Page 8 of A Touch of Fate

Our first encounter after Domenico’s death, when I’d confessed to her why he’d died and apologized, still haunted me. Her anguished cries, her knees giving in, how Domenico’s uncle held her up.

I touched the coffin briefly. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

I uttered the same words every time, but they felt as hollow as on the first day. Feeling sorry for something that couldn’t be changed was wasted time, especially in our world where death was a constant companion. I’d been to countless funerals, and many more would follow. Domenico’s mother had driven me away from his wake with curses and slaps. I had allowed her to hit me several times before I’d taken my leave, knowing the pain she’d inflicted wasn’t nearly as potent as the pain she felt.

Steps crunched behind me, and I tensed, my hand going to my gun in the holster around my waist.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Renato said.

I lowered my hand, relaxing as my best friend approached me. He crossed himself, then briefly touched the coffin.

“It still feels surreal,” he murmured.

I smiled bitterly. Surreal wasn’t the word I would have used. Renato and I had often spent the weekends with Arlo, Enea, and Domenico. Now, it was only the two of us.

“Today is one year, right?” Renato asked.

I nodded. He wasn’t certain. I hadn’t been able to think about anything else these past few days leading to the day when I had ripped three sons from their mothers.

Renato let out a sigh. “You need to stop feeling guilty.”

“I am guilty.”

Renato gave me a frustrated look, his dark-brown brows pinching together. “You didn’t kill them.”

My lip curled, but my stomach became hollow like it always did when I remembered Enea’s death. “I stabbed Enea.”

“Not on purpose, for God’s sake, Samuel. They were Made Men. We all are. Death is always a possibility. Many die young. Do you think Dante cries himself to sleep every night over his soldiers who have died on the missions he sent them on?”

I glanced at a photo of Domenico leaning against the coffin’s bottom. He had his arms around Renato and Arlo. Enea wasbeside Arlo, and I had been beside Renato in the photo, but I wasn’t now. Someone had cut me out. I didn’t blame them. “There’s a difference, Renato. I wasn’t their Capo. I was their friend, and they were doing me a favor. They trusted my plan, and I failed them.”

Renato shook his head. “They knew of the plan before you went to Las Vegas. They thought it was a good plan. I would have followed you there too if I hadn’t been in Chicago.”

Three of my friends had followed me, no questions asked, to save my twin sister from the hands of our worst enemy.

Renato wasn’t dead like the others because he’d been on another mission in Chicago with his father so he couldn’t join me.

“Come on, let’s have a drink. You need one.”

One drink wouldn’t be enough. I followed Renato out of the crypt and closed the gates. We went to our favorite bar and settled in one of their VIP rooms on the red satin armchairs with lion-clawed feet. I ordered a Negroni, my poison of choice, and took a big gulp. I let my head fall against the headrest and briefly closed my eyes.

Arlo’s shocked face flashed before my eyes as he died by Remo Falcone’s knife. He was gone in a blink, the kindest of all three deaths.

Then it was Enea’s face that popped up. His expression was a mix of surprise and pain when my knife buried itself in his stomach. My face had probably mirrored the same emotions. My stab had been aimed at Remo, but he’d pulled Enea up by the collar and used him as his shield. Enea hadn’t died right away. It took a few painful gasps and intakes of breaths before he passed away. I wished I could have held him in his last moments, but I’d fought for my life against the madman from Vegas.

And the last one…Domenico’s face materialized before my closed eyelids like a grotesque wax figure from a horror cabinet.Even in death, his face had been twisted with agony from hours of torture by the hand of the Falcones. Most of my nightmares revolved around him. I’d been witness to torture before and had been tortured myself, but rarely any of it replayed in my dreams. Yet seeing a friend being tortured to death because he wanted to help me?

Fuck, that haunted me every night and sometimes by day too. I doubted that would get better, even as the years passed. My foolish plan had robbed my friends of the chance to marry, grow old, and have a family.

And had it brought me Serafina back? I didn’t save her that day, and later, when she’d finally returned to us, I’d realized that truly saving her from Falcone’s grip was impossible.

“How’s your sister?” Renato asked after a while.

I opened my eyes. “Always tired. The twins suck the life out of her.”

Renato shook his head. “Still can’t believe she kept them.”

It was a topic we’d discussed plenty of times before. I nodded but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to think of Remo Falcone’s offspring, not on a day when I mourned the friends he’d killed. It was difficult because they looked exactly like him, and nothing like Fina, who had blond hair and blue eyes like me.

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