What was this? Alice in Wonderland?
The bracelet was one of those LiveStrong ones, the ones that high-schoolers wore like crack on their wrists. I lifted it into the light and smirked.
From Russia With Love.
On the other side, it said…
Best Friends Forever.
My laugh soon turned into a silent sob as I put the bracelet on my right hand. It felt like she was there — in that room with me. Tears dripped down onto the pages of the black folder, staining them, making them appear less terrifying and more breakable, like I didn’t have to let them define me.
Andi wouldn’t have wanted that.
Hell, I didn’t want that.
I closed my eyes and for a brief moment remembered her bright smile, her big brown eyes, and constant sarcasm. If she could see me crying, she’d kick my ass. I laughed at the idea of her scolding me.
I could do this. I took a deep breath and looked down at the next page. It was filled with everything I assumed it would be filled with.
Facts about me.
My age.
My birthday.
My social security number.
Known aliases.
The date of my first kill.
The person’s name and organization.
Like I needed to be reminded of any of those things.
I turned the page and paused. A piece of notebook paper was taped to the inside. My name was scribbled across it.
Frowning, I peeled it from the page and opened the note.
Italy,
I’m only going to say this once. Stop crying, or so help me God, I’m going to rise from the ashes and haunt you for the rest of your life. I’m sure right now you’re thinking that would be better than nothing. But believe me, nothing cool about being haunted. Imagine me hitting a pan with my baseball bat every hour of the day. You’d go crazy, and nobody wants to see you lose your shit.
You may be wondering why I wrote you a letter.
I was watching you sleep.
Ha, creepy, am I right?
I snorted back a laugh and wiped at the tears on my face and kept reading.
Did you know you have a scar on the back of your ear, left side. It’s hardly noticeable, unless you have superhuman vision like yours truly, compliments of my Russian heritage.
I rolled my eyes.
Stop rolling your eyes, Italy.
I smiled.
Anyway, when I first met you, I was constantly trying to find a stupid flaw. I mean, how could a guy be so perfect? Naturally, that thought was short-lived the minute you offered to kill me — thanks by the way, super special moment. I was lying in bed staring at that stupid scar the minute this idea hit me.
I self-consciously touched the scar behind my ear, the one given to me by my brother when he’d tried to shoot an arrow into a tree, and it had veered hard right, nearly impaling me in the back of the head.
You’re going to be lonely, which is expected. I mean, let’s face it. I brought a lot of loudness into your life. I forced you to take me on a crazy honeymoon, forced you to have sex with me — ha ha, just kidding. That wasn’t forced, and we both know it. Aw, my little Italian lover. The point is… a lot of these things had a purpose, one I wasn’t even aware of until now.
She’s really pretty. I think you’ll like her. She’s a bit quiet — okay, so a lot quiet, more quiet than I am, but sometimes opposites attract. Her eyes are this killer hazel that I know guys have the capacity to get lost in. Her name is Valentina. Pretty name, right? Oh, stop freaking out. It’s an Italian name! You should be jumping for joy!
She’s scared of heights — you’ll have to help her with that. Terrified of traveling out of the country — so maybe she deserves to go to the places I never had a chance to.
Can’t shoot a gun to save her life. Loves romance novels — especially ones with dukes and earls. I may have bought you a costume, just in case your flirting’s shit, and you can’t get her to talk to you. Ha, kidding.
But seriously. You will talk to her. You will try. See, it occurred to me that I married an old man. I mean, you’re going to be thirty this year. You need to settle down, have a family, stop shooting things. You get the point. And I thought… what better way to encourage you to start dating than to pick out your very first date — and hopefully if she’s as amazing as I’ve heard from Luca all these years — your last.
Have you put the pieces together yet? Get there faster. In the pages of this black folder you’ll discover some things about yourself, things you never thought possible. It seems great minds think alike.
I was meant for Dante. Care to guess who you were meant for? Valentina. Luca handpicked his own daughter to marry you. Just like he handpicked his son to marry me. Yet, things got messed up, and in that mess, Luca, bless his heart, still planned for the worst. I think that was me — my sickness — you and yours.
Because let’s not pretend you weren’t sick — maybe more sick than I was. But now you’re better, and honestly — so am I. Remember, you promised not to cry, so stop it! I’m happy. I can kick ass without getting dizzy, and, as you’re reading this, I’m most likely watching you from above, drinking wine with Luca and cheering to our amazing planning. We probably could have taken over the world someday, me and Luca.
In this folder you’ll find everything you need to know about the Nicolasi dynasty. So you see… the black folder? Though it has a lot of your information in it, Luca built it. He created it to give you a path to follow. He knew you needed guidance — guidance you never got from your father. He knew you’d one day need him — and he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to do that if he was dead.