I find Dante in his hotel room at the Drake.
He chose to stay there instead of coming back to our family home. Another sign that he doesn’t really want to be here at all.
I can hear his heavy bulk moving around inside the room, but when I knock, it’s a long time before he answers. Maybe because he has to limp over on his stiff leg.
He was shot in the thigh by one of Yenin’s men—who knows which. The bullet landed an inch from the femoral artery. If the bratok’s gun would have been pointed a millimeter to the left, Dante would have bled out in seconds.
Worse is the damage to his hand. He was hit in his right palm. The doctor said his pinky and ring finger might not ever regain their function.
All these things are added to the list of the damage I’ve done.
Dante hasn’t shaved since the wedding. His stubble looks thick and bluish, and his ink-black hair is messy, instead of combed back from his brow like usual. The deep lines on his face make it look as if he’s aged ten years.
I don’t bother to greet him with any of the usual questions like, How are you? I know how he’s doing—the same as me. Fucking horrible.
As I walk into the hotel room, I can see that he’s already made the bed with military precision. His suitcase is packed and zipped on top of the coverlet. Dante himself is dressed in fresh clothes, including his shoes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m leaving,” Dante says.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“Exactly what I said.”
He’s standing next to his suitcase, his arms folded across his broad chest. His jaw is tightly clenched.
“What about Papa’s funeral?”
“You shouldn’t have one,” he says bluntly. “That would be an open invitation to the Russians to come finish what they started.”
“And what about us?” I demand. “Aren’t we going to finish it?”
“No,” Dante says. “I’m not.”
“How can you say that? Don’t you care what they did to Papa?”
A dark fire comes into Dante’s eyes. For the first time in a very long time, he loses his temper. In one motion, he seizes me by the throat and throws me against the wall. He’s not as tall as me, but he’s still plenty big, and the strongest man I’ve ever met. It’s like being charged by a bull. He knocks the air out of me with the force of the impact, rattling my brain around in my skull when the back of my head hits the wall.
“Don’t talk to me about our father,” he hisses, right in my face. “You don’t get to do that, when I told you this was a bad idea from the very beginning.”
Maybe he sees me wince with guilt, because he lets go of me and steps away again almost immediately.
“I know it’s my fault!” I say. “But you have to help me, Dante. We can’t let Yenin get away with this. He signed a blood oath. He has to pay for breaking the agreement.”
“He’ll pay when no one will do business with him again,” Dante says. “Not the Italians, not the Irish, not the Polish, not the Asians, not the MC clubs, not fucking anyone, Seb. That’s what it means to break a blood oath. You’re cast out, your honor is gone. He won’t be protected by the Bratva in Russia, or by anyone else. He can try to build his business, but it will wither and die without support, without anyone to trade with. And eventually, without protection, somebody will pick him off. He made his decision in anger, and he will pay for it.”
“That’s not good enough!”
“And what will be?” Dante demands. “You want to kill him, and his men? How many more people will we lose trying to do that?”
“I don’t know. But you’re insane if you think they’re just going to leave the rest of us alone. They meant to kill every single one of us. We only survived because you were there, and they didn’t expect it.”
Dante shakes his head.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he says. “I promised Simone I was done with this. I promised her I wouldn’t come home covered in blood ever again. Now look at me.” He holds up his bandaged hand with its two useless fingers. “I’m not starting another cycle of violence.”
“It’s already started!”
“I don’t care.” His voice is firm and final. “I have two children, Seb. I hope to have more. I missed out on nine years with Simone. I want to live every second I have left by her side. If anything had gone differently at that wedding . . . Simone would be getting a phone call instead of her husband home on a plane. I won’t do that to her, or to Henry and Serena. My daughter doesn’t even know me yet, Seb. I won’t have her grow up with just a photograph for a father.”
“And what about the rest of us?” I ask him.
Dante looks at me with his black eyes so like our father’s.
“I love you, Sebastian,” he says. “I always will. But Simone and my children are my family now. I have to put them first.”
I can’t believe he’ll actually leave. Not now, when we need him the most.
But he’s already hoisting his suitcase, picking it up as easily as if it were empty.
“Be careful, Seb,” he says. “This isn’t like robbing that vault, or even your wedding. I won’t be there to save the day. I’m not coming back this time.”
I stare at him, unbelieving.
He starts walking toward the hotel room door. I watch his broad back striding away from me.
Then, right as he turns the knob, I call out, “Wait!”
He pauses, looking back over his shoulder without letting go of the door.
“I love you too, brother,” I say.
