I closed my eyes, blinking back tears. “Yes, I remember.”
Andi kissed my cheek and sighed; her breathing sounded more laborious; her body felt cold, frigid.
“Andi…” My voice broke. “…I broke my promise.”
She shifted in my lap and faced me. “What?”
“I cried… I cried over you.”
Andi’s eyes welled with tears as she cupped my face with her hands. “That’s okay… I cried too.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Will you hold me now?” She sighed. “So we can watch the sunrise together?” Her voice cracked.
“Yeah, Andi.”
She relaxed against me. Her body felt so frail, so tiny.
“I love you, Italy.”
“I love you too, Russia.”
“For as long as we both live…” Andi whispered.
“As long as we both live,” I repeated.
The sun rose over the horizon; it was bright, breathtaking. Andi gripped my hands tight and sighed happily.
My whole life I’d watched people die. After all, most of the time I’d been the one to offer death. I’d been on the other end of the gun, the fist, the knife.
I’d always thought of it as being something so indifferent, mechanical.
I was wrong.
So wrong.
Dying didn’t have to be tragic.
It didn’t have to be horrific.
Or dark.
It could be beautiful.
I’d known the minute I’d stepped out of our bedroom I wouldn’t be walking back in with Andi in my arms.
I’d known it in my soul.
Yet I followed her.
I would follow that woman anywhere.
And she knew that.
It was a kindness — to pull me away from my family, from the house, from what the memory would be like to find her lifeless in our bed, in the room we’d shared.
“Andi,” I whispered, “I love you… until we both shall live…”
She took her last breath.
I felt it like it was my own.
And I held her like my strength would somehow bring her back.
It wouldn’t.
But I held her anyway.
For an hour I sat there with Andi in my arms. The sun shone across her face — it was bright, so beautiful — and I knew… death didn’t have to be ugly.
It could be like Andi.
Absolutely perfect.
I kept my tears in.
At least I tried.
But I didn’t last long.
Because after that hour was up, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Tex sat down next to me and wrapped his arm around my body and held me…
While tears flowed freely down my face.
Nixon sat on the other side.
And then Ax.
Chase.
Frank.
Phoenix.
The mob bosses and two made men.
They didn’t just hold me.
Every single one of them cried with me.
Andi hadn’t just affected me. She’d affected all of us, brought us together, made something beautiful out of what had for so long been so dark.
And I had to, in that moment, smile…
Luca.
Damn the man.
He’d known what he was doing all along.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Sergio
THE FUNERAL WAS SMALL, NOT LARGE.
The people invited?
Family — and only family — plus one Russian doctor and his ever-present scowl and wise eyes.
“Nicolai.” I held out my hand.
He took it, his grip firm. Faint shadows beneath his eyes, he looked as exhausted as I felt. “Sergio, remember what I promised.”
I smiled sadly. “I’d rather feel than forget.”
He nodded his head. “I figured you’d say that.”
A woman stood next to him, practically glued to his side, but something about her stance seemed cautious, like she was afraid I was going to pull a knife on her or something.
“Ah…” Nicolai stepped to the side. “…meet Maya.”
I held out my hand.
She stared at it.
Nicolai nodded to her like it was okay for her to actually do something as simple as touch me. When her hand touched mine, a zap of familiarity hit me; my eyes narrowed as I took in her face, the features so similar to the woman I’d just buried.
“Maya,” Nicolai said in a low voice. “Andi’s sister.”
I dropped her hand in shock. Where Andi had bright features, Maya’s were much darker. She was slightly taller with an athletic build. But her lips, her nose — they were so similar it was scary.
“I’m—” Her voice cracked. “I never knew her.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But from what Nicolai has told me, she had a good life. Because of you, she lived.” She hung her head. “Thank you for protecting her from my father.”
“It was my privilege,” I said honestly, silently wondering if she was in the same predicament Andi had been in — or worse, still under her father’s thumb.
My gaze flickered to Nicolai, but his expression gave nothing away. If anything, he’d completely shut down. Emotion, it seemed, still had no place in his life — not that I could blame him.
“Thank you for coming.” I took a step back.
Nicolai wrapped an arm around Maya.
She flinched, not necessarily in fear, but almost like his touch had caused physical pain — maybe even emotional.
They walked off to a waiting limo.
And I was left by the gravestone.
The rest of my family stood close by. I told them I needed a minute alone, which, naturally, they interpreted as backing up at least twenty feet but not letting me out of their sight.