The thing about my mother, what Anthony failed to realize, is she has always worked with the highest tier criminals. The worst of the worst, the filthiest the world has to offer. We’re talking dangerous, deadly, and of course, the highest paying.

So, after twenty years in the business of helping keep criminals on the streets rather than off, my mother has made many, many friends in the lowest of places.

She’ll be just fine.

She’s the one who said we Filanos fight to the end, and in the end, we refuse to lose.

I couldn’t lose, not this time.

Not him.

Never him.

My mother wanted me strong, and she built me that way.

But somewhere along the way, and without me realizing, my strength outgrew hers.

I have no doubt in my mind my mother could sense it, even if it took her some time to admit it to herself.

She knows it well now.

I walk up to her, and while the detectives dart their hands out at first, they lower them when they see I’m not a threat.

I reach over my mother’s shoulders as if to hug her, but I don’t. I carefully unclip the pearl necklace from her neck and step back.

While her eyes narrow at first, her chin lifts next, and a small smile blooms on her lips. A real one, and my slow smirk follows.

She nods, her words barely above a whisper, “By any means necessary.”

Yes, Mother.

Check.

Mate.

Chapter 34

My mom trained her daughters well.

We know when to speak and when to keep quiet, so for the last four hours, we sat still, silently watching as a half dozen men and women ripped our home apart, carting box after box out the door, possible ‘evidence’ tucked inside each one, the contents of the lockbox included.

When the last man leaves, our stepdad follows, and the second the door closes, Beretta locks us on the inside.

Instantly, Monti spins to me, but I throw my hands up, backing away as I will my lungs to open.

“Jameson—”

“I need a minute.” I turn, my exhale choppy, making me lightheaded.

I look to my hands, my body trembling in place.

Holy shit.

That just happened.

I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets and drag my hands down my face as I step out onto the open balcony. Gripping the railing, I lean back, stretching my arms wide and bend at the waist, breathing long and deep a few more times.

I wait for the guilt, expecting it to hit me hard, but I don’t feel it the least bit.