I step off the train, gingerly touching my face. Pain radiates through my skull, pounding at my temples. I ignore the concerned looks from bystanders, same as I have the whole train ride to this cursed fucking city.
Vegas. I didn't miss it. The stink of the streets, the stumbling groups of excited tourists who come here to empty their wallets at the glitzy casinos, resorts, and bars on the strip. The city has always felt dull to me during the day, almost like an intangible haze that settles over everything, gradually dissipating as night falls and it all comes alive.
We took two days to finalize preparations, and the train itself took two more to get me from Chicago to Vegas. That means, if Massimo's estimations are correct, that I only have a few days. A few days to convince Luciano of my ruse, figure out how I'm going to get Santo out of there, and successfully execute my plan.
When I think about the totality of it, I start shutting down at the hopelessness of it all.
So I don't think. I just do.
Instructions from Massimo and Samuel try to run a constant loop around my head, but I know that all the logistics we've discussed don't matter if I'm not able to sell my story. So I focus on that, and I turn it over in my head until I can feel myself entering the headspace of the woman I was when I last walked these streets.
Back when Carlo was still alive, and I was nothing except quiet and subservient so I could avoid Luciano's wrath—and I slipped back into an idling limo outside what I thought was just another fundraiser, not knowing that my world was about to change.
A middle-aged woman passing me stumbles to a halt, her face twisted in concern. "Honey," she says, voice lowered and frightened, "are you in any danger? Who did that to you?"
"I'm fine," I give her what I hope is a convincing smile, continuing along the sidewalk.
More heads turn as I walk, but I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead. Eventually, I break into a run, the urgency pushing my tired legs to go faster and faster as I travel some of the same streets that Santo drove me down all those months ago.
My mind races, unwittingly recalling moments from the last few days.
"You want one of us to fucking what?!" Samuel nearly shouts, and even Massimo's brows are lifted in surprise.
"I need one of you to hit me," I say, feeling a little fucking crazy. "How am I supposed to get Luciano to believe I've been held captive if I look perfectly healthy?"
Samuel continues to look at me like I'm a maniac. "He'll be just as suspicious if all your injuries look fresh. Christ, we can't hit you."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take. As long as he sees that I'm hurt, he won't care to look past that. And besides, I have a few days. If you do it now, the bruises will, you know," I wave my hands vaguely in front of my face, "have time to settle or whatever."
"Fuck," Samuel barks out a sharp laugh. "Everyone in this house has gone fucking crazy. We can't hit you! You're asking us to beat you up—"
"I know what I'm asking you. And I don't care who does it, but—"
"No!" Samuel exclaims, throwing up his hands.
Once again, I look to Massimo, who—I'm quickly finding—is my ally in all of this. He's the last person whose hands I would willingly place my life in, and right now, he's exactly what I need.
"You're placing a lot of faith in the character of your father," Massimo says. "What he will and won't notice. How he'll react to seeing you again. I hope, for your own sake, that you are correct."
I shiver at the memory, at the pain exploding in my face.
Maybe I should've thought about it more, considered other options, but that image of Santo hanging from the wall keeps flashing through my head. New wounds scattered all over his body, a telltale exhausted sag to his limbs that tells me of the pain he's in. I have to get him out. There's no time to second guess or weigh my options.
I don't know how I won't kill Luciano the second I see him. And Antonio too, for that matter. My chest aches with it, that desire to jump on him the second I see him, to dig my fingers into his eye sockets and slam his face into the wall, whatever possible, as long as he's hurting just as much as he's made us all hurt.
By the time I get to the all too familiar house, I have to pinch the aching bruises on my face to distract from the morbid fantasies running through my mind. It's time to be sad, scared, and lost.
My trembling voice is already seamlessly selling my story as I speak into the intercom, as I say that my name is Nina Genovese and I'm here to see my father.
My journey through the property goes by in a blur; I'm escorted by a guard who may as well be invisible for all I notice him. It feels jarring being back here—the house I lived in as a child, the house my mother died in—especially because things look the same as I remember them.
The inside of the house is the exact same sleek, modern interior I remember. I just never realized before how lifeless it all is. Everything looks pristine, almost not lived in. From practically any room in the Romano's house, you can hear Nico shouting at his Xbox or bickering with Tommaso, see Leah and Samuel lounging about, or hear Pistachio's paws scrabbling on the floor as someone throws one of his toys into a wall. There's laughter and fighting and love.
Their house is beautifully lived in and I miss it. My heart aches with my desire to be back there, because there's no other place for me to be than that house with those people.
Home. It's the first one I've had.
Tears crowd my vision, and they blur the unmistakable shape of Luciano as he enters the room.
"I didn't believe Giovanni when he told me you were here. Now I see I was a fool to doubt him."
I'm mute, stomach churning as he comes closer.
"Now, why don't you explain to me why you're here in the next five seconds, before I kill you for stepping foot on this property without my explicit permission," he murmurs.
"I-I'm here because I know he's here," I say, and Luciano cocks a brow. "And I want to see him."
+
I clutch my water cup with trembling fingers. I don't think I've stopped shaking since the second I stepped foot in Luciano's office. The adrenaline is simultaneously exhausting and the very thing that's keeping me going right now. Luciano's arms are crossed as he leans back in his office chair, contemplating everything I've told him.
I've been contemplating smashing a lamp over his head for the last fifteen minutes.
"So am I to understand," he says after a while, "that you have been abused—physically and sexually—for these last months, held hostage by Santo and that sociopathic brother of his?"
I nod, wiping a tear from my cheek. That's another thing that's been happening nonstop. Thankfully, the tears will only help my plight.
"And that, in the panic of Santo's capture, you were able to slip past the guards and make your way to the nearest train station?"
Again, I nod. He jerks his chin, telling me to speak. "They've been reeling from his absence, from what I could tell. I've rarely seen Massimo when I was being... kept there, but I saw him when they got back. He was broken. They all were. They weren't as careful about discussing things near me and I found out what had happened."
"So you came here?" He cocks his head, his eyes laughing at me.
"I don't have anywhere else to go," I draw in a shuddering breath. "And I'm not asking for refuge or for help. All I want is to see that he suffers. He took a liking to me after he saw I was in the car he stole, and I couldn't stop him. I..."
Luciano looks on as I trail off, staring down at my lap and clenching my fists so I don't grab the gun he has lying on his desk and shoot him in the face. After a minute, he clears his throat, waving a hand.
"Anyway, Tommaso and Nico—did you see them?"
I compose myself slowly, feeling like this is a test, making sure I don't immediately react to their names. "I don't know. The only people I saw were Santo and the guard who would deliver me my meals. I know he has other brothers, but Santo wanted me all for himself. He wouldn't share me."
Luciano hums thoughtfully. "He was quite possessive the few times I brought you up. Of course, I fault no man for being territorial over his plaything."
I keep quiet, letting him verbally process.
"And it seems he did quite a number on your face. It almost makes me sympathize with him. From one man to another, I do recognize the effort it takes to keep you in line."
I look down at my fingers, their grip white on the cup.
"The only thing, Nina," Luciano starts seriously, leaning forward, "is that I still don't understand why you would come here. You have spent your entire life trying to stay as far away from me as possible, and now you willingly come back to this house the moment you have freedom? Additionally," he narrows his eyes, and my heart is racing, "I found that Andrea—your dear uncle, if you remember him—was brutally murdered in his home some weeks ago. That, frankly, doesn't make sense and I would be an idiot to not consider that as a piece of this story."
"I'm not free," I burst out, "I never will be. I don't have anywhere to go. Andrea is dead because he's a rapist. He raped me when I was a child, and Santo found out. He's sick, Luciano—it disgusted him that another man had touched me. He needed to be the only one, the only one on this earth who had done that. So he killed Andrea. Any place is better than Chicago." I'm trembling all over now, so hard that the water sloshes onto my legs. "Whatever happens to me next, I don't care. I just need to know that Santo will suffer for what he's done."
Luciano leans back again, tapping his desk absentmindedly as he watches me like a fascinating movie.
Eventually, he smiles. And he says, "you will stay in this house until I decide what to do with you. You may stay in Carlo's old room. It's the only room besides mine set up with a bed, and I haven't gotten around to cleaning it out. I have honestly been so busy..."
His voice trails into my subconscious as we head to the room. Everything is the same as I imagine Carlo left it the day he woke up and decided to attempt to break into the Romano's mansion. It's eerie, me staying here. And it makes me shiver, the way Luciano hardly acknowledges the death of his own son.
It boggles my mind, how one man can be so callous.
"I'll leave you to settle in," Luciano's checking his phone, already bored with me. I had a bag of essentials that I ditched once I got off the train, so I'm left with whatever I can manage to find myself in this room.
I'm heading to the bathroom, craving a moment of privacy as I feel my mask beginning to slip. I need a second to process that, as of now, my plan is working. Luciano bought my story. But a call of my name causes me to look back.
"You know, I really think it will be lovely to have you here for a while," he says.
Well, that's not good.
He smiles, leaning casually against the door. "Don't you want to know why I never just got rid of you, Nina? I mean, come on. You had to have wondered throughout all these years why I kept you alive. You've been more of an inconvenience than anything else."
"I-I thought I knew. You liked to play with me, punish me for—"
"Oh, whatever," he rolls his eyes. "Maybe that was part of it at first. But there's been something else."
"Why then?"
"That day, the day I killed her, one of my men asked me about you. He asked me for my price."
Suddenly, I'm holding back vomit.
"He was angry when I told him that you weren't for sale. I'm not sure why, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't involve you in that business, Nina. I just couldn't." True introspection shines on his face and I'm too sick to contend with the possibility of Luciano struggling with his own monstrous actions. "So I vowed that I'd do it the next day. And then the next. And the next. Almost two decades later, I'm singing the same tune. And I didn't realize why until you walked in today. Until you sat in front of me crying for nearly a fucking hour straight."
I'm grasping onto the doorframe now.
"You just look so much like her," he says softly. "You move like her, all smooth and graceful. You sound like her too, so soft-spoken. And your eyes—you're a carbon copy of your mother." He pauses, genuine pain flickering in his eyes. "I miss her. I miss her every single day. And I hate what I had to do to her. Sometimes, I regret it with every single part of me. She's what kept me sane most of the time, but she's gone now, and there's nothing, nothing I can do about it."
His pain breaks all over the harsh lines of his face, quickly hardening back into anger. He glares at me, as if I've forced him to be vulnerable with me. "Women like you and your mother sink your little claws in, and before I know it, I'm as good as fucking dead. Disrespected by my own wife. You're like her, Nina. Dangerous for reasons you haven't discovered yet. Maybe I'll let Santo destroy you, before you can do the same to someone else."
The door slams behind him.
And I sit on my dead half-brother's unmade bed and laugh into my hands until it turns into sad, scared, angry tears.
---
Coming next chapter: the reunion, the Dad Squad in action together, and the beginning of the end.
Thank you for reading!! <3
- G