Page 6 of Fractured Devotion

Drake stood, shook Archer’s hand, then grasped mine. “I’ll be in Vegas soon. Call your boss and let him know to expect us. Together, we’ll end this motherfucker’s reign and send him back to wherever he came from.”

I followed Archer out of the conference room toward the elevator. “So… you’re working with the mob?”

His brown arched as we stepped into the metal box.

“It’s a complicated story… and my connection with Massimo dates back to our school days. He doesn’t conform to the stereotypical image of a mob leader,” I explained with a shrug. “He takes care of his people and tries to stay on the right side of the law.”

“And you’ve fallen for his sister.”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

Thoughts of Carmela flooded my mind. God, how I missed her. I’d resisted her advances for so long, and when I finally caved, I knew she was it for me. Her determination was irresistible, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. We’d been sneaking around because I was afraid of what her brothers would say. When we finally revealed the truth, she was abruptly taken from me. I was determined to hold the responsible party to account, regardless of legal constraints. Understanding Massimo and his brothers’ unconventional methods now came naturally—love was a potent force, capable of driving even the most rational minds into madness.

“And how is it you came to own that dog?” Archer inquired as we exited the elevator.

“Falcon belonged to my boss’s brother. His wife persuaded him to get a pet, and he acquiesced,” I explained.

“So, why do you have him now?”

I launched into the story of Flacon and how he practically saved me. Archer chuckled heartily as I recounted Vincenzo’s disdain for the canine and his impending struggles with fatherhood—especially if history repeated itself with another set of twins on the horizon.

“Well, let’s get back before your dog destroys my place.”

We exited the elevator and headed down the corridor to Archer’s apartment. Like Drake, he lived in the building Drake owned. I learned that the Winston brothers were not a family to fuck with. Now that there were even more of them, I could easily imagine Lipovsky getting exactly what he deserved. As we opened the door and stepped through, we were met with feathers everywhere.

“What the fuck?” Archer moved into the living room, me hot on his heels. “AJ… you’re fucking dog is going to die.”

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter when I saw the mess Falcon made in the living room. Falcon sat in the center, covered in white feathers. The entire carpet was covered in the down material, and remnants of the shit floated in the air. What was left of Archer’s chair was scattered around the floor.

“Oops,” I chuckled. “Looks like Falcon got bored.”

“Bored? He chewed up a five-thousand-dollar chair, for Christ’s sake.”

“Five thousand? Jesus Christ, Archer. Why the hell did you buy a five-thousand-dollar chair, anyway?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking why you now own said ‘ruined’ expensive chair? Because, motherfucker, it’s all yours,” Archer said with a smirk.

Fuck. I was going to kill Falcon. “Falcon, come here,” I commanded sternly, patting my leg to beckon him closer.

“Shit… stop, Falcon,” Archer interjected urgently, hurrying to intercept him. “He’s dragging this shit everywhere, AJ.”

For the first time in ages, I couldn’t contain my laughter. It erupted from me, unstoppable, as I doubled over, tears streaming down my face. Months of dwelling in the darkness, questioning why love had abandoned me, seemed to fade away in this moment of pure hilarity.

Watching Archer chase after Falcon, who clearly thought it was all a game, I surrendered to the laughter. It was a rare break from the torment that had consumed me for so long, a fleeting reprieve from the weight of despair.

However, amid the laughter, I couldn’t forget the mission that awaited us back in Vegas. There would be no escaping the reckoning that awaited those who had shattered the lives of the ones I cared for, starting with Lipovsky.

With determination burning in my chest, I silently vowed to ensure justice prevailed. No matter the obstacles ahead, I would see that those responsible faced the consequences—even if it meant coloring outside the lines of the law. As I stood there, laughter still echoing, I knew this moment would only fuel my determination as we headed toward the inevitable showdown awaiting us.

four

CARMELA

Tucked away in the shadows, I stood silently against the wall, my back pressed against the hard surface. The noise of clanging slot machines and bursts of loud laughter filled the air, a sharp contrast to the tight knot of apprehension in my stomach. I had been in Vegas for four weeks now, successfully avoiding any chance meetings with my family, but I knew that this game of hide and seek couldn’t last forever. For the moment, though, my focus was elsewhere.

From my hidden vantage point, I surveyed the room through the fog of cigarette smoke. My gaze was sharp, disciplined, as I scrutinized every face, every movement. Nestled in a niche near the grand entrance of the Bellagio, I was a ghost to the surrounding drinkers, my presence unnoticed. It’s how I preferred things. The only connection to a life was Harlen, and he wasn’t here.

The man I was tracking, Lipovsky, had proven elusive. It had taken me two painstaking weeks of digging through information, piecing together patterns and whispers, to predict his next move. Finally, a revelation struck—Lipovsky was seeking vengeance of his own. His target was the man responsible for the downfall of his prized fighter, Ivan Gurin. Ryker Nash, known in certain circles as ‘the Saint,’ had dealt a lethal blow to the Russian boxer. A blow that cost him his freedom. Now, Ryker was out of prison and, for reasons I didn’t understand, was fighting in the upcoming knockout match here in Vegas. It was here, amid the noise and the neon lights, I expected our paths to cross.

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