And darkness isn’t the worst thing at all.

The lights blink on and off, and on and off, bright fluorescent unnatural light, and I wish he’d left the blindfold on as, during those bursts of light, I see what’s on that wall beneath that goddamned clock. Fucking plastered across the length of the room. And those lights. Fuck. The lights won’t stop blinking. I twist and turn in my chair and try to free myself, but I can’t get out. I can’t get away. I couldn’t then. And I can’t now.

I scream.

23

AMADEO

Bastian will take Mom and Emma to Palermo. I won’t join them. I have something I need to take care of. Something I should have taken care of long ago. Because what happened lies squarely on my shoulders.

I sit in the back seat with two soldiers in the front as we drive to my uncle’s Naples apartment, a luxury unit in a renovated old building in the heart of town. The video footage of what took place in the hours before our landing replays in my mind. A chopper landing. Soldiers unloading. A truckload of them arriving at the same time at the front gates as the first chopper took off, and a second landed, unloading more men.

The house was secured. We had plenty of soldiers. But they had more, and they took us by surprise. They came ready to kill.

Our men killed three of theirs, but the tally of dead on our side is much higher.

The hardest part to bear, though, is the footage at the end. After the truck full of soldiers drove back down the hill. It’s the image of Vittoria half dragged out of the house by two men easily twice her size. That image of Vittoria disappearing into the chopper.

“Sir?”

I blink, then look at the man in the passenger seat who is turned halfway around to talk to me.

“We’re a block out,” he says.

I look out at the neighborhood and nod. “Go to the building.”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“I said go to the building.” This isn’t some incognito mission. I want Sonny to see me coming.

A few minutes later, we’re parked in front of the building. The doorman opens the doors, and I cross the large lobby. It’s like a fucking hotel, an exclusive address for the wealthiest of the wealthy in the city.

Two soldiers, Sonny’s because as far as I know he’s the only mobster living at this address, stop us when we get to the elevator. They’re dressed in suits with their weapons out of sight.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I tell the one.

He looks at me, then at my men. “You can go up but no soldiers.” I guess Sonny’s expecting me. “Arms out.”