DANTE’S POV I pulled out the burner phone Fernando had handed me before I left the underground compound and dialed Rico.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Who the fuck is this?” “I’m at the gate,” I said, my voice low and dry.
A second later, the heavy iron gate groaned against the ice and slid open.
I drove through, parking on the tall heap of snow beside a gray SUV.
Two burly guards posted on the porch tracked my movement, their hands hovering near their belts as I climbed out and walked past them into the warmth.
I pushed through the front door, shutting the howling wind out, and shrugged off my snow-dusted leather jacket.
My ribs throbbed with every breath I took serving as a sharp reminder of the last two days, but I forced my posture straight.
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind me, sealing in the faint scent of radiator heat and lavender.
“Rico?” I called out, hanging my jacket on the rack by the door.
“In here,” he called back from the doorway leading left.
I walked toward the brightly lit archway, but stopped dead in my tracks at the sound of the voice coming through his speaker.
“Yes, Nonna, we’re fine,” Rico was saying, standing by the brick fireplace in the warmly furnished living room.
He had his back to the entrance, but turned at the sound of my boots on the hardwood floor.
“And how’s Dantino?” The voice on the line was warm, croaky, and unmistakably my grandmother’s.
It hit me like a physical punch to the guts.
In an instant, memories flashed across my mind of a younger version of me running into her open arms as a reckless kid, the smell of roasted pine nuts on her apron, the safe sanctuary of her kitchen back home.
The wave of nostalgia flooded my chest, tightening so hard I could barely draw air into my lungs.
“He’s doing fine,” Rico said, his eyes locking onto mine as I stood frozen in the doorway.
“He’s so busy he cannot even come and see his Nonna?” she cut in, her tone sharpening with a familiar heat.
“He’s fighting with his father, so why does he use it to punish the entire family?” A heavy pang of guilt pierced straight through my chest.
I lowered my head, staring down at the floor.
It didn’t matter that I was a grown man who ran enforcement and fought wars in the dark; the second Nonna scolded me, I was a defenseless little boy again.
“Tell him I want to see him,” she pressed, her voice thick with stubborn affection.
“Unless he’s waiting to see me on my deathbed.” My heart skipped a beat, a cold knot tightening in my stomach.
I crossed the living room in three quick strides, closing the distance before Rico could react, and snatched the phone clean out of his hand.
“Don’t even joke about something like that,” I barked into the receiver, my voice harsh and raw.
A heavy, breathless silence stretched across the line.
“Dantino?” Her voice hitched, dropping into a fragile whisper.
“Is that you?” I swallowed hard, my throat tight with an emotion I couldn’t afford to show.
“Sì, Nonna.” “Ohhh, my baby,” she breathed, a wet chuckle bleeding through the line.
“My little boy.
How could you be so cruel to leave your old grandmother like this?
It’s been—” “I’m not trying to be cruel, Nonna,” I muttered, rubbing the space between my brows as Rico folded his arms and watched me with a guarded look.
“Then come home,” she demanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
“I sit in this hospital bed with doctors poking at me, while my favorite grandson is halfway across the world pretending he doesn’t have a family.” “I’m not pretending anything—” “Five years, Dantino.
Five years I haven’t seen your face.
You think because you are stubborn like your father, you don’t owe your grandmother a visit?
I am not going to live forever.
Cheating death is not easy.
Some day I will run out of luck, Dantino.” I quickly took a breath, suddenly becoming aware of my eyes blinking.
“Stop saying that,” I said, my jaw clenching as I turned my back on Rico to face the flickering fireplace.
“You’re going to be fine.
Fernando said you’re stable.” “Fernando is a boy who wears black makeup and lies for you,” she scoffed softly.
“I want my favourite grandson.
Bring yourself back to Italy before I come over there and drag you by your ear.
Oh and Dante, you need to talk to Gabriella.
So, just come home.
It might be the last time we see each other.
You can do whatever you like when I am gone.” She had already made peace with dying.
A small, painful shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite everything.
“I’m handling things here, Nonna.
Just take your medicine.” “I will take my medicine when I see you standing in front of me,” she declared, her tone softening just enough to break my defenses completely.
“Don’t make me wait much longer, tesoro.” “I won’t,” I said quietly.
“I’ll…
I’ll see you soon.
Rest now.” “Ti voglio bene, Dantino.” “Ti voglio bene, Nonna.” The line went dead.
I stood there holding the silent burner phone, staring into the fire while the quiet weight of her words settled into the room.
Rico took a slow step forward, taking the phone back from my unresisting hand.
“She’s been like that every day since she got admitted.
Dad wants to talk to you, too, Dante.
Mom hasn’t slept properly in days, not since she heard that stupid rumor about—” “There’s nothing to say to Dad,” I said, forcing the warmth out of my voice and wrapping the cold armor back around myself.
“He made his choices.
I made mine.
Everyone is fine.” “It’s been five years, man,” Rico pressed, stepping into my path as I moved toward the archway.
“Five years.
Nobody is fine.
Especially our mother.
She wants you home.
She’d be ecstatic to see you, especially once she hears—” Before Rico could finish the sentence, the bedroom door down the short hallway clicked open.
Gabriela framed the doorway, looking impeccably dressed despite the ungodly hour.
Her sharp silk blouse was pristine and her hair was styled in soft, delicate curls.
But the polished facade cracked the second her face drained of color, leaving her ghost-pale.
She clutched the wooden frame like her knees were about to give out.
The moment her sharp green eyes locked onto mine across the living room, her grip loosened.
She crossed the hardwood floor fast, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face against my throat, sobbing.
The heavy, sweet scent of her perfume instantly mixed with the bitter winter air still clinging to my shirt, her whole body shaking violently against mine.
I stood rigid in the middle of the room, my hands flat at my sides.
“Can you let go of me now, Gabriela?” She recoiled as if I’d struck her, her face twisting as she swiped frantically at the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“How can you be this cold, Dante?
I’ve been stuck in this damn house, out of my mind with worry!” Her green eyes narrowed, tracking the melting snow dripping from my hair down my collar.
“When I was on the line earlier…
I heard a woman’s voice near you.
Who was that?
Who is she?” I looked down at her, keeping my face entirely blank, locking away every thought of Cara behind an iron wall.
“You don’t have the right to ask me that question.” “I don’t have the right?” She let out a dry, bitter laugh, her hand instinctively dropping to cover her stomach as another wave of nausea seemed to hit her.
“Dante…
I’m carrying your child.” The living room went dead silent.
Rico’s head snapped toward me.
He took two fast steps out of the hallway, shoving his way into my personal space.
“What?” he barked, his voice sharp enough to draw blood.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I didn’t blink.
I didn’t correct her, nor did I break the silent lie to explain the staged arrangement or the web of politics that had bound us together in Italy.
Not hefe, and not with Rico looking for a reason to snap.
Let him think what he wanted.
I just held Gabriela’s gaze, watching the desperate defiance in her eyes until she was the one to break contact, turning away as her chest heaved.
I turned my back on her and looked straight at Rico, ignoring the vein throbbing in his neck.
“How did you get into Chicago?” I asked, my voice flat, cutting straight through the heavy air.
Rico blinked, derailed by the sudden pivot, his chest still heaving.
“The family jet.
Flew in three hours ago.” “Call the pilot,” I said, walking back toward the entryway to grab my leather jacket off the console.
“Get it prepped.
We’re going back to Italy.”