Page 226 of Vicious Intentions
Mina wraps her arms around me, trying her best to hold me together.
I can’t look at her beautiful face.
I can’t look at any of this.
“Fuck,” I choke out, my voice rough and foreign to my ears. “It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.”
“I know,” Mina cries softly, holding me tighter. Tears stream down her cheeks as she presses her face against my neck. “But she’s at peace now. She’s finally with the man she loves. Like she always wanted.”
It shouldn’t have ended like this.
Maybe if we’d had more time… maybe if we’d handled things differently…
“Stop,” Mina whispers as if reading my thoughts. “Just let her go, Jude. We’ve done all we could.”
I just hope it was enough.
Chapter 49
Niccolò
I crack my neck side to side, trying to ease the tension locked in my shoulders as I step back into the cathedral where my brother married the love of his life last summer. Now, only nine months later, these same sacred halls are hosting his funeral.
I walk toward the altar, feeling every eye in the cathedral follow me as I stride down the aisle. They’re not staring because they pity me. No. Their eyes are on me because I’m their new boss, which means they’ll be watching my every move from this day forward.
The Cosa Nostra knew what to expect when my father ruled theFamiglia. They even knew what kind of man my older brother, Carlo Jr. would become when he eventually took over. And when that future was ripped away from them, they placed all their hopes in Matteo, believing he would lead us into a new era and finally free us from the Outfit’s rule.
But they never expected me. They don’t even know me. Not really. I’m the third son, after all. Who the fuck ever expected me to take the throne? I sure as shit didn’t.
But here I am.Capo Dei Capiof the Cosa Nostra.
Fuck my life.
I never wanted this shit. I’m not a leader. I’m a soldier. And a damn good one
But Matteo had to go and screw it all up by falling in love.
And in the end, what did that get him? A coffin, that’s what.
The Chicago Police searched the river for hours the night of their car crash, but between the storm, the current, and the jagged sheets of ice choking the water, recovering the vehicle proved impossible. By Christmas morning, conditions had only worsened. Visibility was nonexistent. Temperatures had dropped even lower. The river had become a frozen death trap.
The cops’ working assumption was simple. No one could survive a plunge into the Chicago River during the middle of winter. Not from that height. Not in those temperatures.
Cold shock alone would’ve crippled them within seconds. Drowning would’ve followed soon after. And even if, by some miracle, they’d managed to escape the sinking car, hypothermia would’ve finished the job long before help ever reached them.
Recovery crews searched for weeks. Dragged the river. Sent divers beneath the ice. Followed every possible lead all the way toward Lake Michigan under the assumption the current had carried the bodies farther downstream.
They found nothing.
Then, lo and behold, the lake finally decided to spit them back out, two bodies washing ashore along Chicago’s icy coastline weeks later.
Or what was left of them.
Time, water, and winter had ravaged the corpses beyond recognition. There was no identifying my brother or his wife by sight anymore. Dental records were the only thing that allowed the authorities to officially pronounce Matteo and Annamaria Donato dead.
I provided Matteo’s records while Marcello Romano provided his sister’s. The two of us were the only ones entrusted with helping the authorities identify the bodies.
The only two men responsible for declaring them dead to the rest of the world.
