Chapter 40

The walk over to his house shouldn't have been an issue if I had left my suit jacket behind. Instead, I walked inside ready to leave the humid air behind.

"I thought you would just stay outside and look over the brick some more." Leonardo's voice cracked, and a heap of coughs followed.

I relaxed when I heard his voice, but I quickly searched for him as his cough intensified and his body gasped for air.

His signature fedora was off his fuzzy white hair, and his back deepened into the single chair that had molded into his body. Leonardo's fingers shook, holding onto the oxygen tube on his nose. I walked over to the living room, where I'd positioned his chair to view the front door and windows and met him.

He ushered me away, but I didn't listen. I fished inside my suit pocket and retrieved my handkerchief before placing it in his free hand.

I didn't miss the red spot after he wiped his mouth.

Fuck.

Time was a bitch I hated and couldn't defeat.

Leonardo's tired body gave, relaxing as his breathing returned. He didn't say anything else, and I took it upon myself to sit in the matching chair next to him. A coffee table rested between us, and while he looked away, I watched him.

His pressed dress pants, the perfect lines of his white long-sleeve shirt to his checkered brown and beige sweater vest. All appeared neat and put together compared to his true state, which reminded me of the wedding. How a date wasn't set, how he might not be there by the appearance of his sullen eyes.

Then he glanced at me, and I saw my mother's resilience in his eyes. I looked away.

Coward.

"We have a family lunch in a few hours."

"Hmm," he scoffed.

"You should come, get some fresh air and all."

"Will Ms. Alessandra be there?" His brow raised.

"Yes."

"Are you still treating her like a Zanetti?"

His question had too many answers. I had said yes to respecting her, protecting her. She even walked among my house armed, and yet I still didn't trust her. I still held hatred for her. I still wanted to own her, and I still stayed at arm's length.

"It was a simple answer, Massimo," Leonardo croaked. "And your silence said enough. My answer is no. I don't want to see the way you treat her."

"Fine," I said sharply.

"Don't fine me, boy." His voice deepened, and his eyes lifted. Filled with fire. A sight I smiled at but didn't show because underneath this roof, I wasn't his boss. I was just Massimo. "Stronzo," he mumbled, and this time my eyes cut his way.

"Easy, old man. I'm still the one who makes your late-night coffee."

My comment only fueled his spirit, and he was too quick to complain.

"Which by the way has been too late and brings me to the question, how bad"-he wheezed- "how bad is it?"

Leave it to Leonardo to measure the danger of the streets by the time he received his daily night coffee. A thing I did, and only Mrs. Carmine knew as she was the one who brought it to his home. It started as a deal. When I fought him to move into this home I'd built specifically for him, I never said it out loud. He knew. They all did. Yet, he didn't want it. His reasons could range from feeling like a burden to pure pride. Pride would be the one I would bet on. One night he'd fallen so ill, I didn't give him the choice. I packed his shit and moved it, knowing he couldn't carry it or drive it away.

That night, I saw the end of Leonardo's gun. That night I saw my mother's tired eyes, and that night I turned my back as he filled the chamber with a threat, and as I walked away, he'd said, "Don't forget my coffee."

I'd been caught once with a coffee mug in my kitchen late at night. Vadim and Davina had stayed in my home for safety. Davina walked in, too scared to come closer with me inside. All she wanted was bottled water. Before she left that night, she didn't mention the mug, who it was for, or why Mrs. Carmine was taking it out of the kitchen. But Davina was attentive, careful, and surely eventually she put the pieces together. To this day, she hadn't said anything, not that I would answer.

I stood, impatient to end my visit with the past. I wanted to walk away from memories I'd kept chained to stay as the cold and vicious bastard only my demon understood. The only way to survive in this hell of a world.

"Why are you really here, Massimo?" Leonardo asked.

"Alex will be dead by the end of the day."

I was here out of respect.

Leonardo's lips twisted, unhappy with my words, and his eyes lifted, trying to understand.

"Why?"

"Alessandra."

He laughed. Full chuckles that dared his lungs. In a roar, he gulped deep breaths, his chest begging for air.

Fucking Leonardo.

"Happy to know you find his death funny."

"You're a fool, Massimo."

"Don't call me a fool, old man."

"But you are, and I am happy to see it."

His smile broke free, and his teeth shone teasingly. My jaw tensed at the absurdity of Leonardo's words.

"You are not here to tell me you are getting rid of Alex." He shrugged. "You do as you please with no regard for others." Leonardo adjusted his oxygen tube and continued, "And you are a fool for thinking I don't know you, kid. You're here because you are losing your edge."

"You don't know anything," I gritted out.

Leonardo shook his head. His mood quieted, and only a partial smile remained on his lips.

"I think I know more than you right now." His eyes wandered before he announced. "I'll join the next family lunch."

Confused, I wanted to ask why. But I stayed silent.

The truth was, Leonardo was right. I wasn't really here to tell him about Alex. I wanted to see him. Talk to him, and I hope my mind will be pacified. Instead, I felt more unhinged and unbalanced than when I stepped into the humid air. Just like any other time, I would remain trapped in my thoughts-alone. Because allowing my mind to speak freely will be a weakness.

My phone rang, cutting through our stare, and after taking it out of my pocket and looking at the area code for New York, I had to take it.

"I have to go," I announced, but Leonardo's hands were already rushing me to leave. "Stay breathing."

His eyes slid, and I smiled, walking away from the ill-tempered asshole I mirrored.

Out in the open and under the beaming sun, I answered as I walked my way back to my house.

"Pronto," I said in Italian.

The voice that replied back in Italian was one I hadn't expected or trusted-Franco Zanetti's.

"Lombardi, quite a mess."

"One that I see as necessary." As I stood in the backyard, away from prying ears, I waited for Franco to figure out his next words.

"And yet it has reached a high level in New York," he spat.

"Did you expect it to be any different? After all, it was the Zanetti name who broke a vow."

I knew the troubles and the numbers that kept falling in New York. Los Angeles wasn't only targeting Miami, and while we were their main priority as I had Alessandra, I hadn't lost soldiers compared to the Zanetti Syndicate.

I was playing smart, tactical, and without any hesitation. Franco was performing like the expected old boss. Behind time and stuck on how it should be. His ego killed his own.

If I didn't believe Aldo would overthrow his father if he switched sides, I would target New York too. I had no trust in Franco Zanetti, or Aldo, but I did trust Aldo's greed.

And Aldo's greed will soon make my empire the largest and strongest in La Cosa Nostra.

Time was always running.

Soon, Franco's time would be over.

"A broken vow?" Franco's voice raised. "How can it be broken when my principessa continues to bear my name?"

I held my words from giving away how his insolence for calling Alessandra his princess angered me. How his doubt of her becoming a Lombardi created a wild desire to seek slaughter. How I felt pure malice ignite and destroy any sense of mercy inside, coursing through me like a venomous plague.

I breathed in deeply with a clenched jaw, and my grip tightened, holding on to my blood-thirsty demon.

How fucking dare he question Alessandra's future?

She was mine.

"Careful, Zanetti. That sounds like a threat."

"Does it?"

"Yes."

"I guess I have a different way of asking about my daughter's wedding date."

No. He meant it, but he couldn't say it out loud. Not while I still had one key witness that could destroy his syndicate, Davina. Alessandra was the piece that held the promises together. He knew it.

"You'll get the invitation this week. Meanwhile, I suggest you up your defenses."

Franco scoffed and added with arrogance, "I don't need your advice."

"Sounds to me like you do." A smug smile shone as I said, "I need to go. My fiancée is waiting for me in my room."

Silence.

I hung up and walked back to the house in search of what had been in question-Alessandra.

My honors limit.

ALESSANDRA

Family lunch. What a strange thing to have. But as the dining room echoed with multiple conversations mingling in the air, the only one who thought it was strange was me. The only one unfamiliar to the normalcy of such a get-together.

"Try to keep your knife away from Elio," Massimo said as he met me at the bottom of the stairs with one hand stretched out for me to take.

His mood had taken a turn for the worse. From annoyance to utter cruelty. Massimo had tried to reign over my presence, but his shoulders were rigid, his jaw was tight, and his breathing was short. He was so far from control he didn't even bother to hide it well.

I took his stiff hand, another sign of the turmoil he was under. Carefully, I said, "Tell your brother to behave, not me."

He didn't appreciate my answer, and my smile widened.

"Alessandra," he warned.

"You are wearing a suit," I stated, moving the conversation along with our steps in hopes of easing his mood.

It didn't.

"I am." He let go of my hand, and a shiver ran down my spine when he hit my lower back instead. The act of possession felt stronger as his fingers held me tighter.

A touch I could get used to by its warmth and claim. The kind I looked forward to as it sparked a neediness in its hold.

"Are you surprised?" he asked.

I stopped and faced him before we walked into the mixed voices in the dining room.

I shook my head, answering his question.

"How's your wrist?" He peered down.

"Fine."

He scoffed, and we fell into silence. He glanced past me, and I glanced at his patterned tie that matched his fitted, dark blue blazer and suit pants.

"Why are you stalling?"

"I didn't think I was," I mumbled.

I was.

"You're nervous."

I felt his eyes and ignored them.

With my shoulders back, I faced the dining room opening.

"Don't be."

"I'm not."

"Then walk in," he pressed.

I did, and the room quieted.

The first set of eyes I found were hazel, distant and harsh-Elio's.