Page 113 of The Best of Us

I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you telling me Colin’s grandparents are a modern-day version ofRomeo and Juliet?”

“Something like that.” He shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the desk as if the wood held some secret code to get him through this conversation. “He left that life behind. She said goodbye to her family when they moved to the States. But her cousin eventually made his way to New York to establish the Sicilian mafia division here.” He glanced at me again, and all I could do was gulp in response, a weak attempt at reassurance. “They’re no longer in power here or a threat,” he added, sensing my unease.

An important side note.“So, the mafia Colin almost stole from . . . they’re not tied to your mother’s side?” My words felt as tangled up as my thoughts. “Who are they?”

He pushed up off the desk, fully facing me now. “‘Mafia’ is just a broad term for organized crime. There are a lot of them. We’ve taken down a few in New York, including the biggest one.Butnew families always rise and take their place.” He paused, letting that sink in. “The Messina family is based out in Brooklyn. They’re the ones who were at the rave. No connection to my family, but they fear us. They know better than to cross me. And I made it very clear that they’re never to come near you or Colin.”

There it was again, thator else. As loud as a shotgun blast next to my unprotected ear.

I wanted to feel relieved we had some kind of Costa Family Forcefield around us, but I still didn’t quite understand what that meant.

“So, does that mean you’re also in this League group?” I needed to sit.Shit, I already am.

“No, they don’t operate out of the U.S., but they’re following the lead on Lennon’s father in Ireland for us.” He cleared his throat. “And I have worked with them before. They helped on a case involving my sister-in-law last year.” He traced one of the scars on his arm, and my chest tightened.

Was that animal tied to that case?I stood, my heart shattering all over again at the memory of what he’d been through. And yet, he was still standing. Still strong—a wrecking ball ofgoodagainst this world’s evil.

I reached for his hand, lifted it to my lips, and softly kissed his knuckles. I offered him my silent support, hoping he could feel it in my touch.

“Tell me more,” I whispered. “Tell me everything.”

I tightened my grip on his hand, pleading for him to continue.

He exhaled. “I guess I need to return to Bianca’s death, then.” His voice was somber, laced with something heavier than pain.

“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Why was she murdered?”

His eyes squinted slightly, like the sun had hit his face. “She loved the wrong man.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “We didn’t know it then but learned the truth later.Mafia.”

“Oh.” I must’ve taken a step back because I bumped into the chair.

He let go of my hand and reached for his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. I watched silently as he removed a small, folded piece of paper and set the billfold on the desk.

“This is why I came to your place on Wednesday.”

He unfolded the note and held it out to me.

This wasn’t just an olive branch, it was something much bigger.

With shaky hands, I took it as he explained, “My sister used to send me tins of baked goods before I deployed. She slipped this note inside one of them. It was Christmastime, just before my last deployment. Before I left the Navy.”

C,

I know you’re strong and tough. I know you’re fearless. A warrior. A champion for justice. I know you’re all of these things, but I still worry about you. I can’t help it. I pray for you and our brothers’ safety every morning and every night. I pray that God will shield and protect you. Maybe one day you’ll even pray it, too.

Love you,

Bianca

Beneath her note were a few verses of scripture:Psalms27 and 91. Familiar words. I read them in silence, fighting back the sob clawing its way up my throat as I handed the note back to him.

“She was the one who needed this. She was the one in danger, and I never knew it.” His voice was raw, thick with guilt. “I never prayed for her because I didn’t pray.” A single tear slipped free, but he barely seemed to notice. “I couldn’t forgive myself for that. But I kept this with me even when I didn’t feel I deserved safety or protection after letting her down. I didn’t even know she was in love. I didn’t knowanything. I was stuck in my own war, my own hell, and I didn’t know.”

I reached for him, pulling him against me, wrapping my arms around him as tightly as I could.

“You have to forgive yourself. You know she would want you to. Youhaveto.” My voice broke as I cried. “It wasn’t your fault.”

How did he not see that? How did he not realize?

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