Page 40 of Corso DeLuca

I zero in on the woman who tried to take everything from me… Jacobella. Corso kept his promise, she’s unharmed. Pulling free of Corso, I think I’ll end this monster myself.

But… Dani appears from the direction of the master suite, a phantom in black. In a flash, she hooks a leather band around Jacobella’s neck, pulling her backwards into the darkness.

I crawl to Corso, who’s leaning against one of the marble columns, gripping his chest. Blood trickles over his gloved hand, dripping onto the floor.

“Hey, hey,” I urge. “I’m here. I’m here. You stay with me, okay. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Corso pulls me to him. “Now that we have matching wounds, no more family reunions, princess.”

EIGHTEEN

Corso

“There’s an FBI agent here for you. Male, mid-fifties. One gun in his holster and a second strapped to the right ankle,” Roman says, rocking Little Roman, who has what his father describes as crazy baby syndrome. His mother said it was colic. Both sound unpleasant. My newsfeed is filled with articles detailing the brutal murders of two known fugitives with connections to the mafia - Mattia and Milana Esposito.

Milana got her wish of joining the Esposito legacy. Unfortunately for her, it led her to the afterlife. It’s been one week since the battle in my quarters. There’s been no mention of Josie NuCalla’s body, and my princess hadn’t asked.

I’ll have to thank Dani when I see her again. She took the weight of how to handle Jessie’s sister out of our hands.

“See, I told you someone would come for me, Corso DeLuca,” Jessie smarts off. “You don’t know everything. And, better late than never.”

We’re in Al Di La’s enjoying lunch with Gabriel and Joseph.

“That’s a myth, woman.”

Gabriel pushes to his feet, “Tell him no. I’ll handle his removal. Jessie is ours now.”

“Actually,” Roman says, “he asked for Corso. And he’s right behind me.”

“What?” everyone echoes in unison.

“Donaldson,” Jessie exclaims, moving to greet him.

I step in front of her. “You have five minutes.”

He gives a terse nod. “I only need a minute.”

“Jessie, I thought you should have this.”

Her former colleague extends a navy-blue rectangular box, thin with rounded edges, and an embossed gold braid.

“What is it?”

“Your service award, posthumous.”

“I don’t understand,” she says in confusion.

“I do,” I interject, offering my hand in thanks.

She shakes her head. “But I’m not dead.”

I take Jessie’s face in my palms. “You have to be for us to be together, princess.”

“He’s right, Jessie,” Donaldson says, albeit sheepishly. “The bureau won’t understand about Josie and your connection to…” He gestures to the people standing up at our six. The friends who fought at our side. “Greg was a good friend. He’d want to see you happy and safe. I can see that you have both here.”

“It was you who kept my name out of the newspaper, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“For Greg,” he says on a long exhale, filled with sad resolve.