Page 72 of Last Hand

Leone doesn’t say anything at first. He just walks forward, slow, palms up like he’s approaching a spooked Doberman.Fallon plants herself between him and the girls. “You won’t hurt them!” she warns, and her voice is more animal than human.

Leone stops, hands up. “No one’s going to hurt anybody. I have no reason to hurt children, Fallon.”

“They’re Mikhail’s. And Mom’s,” Fallon hisses, like this explains everything. Maybe it does.

I cut in. “Fallon, we aren’t monsters,” I remind her. We would never hurt kids; Leone may be a prick but even he lives by a code that children stay out of it, no matter what their parents have done.

The twins stare at us, one trembling, the other hiding behind Fallon, clinging to her shirt. Anya and Mila. I commit their names to memory.

Leone takes another step, then crouches, eye-level with the girls. “Come on, I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs.

The one on the left… Mila?… edges forward. Leone scoops her up, careful as you’d handle a live grenade. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t fight. Just slumps into his shoulder, letting him brush cobwebs and twigs out of her hair.

Fallon relaxes a fraction. Anya clings to Fallon’s shirt, breathing in tiny shudders.

We stand there for a minute, the four of us (five, if you count the kid now half-asleep against Leone’s chest), catching our breath in the humid dark. I have a dozen questions, none of which matter right now.

Instead, I peel off my jacket and hand it to Fallon, who wraps it around Anya, still staring at me worriedly like she is afraid Leone will order me to kill them.

“We should go,” I say.

Leone nods, and for once, there’s no argument.

We walk back through the woods. When we reach the clearing, there are the cars, the barn, and the distant flicker of flashlights. The barn’s still visible through the trees, a blacktooth in the gray predawn. Smoke’s thinned out, drifting in lazy, tired ribbons. The body’s gone—Santos’s cleanup crew must’ve zipped Rebecca into a bag and made her vanish. Fallon sees this, and her shoulders drop an inch.

Nathan’s still standing where we left him, hunched and hollow, hands covered in dirt and blood, eyes locked on the dirt in front of his boots. He doesn’t even blink when we step out of the brush, two kids in tow. It takes a full thirty seconds for his brain to process what’s coming toward him.

“Dad,” Fallon says, her voice a dry rasp.

Nathan jerks up, blinking fast. His gaze jumps from Fallon to the girls, and he just stands there, mouth working like he’s chewing glass. “They—” he starts, then stumbles forward and stops, like he hit an invisible wall. “They look just like you,” he says. “Like her.”

Fallon nods. “I know.” She’s crying and still not making a sound. It’s all in the way her mouth trembles and how the tears won’t stop dripping from her chin.

Nathan closes the distance in two long strides and pulls her in, smashing all three of them into a lopsided, shuddering hug. The twin in Fallon’s arms squirms and then settles, arms wrapping around Fallon’s neck. I look away, not because I’m polite, because it’s too much. I never liked seeing people fall apart.

Leone hovers awkwardly. He glances at me, like maybe I have some manual for this. I don’t. My entire emotional toolkit is a bottle of bourbon and a pack of cigarettes, and we’re fresh out of both.

Nathan finally peels away, knuckles scrubbing his eyes. He kneels as Fallon lowers the twin in her arms to the ground, and so does Leone. Even kneeling, he is still a head taller than the twins. “What’s your name, sweetie?” He keeps his voice soft, like he’s afraid they’ll explode if he raises it.

The girl who was in Fallon’s arms blinks up at him. “Mila,” she says. “Have you seen my mommy?”

Nathan freezes, his whole body going rigid. “Yes, sweetie,” he whispers. “I know your mommy.”

Anya—the other one, standing in front of Leone—looks up, eyes wide and wet. “Can we go see her?”

Leone looks at me, and I shrug. There’s no good answer. Nathan manages a smile, and it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. “Not right now,” he says. “However, I know someone who would love to meet you. Her name’s Emma.”

Mila tilts her head. “Emma?”

He nods. “She’s your sister.”

Fallon sways beside me, her knees buckling. I catch her elbow to prop her up. She’s barely there, running on fumes.

Rocco appears out of the gloom, two of Santos’s guys trailing behind. “We’re clear,” he says to Leone. “Let’s move.”

Nathan takes a twin in each hand and lets Rocco steer him toward the cars. He glances back once, checks that Fallon’s still standing. She is, barely.

“What is it?” I whisper because she’s staring after them like she’s watching a firing squad.

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