“I didn’t think you’d come…”

I roll my eyes, slamming the door closed. “Well, I’m strapped, so there is that.”

“I’m wounded that you would think I’d do that to you…” Gio puts his hand on his chest in mock pain. “Hey, cuz, heard what happened.”

I let his arms wrap around my body and sigh into his embrace. “I don’t know what to do, G. I’m a mess. After all this. What am I supposed to do? Just move on and run La Rosa like I need it?”

He hooks his arm around my shoulders and directs me through the front doors. “Well, you’re still a La Rosa, so why not?”

“The wrong one, though,” I grumble, swiping my eyes.

“Look, the elders are inside with a couple of the other outfit members and commissioners.” I stop walking. “Hear me out. You know we have to handle this in-house. As much as Wicked is a descendant and technically a made man, this can’t involve the MC. You know this.” I do. He doesn’t have to explain anymore because I knew that the second Papa—Victor—came clean with everything.

My stomach drops to the ground as I enter the foyer. The familiarity is no longer a solace, it’s a pain of what I thought I had. A pain for the little girl who was lied to. My eyes shoot up the grand stairs and I wince.

“The pope has blessed the house and we got it cleaned for you. I know you don’t want it, but it’s yours.” I ignore him and make my way through the hallway and to the family room, where I hear chatting.

It pauses when I stop at the threshold, and all of a sudden I’m a child again, looking up to my aunts and uncles like they’re my superheroes. This could go one or two ways. They could hate me, kill me, or they could take me in and guide me. I don’t know which is worse.

“Bubba.” My aunty, Gio’s mama, pulls me into a gentle embrace, kissing the top of my head. She was closest to Mama. Always around, cooking and baking together.

I squeeze her back and go through each of them before finally taking a seat on the lounge in the center of the room. The very one Mama used to sit on. “I’m sorry for what happened and how it was handled.” I place my hands on my lap, straightening my shoulders. “Unfortunately, he didn’t give us much choice and managed to ruffle the feathers of the Bratva, there was no way around taking him off them.” No one speaks, and I go around the room, meeting all of their eyes. My uncles are old school. When I say old school, I mean in every single way.