And five weeks ago, she survived Owen's bomb. I put her off-grid."

I can see the physical impact of my words on Orlando. He staggers back, collapsing into his chair. The emotions that play across his face are raw, unguarded—shock, joy, and, most of all, an overwhelming regret that makes my chest tighten.

"Emil and Owen Novak?"

I nod. "Father and son. Both ghosts. Both are now dead."

"Do we know who sent them?"

I wince in regret. "No."

"But she's alive." He breathes.

"Yes," I confirm.

His eyes become glassy with unshed tears. It's a startling transformation, seeing this hardened mafioso stripped bare by a single word.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bianca pale as a sheet, her knuckles white as she grips the back of a nearby chair.

"Is it still fresh?" I ask, using our code to inquire if it's safe to continue.

Bianca hisses, her composure cracking. "How much more can there be, you fucking cheating bastard?"

Orlando waves a weary hand, gesturing for me to continue. He looks utterly drained, as if the weight of his past has suddenly become too much to bear.

I lean forward, my voice low and steady. "Let me spell out the terms again, Orlando. You lose the narcotics business and fall back in line, or we tell the Irish it was you. We'll end the war by letting them tear you apart, and of course, you never ever get to see her again."

Orlando drops his head into his hands, his next words muffled but clear. "My daughter is alive."

I feel a strange mix of pity and respect for this man who's been carrying such a burden. "And who knows? You may be getting a Vitelli son-in-law after all."

Orlando's head snaps up, his eyes boring into mine. "Really?"

I nod, allowing a small smile. "If Adele will have me, yes."

The expression that crosses Bianca's face is pure, unadulterated rage. It's gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of indifference, but I've seen it. A chill runs down my spine as I realize the storm that's likely to break in this household once we leave.

"Your Don wants an answer in twenty-four hours—" I begin, but Orlando interrupts.

"He can have it now," he says, his voice stronger than it's been since we arrived. "I'm in. My only condition is that I get to meet my daughter." He hesitates. "If she wants to, that is."

Bianca rolls her eyes dramatically and storms out of the room, the sound of her heels echoing on the marble floor.

I nod, acknowledging his terms. "That can be arranged."

Neither Sal nor I move to shake his hand. Not until Orlando gets back his ring—he hasn't earned that right yet.

"We'll see ourselves out," I say, standing.

As we make our way to the front door, I hear soft footsteps behind us. Turning, I see Alina, her eyes red-rimmed but determined.

"Dante," she calls softly. "Can we talk? Just for a moment?"

I glance at Sal, who nods and hangs back, giving us space. Turning back to Alina, I see the need for closure written plainly on her face.

"Of course," I say gently.

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "So, the redhead didn't die?"

"No. And her name is Adele."

She nods. "Was she—is she the reason why you couldn't love me? Like, if . . . if she wasn't in the picture, do you think . . . maybe it could have worked between us?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I owe her honesty, at the very least.

"Tell me something first. Who did you really want, Nico or me?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure. I think I loved you since that Thanksgiving you put Paulo—my cousin in the hospital for beating me."

I furrow my brows, not having the foggiest recollection, although beating up a girl sounds like something Paulo Rinaldi would do.

"The party was right in this house. I was six, you were fourteen, and he was about twenty." Alina explains when she sees the look on my face

I snort. "Sounds like the fucker deserved it."

"Anyway, that was the last family gathering your parents let you attend because apparently, Paulo spent three months in the hospital after that. I didn't see much of you again. I saw Nico instead. And I think I fell for him too."

"So you would have married Nico if your mother hadn't interfered?"

"I guess so. You and Nico look so much alike, you know. You're literally the same people."

I want to burst out laughing, but I rein it in as a wave of protectiveness surges in me. Nico and I might look identical but we couldn't be any more different.

"No, Alina." I finally give her the answer she needs. "We wouldn't have worked out regardless. I'm pretty sure I would have made you miserable. And so would Nico."

She nods, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispers. "For being honest. I think . . . I think I needed to hear that."

I reach out, squeezing her shoulder gently. "And I'd like to amend what I said before. If you're ever asked to marry someone, whether you want to or not, come and talk to me, alright?"

With a final reassuring nod, I turn and walk out of the De Luca mansion.

As I slide into the driver's seat beside Sal, he breathes, "Hell, poor girl dodged two bullets there."

"Shut the fuck up," I say, fighting a smile.

As I merge into traffic, I think about Orlando. I've known the man all my life. He's a tough nut, famous for his near-pathological lack of emotion, and not at all one I'd pick as a father for Addy if it came down to choosing. But the man I saw today seems lightyears away from that person.

Still, I wonder if that's enough. Does he really want to get to know Addy, or does he just want her because she carries his DNA?