Page 38 of Last Hand

“I’m not asking you to fix what you did,” I say. “I just want you to be better. For your grandchild.”

She reaches out and grips my hand. Her touch is warm. Solid.

“I will,” she says. “I promise you, I will.”

And for the first time in my life, I feel she means it. With a nod I rise when she stops me, grabbing my hand. “You owe me nothing, but…”

“I will tell Dante you love him,” I say knowing what she was going to ask. She nods, her gaze going to the fireplace as tears brim. Leaning down I kiss the top of her head.

“I love you, mama, and I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper and she grips my arm, giving it a squeeze. I turn back to Milo who averts his gaze like he was caught watching something he shouldn’t. Rocco is focused on a bookshelf and looks over at me as I approach.

“Well, that was quite the story,” Rocco says. I nod slowly, waiting for him to explode over Sienna and Volkov.

“You’re going to start a war with the Cartel and Mikhail,” Rocco says.

“I don’t see any way around it.”

“You’re expecting us to go to war for your wife.” I level my gaze on him. He lifts a hand, stopping me. “I’m not backing out. This is me asking,” Rocco says.

Milo watches him closely.

“I never ask for anything, Leone. I never have.”

“And you don’t need to. Once we have Fallon back, you can have whatever you need to take down Volkov and bring Sienna home,” I say.

Rocco nods slowly. “You will be sitting this one out,” I tell him, and he opens his mouth to say something and I hold his gaze. “It wasn’t a choice. You can barely walk. You need to go see Dr. Stevens. I can smell the infection radiating out of you. You will go even if I have to knock you out and strap you to the gurney myself!” Rocco doesn’t look pleased and on the verge of arguing when Milo steps up beside me.

“You want Sienna back? Leone has granted that. What good are you to her if you’re dead because you were too stubborn to get treated?” Milo adds and Rocco clenches his teeth and nods slowly.

My phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see it’s Maria.

I step aside and answer it, wondering if something more has happened at home.

“Maria?”

“Sorry to bother you, I… I…”

“It’s fine, what is wrong?” I ask her and I can hear someone in the background wanting to speak to me, demanding the phone. She snaps at whoever it is when I realize it’s Nathan. Fallon’s father.

“Nathan is here, he says he spoke to Rebecca; he has word on Fallon.” My heart beats faster and I glance at Milo who’s watching me carefully along with Rocco. I nod toward the door telling them we need to leave.

“I’m on my way back. Tell Nathan to stay there; I’ll be home in half an hour,” I say hanging up. Rocco groans as he rises and I grab his arm, helping him up while Milo retrieves his car keys and we leave for home. While I wonder what shit storm has blown our way now.

NINE

Fallon

Two days later

My body is a map of pain, each bruise marking a different moment from the basement. Two days out, and I still feel the damp concrete against my skin, still taste the musty air that fills my lungs for hours on end.

“The guys want a break, and I need a smoke, hurry up,” Igor orders Rebecca.

Rebecca doesn’t turn around, though I see her shoulders tense at his voice. She knows what he’s capable of. So do I now, after I had a panic attack last night when Mikhail ordered me back to the basement. Seems I’m allowed out during the day. Night is different; I’m not trusted being let out at night.

They can lock me in that basement every night, which Igor does with methodical cruelty. During daylight, I’m gathering information, mapping exits, learning routines of his men and looking for a weakness—not that I’m finding any. Igor never leaves our sides, so my chances of escape are low.

We’ve just had lunch. Rebecca stacks the plates with practiced efficiency, her movements careful not to make too much noise as she cleans up. The twins hover by the window,pressing small palms against the glass, already eager to return outside. I watch as my mother—this stranger version of her—approaches Igor with her eyes downcast, voice pitched soft and pleading. “The girls would like to play outside again. Would that be all right?” The need to ask permission for such a simple thing makes my skin crawl. I note the technique, file it away. Know your jailer. Find the patterns.

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