Page 85 of Killer Love

I step closer to her and she leans into my embrace, clinging to me with all the life she has left.

With my arm around her and Lucian in the other, there’s nothing more affirming than this.

She buries her face into my shoulder, sniffling softly. I rest my lips against her head until she’s ready.

Finally, Sofia wipes her eyes and stands up tall. I lay Lucian into her steady hands. She smiles at him, throwing on a brave face. I adore her even more as she whispers words of love in his ear and walks toward the car.

I stay behind with my mother. “You’re the strongest of all of us, you know that, Ma?”

“Well, what did you expect?” She peeks up at me. “I created you.”

* * *

“We should kill them,” Yuri says from the sofa. “All of them.”

I glance around the study, drifting from one face to the next to gauge the reaction.

Markov sits beside Yuri with a flexed jaw, obviously just as ready and eager to take out every last one of the Zappias with him. My mother gives a short smile from the armchair by the door, admiring the plan for its simplicity, while Fox stands tall against the opposite wall, silent as always.

And then, finally, I look at the empty chair behind my father’s desk.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” my mother says.

“But it would be poetic,” Markov says.

Yuri shrugs. “We should, at least, burn their house down.”

I let out a quick, dry laugh. “I’ve thought about that before.”

My mother crosses her arms. “With that little shit inside of it.”

She hasn’t called Giovani by his name in days. None of us have.

Yuri looks at Markov. “Any luck tracking him down?”

He shakes his head. “Not since we found his parachute. We will keep looking.”

“Let him run,” I say. “There is nowhere for him to go.”

“He may crawl to Papa,” Yuri says.

“Doubtful. I don’t think he’s eager to admit how badly he’s fucked up.”

“So, our choices include doing nothing or sitting on our hands?”

The room falls silent again.

I look at the graceful shadow hovering in the doorway. “What do you think, Sofia?” I ask.

All heads turn in her direction. She stands there in her sundress, elegant and strong, with her hands by her sides, absorbing every word we say.

She tilts her head. “We could kill them…”

I raise a brow. “Or?”

“Or…” She stares into the space between us. “A Zappia man is a proud man. He doesn’t just take what is his, he earns it. He carves his name from stone itself. So, you can imagine, how the family reacts to failure.”

I don’t say a word. I couldn’t even if I tried. My eyes stay locked on her, unable to pull away from the absolute perfection in front of me.

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