I loved my family with all my heart. And they loved me. But the moment I held my children in my arms, I knew I could not stay with them forever, knew it with soul-crushing certainty.
Nevio and Greta were Remo. Dark eyes, thick black hair.
For everyone in the Outfit they’d always be Falcones, always the result of something horrid, born out of something shameful, something dark. But for me they were the most beautiful creation I could imagine. They were utter perfection. Twins like Samuel and me. They would lift each other up, make each other stronger like Samuel and I had done when we were younger and still did. It would be us against the world. It couldn’t be any other way.
Samuel stayed with me in the hospital after the birth while Mom went home for a few hours of sleep after twenty hours at my side during labor. Samuel’s eyes were kind and loving as they looked down at me, but these tender emotions vanished as soon as he turned toward my children sleeping in their cradle. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, but my children reminded him of something he and everyone else were desperate to forget.
And how could he not be reminded when my twins looked like Falcones?
My heart ached fiercely when I looked at them, throbbing with a longing I’d tried to bury with the memories of Remo, but Remo wasn’t a man that could be forgotten.
Not easily, not quickly, not ever.
Two days after giving birth, Mom and Samuel carried my twins into the house because I still had trouble lifting anything heavier than a glass of water. The family had come together for the occasion, but I knew it wasn’t to celebrate. Dad and Dante probably needed to discuss how to keep my children a secret. The Underbosses knew. They had to for the sake of the Outfit. Danilo did, but I hadn’t talked to him since the day Sofia had been promised to him.
Samuel held my arm while his other carried the baby carrier. Walking the stairs was more than a little uncomfortable, and I was glad when I finally arrived inside our house.
Valentina came toward me and hugged me gently. She and Dante were still trying for child number three, but so far it wasn’t working. She peered down at my babies with a soft smile. “They are beautiful, Serafina.”
“They are,” I agreed.
Sam and Dad exchanged a look, and it felt like a stab in the heart because when they looked at my children they saw the black hair and dark eyes and nothing more. They saw Falcones. They saw shame and guilt. Would they ever allow my babies to be more than the greatest failure in the history of the Outfit?
Sofia rushed down the staircase followed by Anna. Leonas showed less enthusiasm than the girls as he sauntered down the steps, rolling his eyes.
Sofia stopped beside me and Samuel, looking down at Greta sleeping soundly in the carrier. I’d noticed that Samuel had insisted on carrying Greta, not Nevio, but I tried not to put too much meaning into it. Sofia hadn’t been allowed in the hospital because we didn’t want to draw too much attention to us, and her eyes were wide in surprise.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen hair that black.”
She’d never seen Remo.
Anna nodded as she lightly brushed a finger over Nevio’s head. His eyes peeled open and as always when they did, my breath lodged in my throat. Dark eyes. Remo’s eyes. Even at two days old, my boy was his father.
Dad averted his eyes, brows pulling tight, and looked at Dante with an expression that tore me cleanly in half.
Valentina squeezed my shoulder and leaned in. “It takes time, Serafina. Give them time. One day they will see your babies as what they are: only yours.”
I nodded, but deep down I knew Greta and Nevio would never only be mine because they were also Remo’s, and nothing could change that. And I didn’t want it to.
The next day, I was cradling Greta in my arm while Nevio rested on the sofa beside me, deep asleep when Dante came in. He strode toward us, his eyes flickering over my children. His expression didn’t give anything away, and I wondered if it was because he didn’t resent my twins like everyone else or if he was too good at hiding his true feelings.
He sank down in the armchair across from me, opening his jacket so it didn’t wrinkle. He gave me a tense smile. “How are you?”
I stroked Greta’s cheek before I looked up again. “Good.”
He nodded. “I know things aren’t easy for you, Serafina. It was never meant to be like this. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while …” He trailed off, his expression tightening. “But I’m not in the habit of justifying my actions, nor apologizing.”
I frowned. “You are Capo.”
“I am, but that doesn’t make me infallible.” He paused. “I think you should know that when Remo kidnapped you, your father would have handed over his territory to save you. I didn’t allow it. And Samuel attacked the mansion without my permission because I wouldn’t have allowed it. I’m not a man who answers to another’s demands. I refuse to be blackmailed. I have to think of the Outfit.”
“I know and I understand, Uncle.” Then I paused. “But in the end you gave Scuderi to Remo.”
Something dark and furious flashed in Dante’s eyes. “I did. Because I’m not only Capo. I’m a father. I’m your uncle. This is my family, and I owe it protection. I owed you protection and I failed.” He lowered his gaze to my children. “You’ll have to live with the consequences of my decisions.”
I shook my head. “Those decisions gave me my children, and that’s not something I could ever regret.”
Dante got up and touched my shoulder. Then he traced his index finger over Greta’s head before he turned. Like Samuel and Dad, he had a harder time looking at Nevio than at my daughter. I peered down at my son and took his little hand in mine, and not for the first time I wondered what Remo would see when he saw them.
A high pitched wail sounded.
Samuel and I jerked up at the same time from where we’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the nursery. We didn’t bother going into our beds most of the time because Nevio and Greta woke every two hours. He and Mom took turns helping me, and during the day Sofia changed diapers and helped feed them as well. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept more than two hours in the last six months.
Samuel rubbed his face. I knew he didn’t sleep much on the nights he wasn’t helping either. The Outfit was planning something. He had only hinted to it, but it could only be an attack on the Camorra. It scared me, terrified me because I wasn’t only scared for Samuel and Dad but also for the man I couldn’t forget.
I stood and so did Samuel. He reached for Greta like usual and I took Nevio. This was our routine, one I didn’t question anymore. I was glad for Samuel’s support, even if he couldn’t bear being near my son.
Thirty minutes later, Samuel and I sat shoulder to shoulder, Greta sound asleep in his arm and Nevio wide awake in mine. He snatched at my hair and yanked. I loosened his hold, wincing, and pushed the strand out of reach. Nevio let out a happy yowl, eyes zooming in on Samuel.
I followed his gaze. My brother sighed and put his head back. “Don’t give me that look, Fina.”
“What look?”
“Like I’m breaking your heart.”
“Why do you have such a hard time looking at Nevio but have no trouble holding Greta?”
“Because with her I can overlook the similarities, but with Nevio …” Samuel shook his head, lowering his gaze to my boy who was happily chewing on his own fingers. “With him all I can see is Remo fucking Falcone.”
“Shh,” I shushed him. I stroked Nevio’s head but he was oblivious to what was being said. One day he would understand, though. One day he would realize what the looks he got meant.
“You’ll never be free of him because of them, Fina. Maybe without those kids people would have eventually forgotten what happened and moved on, but they are living breathing reminders. Once people find out they are Falcone’s kids, and trust me everyone will know they are his, things will get really ugly.”
I rocked Nevio and his eyes began drooping. “If anyone tries to hurt my children by making them feel less than, they’ll have to go through me.”
Samuel smiled sadly. “I’ll be at your side. I’ll always protect you.”
Me. Not my kids. Never them.
Falcone. Falcone.
One look.
Falcone.
The same cruel eyes.
Pitch black.
Falcones through and through.
Shame. Sin. Dishonor. Bastards.
Why did she ruin herself by having his children? Why didn’t she get rid of them?
Falcones.
So far the words were only whispered in the Outfit, but soon they would be screamed because every day my children looked more like Remo, like Falcones. In a week my twins would be seven months old, and I hadn’t even left the house with them yet. The only fresh air they got was when I was in the garden with them. The midwife and doctors had made home visits. Despite these precautions word about them was spreading among our circles. Maybe the maids let something slip. Maybe it was one of the bodyguards or maybe one of the Underbosses trusted his gossipy wife too much.
I’d attended two events with Samuel, and the whispers had followed me everywhere. The pity and curiosity. The incomprehension and even anger that I had chosen these children and not disposed of them, as if that would erase the kidnapping.
When we arrived home after one of these social gatherings, the birthday party of Dad’s second-in-command, I lost it right in the middle of the lobby.
“I can’t stand it,” I said harshly. “Can’t stand how everyone whispers their names as if they are something sinful. I don’t want them to grow up ashamed of who they are.”
Mom who’d stayed with the kids because she didn’t feel well enough to attend an event appeared on the landing, looking concerned at my outburst.
Dad sighed, his expression reflecting pain. “Everyone knows what happened. Everyone knows what they are and that won’t ever change.”
“What they are …” I stared at my father.
Samuel touched my shoulder, but I shook him off.
“They are mine! They are your blood too. They are part of the Outfit! When will you accept that? Will it take Nevio taking the oath for you to come to terms with it?”
Dad and Samuel exchanged a look, and I took a step back. “He’ll become part of the Outfit, right? He’ll become Underboss of a city one day? It’s his birthright.”
His birthright is to become Capo of the Camorra.
Dad gave me a sad smile. “Dove,” he murmured.
“No,” I whispered. “Don’t tell me you won’t let Nevio amount to anything because of who his father is.”
Samuel gave me a look as if I was being unreasonable. “Fina, he looks like a fucking Falcone. They are all fucking insane. Remo’s twisted blood runs through his veins. And just look at him. He’s already got an impossible temper at only seven months.”
“Our soldiers will never accept him, not after what his father did. We’ve still barely recovered from the attack. Every wedding is heavily guarded, every woman protected by twice the number of guards. That shame lingers and your children are a constant reminder of it,” Dad said quietly.
I turned around and left them standing there. Rushing past Mom without a word, I stormed into the nursery and closed the door, breathing harshly.
Nevio and Greta were asleep in the crib they shared, both sprawled out on their backs. Greta’s hand rested on Nevio’s chest. They always ended up touching when they slept.
My children weren’t something shameful.
I wouldn’t allow anyone to make them feel that way. Not even the family I loved.
REMO
Kiara was in full-blown Christmas mode. She’d decorated every area of the house she was allowed into. I knew she would have loved to wield her magic in my wing as well, but she wasn’t that daring yet. Good for her, because I was in a fucking foul mood, had been for days, and today was the worst of all.
The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the house as I read the email from Rick, the organizer of our races. Everything had been set up for the biggest race we’d ever held. Nino wasn’t happy I decided to end it in Kansas City after the last incident, but I wanted to make a fucking point. The Outfit had been surprisingly careful in their attacks. An ambush here and there, a few dismembered soldiers, but nothing major. Until three days ago when they killed my fucking Underboss in Kansas City. A warning not to get so close to their territory. Maybe the beginning of more. Ending the race anywhere else would have sent the wrong message.
Kiara came in carrying a plate with what looked like small half-moons dusted in sugar. She held it out to me. “Kipferl.”
“I’m not in the mood for something sweet.” I was in the mood to blast something to smithereens, for blood and death, and more than that … Dante’s fucking demise.
She frowned. “They’re delicious.” Her eyes moved to the screen. “Kansas?”
I nodded then grabbed one of the cookies and took a bite. Sweet and soft. I put half of it back down on the plate. Kiara took it and ate the rest.
I didn’t like the way she regarded me as if she knew.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer.”
I had no clue what she was talking about.
“About training with you.”
“I made that offer more than a year ago,” I said.
She bit her lip. “I wasn’t ready then.”
I knew another reason why I hadn’t been part of her defense training in the last few months. Nino was wary of my emotional state, but he was out visiting a few of our drug labs. He was interested in the chemical processes, but I only in the end result. The only times I visited our labs were when they needed reminding to work more efficiently.
“And you think today’s a good time to fight me?” I asked in a low voice.
“Not fight. Train,” she corrected.
I pushed off the sofa, towering over her. She didn’t flinch. “Now?”
She put the plate down and indicated the boxing ring. I shook my head. “In real life you won’t be in a boxing ring when you’re being attacked. It’ll be in a dark alley, when you’re on your way home. Your attacker will have been following and watching you for a while. He’ll be behind you.”
We both knew that it would never come to that. Kiara was never alone anymore, and the stupid bastard daring to look at her the wrong way would lose his eyes.
“Run.”
She blinked. “What?”
I leaned down, invading her personal space, trying to get her pulse up. “Run.”
Understanding filled her eyes. She took a step back and then she turned and began running.
I took another cookie and bit half of it off before putting it back down on the plate. Then I chased her. Running after Kiara brought back memories I didn’t fucking need today or ever. Anger surged through me. I took the steps two at a time and caught up with her in the connecting hallway to their wing. I gripped her hand and jerked her back. Kiara gasped but acted immediately, whirling on me before I could press her to the ground. She knew she couldn’t allow me to press her onto her stomach. Once my weight rested on her back, she wouldn’t have a chance to defend herself anymore. She was good, but I was angry and not in the mood to take it too easy on her.
The second I straddled her hips with her arms pressed above her head, the flickers of panic filled her eyes.
“Snap out of it,” I ordered.
I saw the struggle in her eyes, the memories threatening to burst forth even after all this time.
“Snap the fuck out of it,” I snarled. I wouldn’t release her if she didn’t.
Indignation flashed in her eyes, and she bucked her hips, but I was too heavy. She was small and lithe, and managed to jerk her leg up in a way that her knee smashed right into my balls.
Every fiber in my body, every muscle, every fucking blood cell, acted on instinct, wanting to lash out. I shoved off her and sank back against the wall, chest heaving, trying to calm the rage in my veins.
“Sorry,” Kiara said, sitting up and watching me worriedly.
I smiled darkly. “No need. You did what Nino taught you.”
“But you didn’t pull back because I hurt you … only to stop yourself from hurting me in response.”
I raised my eyebrows. She was perceptive. I wasn’t sure if I liked it. “It doesn’t matter. The average man isn’t as familiar with pain as I am. A kick to the balls would distract them.”
She nodded then she surprised me by sitting beside me against the wall. “Today’s Serafina’s birthday, right?”
“Kiara,” I said in warning.
She tilted her head. “She didn’t marry, did she?”
“I don’t have spies in the Outfit, so I wouldn’t know.”
“It would have been in the news.”
I had stopped searching for news on Serafina a few days after I’d released her. She was a thing of the past.
“I thought she was falling for you …”
I stood, glaring down at her. “You women always need to turn everything into a fairy tale, even a kidnapping. Serafina was my captive. The only falling she did was her fall from grace.”
She pushed off the ground as well. “You can pretend all you want, but I saw the way you looked at her.”
I backed her into the wall. “You didn’t see anything because there wasn’t anything. I fucked Serafina and enjoyed every moment of it. I wanted to possess her, wanted to rip her innocence from her, and I did. That’s it.”
“If that were all, you would have bathed in your triumph afterward. But you hardly even mentioned her since you let her go … as if you can’t bear saying her name.”
“Kiara,” I growled. “Don’t push me too far. Not right now.”
She pushed against my shoulder, and I stepped back. Without another word, she left, but her eyes had said more than enough.
When I came back down into the game room to kick the punching bag, Savio and Adamo were on the sofa, playing some fucking shooting game. As if we didn’t have enough bloodshed in real life. The plate with the cookies was empty.
“Are there more cookies in the kitchen?” Savio asked without looking up.
“How would I know? Ask Kiara.”
Savio slanted a curious glance my way. “What crawled up your ass?”
I sank down across from them. “Right this moment? You. In general? Kansas.”
“That race is going to be spectacular,” Adamo said.
“Don’t sound so fucking excited. You don’t really believe Remo will allow you to race again after last time, do you?” Savio muttered, throwing his feet up on the table.
“That wasn’t my fault,” Adamo snapped.
“Sure. When you crash a car it’s never your fault.”
“I won’t crash this time. I’m much better. I’ll win.”
Savio didn’t look convinced. “It’s the longest race. Eight hours minimum. That gives you plenty of time to fuck up.”
“I won’t fuck up. And the long distance is the best part. It’s a cool layout,” Adamo said.
“You won’t drive,” I said finally. “The race ends in Kansas City. I don’t want you that close to Outfit territory.”
“Nobody has to know that I’m there. I’m in a car. I can use another name.”
“No. And that’s final.”
Adamo frowned and sank deeper into the sofa. “You promised me I could race more often if I didn’t skip school and did my Camorra duties.”
“And that promise stands, Adamo, but not this race.”
“But Luke will be there again with a new car. He rammed me last time. I want to kick his ass and make him crash his car.”
I leaned forward. “You won’t go anywhere near that race, Adamo.”
“Fine,” he mumbled. “But next race I’m allowed?”
I nodded. I’d thought Adamo’s fascination with races would wane with time, but it hadn’t. He still lived for the occasional race, and I had started rewarding him with them for tasks well done. He was still a reluctant Made Man, but he’d improved, not just his fighting skills but also his guilt over what we did. Sometimes I wondered if I should just let him become the organizer for our races and have him race cars instead of trying to force him into another role, but we needed him. Open war with the Outfit required every Made Man we had.
