Page 98 of Broken Honor

But when she smiles—I don’t see her.

I see Lunetta. Eyes soft and wide. Lips trembling with a smile that’s too innocent for a world like this. Her curls. Her breathless voice.

Get yourself together Vieri! Fuck!

****

The engine dies with a low growl as I pull into the mansion’s parking lot. The digital clock on the dash reads midnight.

I don’t go to my room because she is there.

I go where the voices in my head are quieter—where the distractions are loud enough to keep me from thinking.

The study is dark, save for the desk lamp I flick on with a sharp twist.

Wire transfers. Property fronts. Arms manifests.

I review the construction permits for the Zaffiro docks—a new shell company to clean cartel cash for Don Celano. He’ll owe me. I flip to the next file: expansion plans for a medical supply front. The fake invoices are lined up already, thanks to Omero’s tech work. These supplies don’t exist—but the money they’ll wash for the Tavano family will be very real.

By the time the sun begins bleeding through the edges of the blackout curtains, the desk is a warzone of paper and half-empty espresso cups. I lean back, unbuttoning my shirt, letting the fabric fall open as a cigarette smolders between my fingers.

My body aches with fatigue, but my mind?

A knock comes. “Come in,” I mutter, not looking up.

The door opens and closes with a soft click.

“You’ve been up all night?” Alfio asks.

“What do you want?”

“We’re taking the girl out for ice cream.”

“Don’t lose her this time.”

“She’s coming with all of us. Enzo’s not letting her out of his sight.” Alfio crosses the room and leans on the bookshelf. “Riccardo’s still pissed at you. So is Enzo, honestly.”

“They can suck balls,” I say flatly, tapping ash into the tray. “I’m not running a daycare. They’ll get over it.”

Alfio doesn’t laugh.

“You know you have us, right?” he says. His voice is quieter now. Less snark, more something else. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. Whatever this is.”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap. “Also, keep an eye on Bellandi. Watch him like a hawk.”

“Last night? Do you think?”

“Just do as I say.”

He inhales like he wants to say something more—but he doesn’t.

He walks out without another word.

The door shuts behind him and I laugh.

A bitter, dry sound that barely passes for humor.

“Fucking stupid ice cream,” I mutter, flicking ash off the edge of my cigarette. “Why am I not invited, huh?”

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