Page 63 of Brutal Union
We exit simultaneously, a choreographed dance of death we've performed too many times. Alex takes the high ground, using a stone angel for cover. Nico moves right, military precision in every step. The first shots crack through the rain, muzzle flashes lighting up the cemetery like lightning. The smell of wet earth and cordite fills my lungs.
An Irish soldier rises from behind a headstone, weapon trained on me. Luca's bullet finds him first, spraying blood across marble that reads "Beloved Father." The irony isn't lost on me as the man falls, his own children about to lose theirs. The blood is warm at first, steaming in the cold rain before diluting to pink rivers between graves.
"Marco, two o'clock!" Alex's warning comes just as another attacker rounds a mausoleum. I pivot, my Glock speaking twice. Center mass. The soldier drops, his blood mixing with rain and mud. My next shot goes wide, first time I've missed in years. Valentina's stillness is fucking with my head, making my hands unsteady.
Through it all, through the gunfire echoing off stone and the screams of dying men, I see her. Valentina kneels at her mother's grave, her blue dress soaked through, dark hair plastered to her skin. Even soaked and broken, she's mine. My marks still visible on her throat despite the rain, evidence of yesterday's claiming. The thought makes me hard despite the carnage, despite everything. This is what she's done to me: turned me into an animal who wants her even at her mother's grave.
She doesn't move. Doesn't flinch as bullets chip granite inches from her head. Just stares down at something in her lap, her breathing ragged but determined, her chest heaving.
Another Irish soldier charges from behind a tree. Nico catches him with a knife to the throat, arterial spray painting the rain red. The man gurgles, falls, adds his blood to the cemetery's collection.
The Irish soldiers hesitate now, weapons trained on us but not firing. Liam must have ordered them to let this play out, to let me see what I'm losing.
"Valentina!" I roar over the gunfire, but she doesn't react. Not even when one of my brothers drops another body three feet from where she kneels.
Movement near the cemetery's service road catches my eye. Liam O'Brien dragging Alice toward a black SUV, Christopher already behind the wheel, engine running. The girl stumbles in her soaked nightgown, but Liam's grip on her arm is iron.
I raise my weapon, but Liam sees me coming. In one smooth motion, he spins Alice in front of him, using her as a shield. My finger freezes on the trigger. One shot, and I might hit her.
"Coward!" I snarl, trying to find an angle that doesn't risk Alice's life.
Liam's smile is cold as he backs toward the vehicle, keeping the girl between us. "Just good tactics, Rosetti."
I fire anyway, aiming for his shoulder, but he anticipates it, ducking behind Alice completely. The bullet sparks off a headstone instead. Christopher guns the engine as Liam throws Alice into the backseat, diving in after her. The SUV tears away before I can get another clear shot, tires spinning in the mud, disappearing into the rain.
"Should I pursue?" Nico asks, weapon still trained on their escape route.
"No." The word tastes like copper on my tongue from where I've bitten through it to keep from roaring. "Secure the area first."
I turn back to Valentina. She hasn't moved through any of it. Not when her sister screamed. Not when Liam escaped with her only remaining family. She just keeps staring at those plastic-covered papers in her lap, rain running off them in rivers.
Around us, the cemetery falls silent except for the rain drumming on stone. Six Irish soldiers lie dead or dying among the graves. My brothers stand ready, scanning for more threats, but the fight is over.
"The rest fled," Alex reports, blood on his collar that isn't his. "Want us to track them?"
"No," I say again, moving toward my wife. My frozen, broken wife who won't even look at me.
"Valentina." I approach slowly, glass crunching under my shoes from shattered flower vases. "We need to go."
She finally looks up, and the deadness in her eyes stops me cold. No fury. No fear. Nothing.
"Your father paid for my mother's murder."
The words hang between us like a blade. She holds up the papers: bank statements, transfer records, account numbers I recognize with a sick drop in my stomach. Rosetti family accounts. The kind we used for wet work a decade ago.
"Look." She points to a line item with a trembling finger. "Fifty thousand. The exact amount. The exact date. The day before her car crashed."
I reach for the papers but she pulls them back, clutching them against her soaked dress. Rain has made the ink run, but the numbers are still clear. Still damning.
"I didn't…"
"Don't." Her voice cracks. "Don't lie to me. Not about this. Not standing on her grave."
The truth sits heavy in my chest. Did I know? Not the specifics. But I knew my father had handled a "situation" with the Bernardis that year. Knew someone had been talking to the feds. Knew it had been resolved permanently. I just never connected it to Valentina's mother. Never wanted to.
"Your family did this," she continues, each word precise despite her shaking. "Paid for the murder of my mother. And you knew. Maybe not the details, but you knew something. That's why you kept mentioning her. Warning me about Bernardi women getting people killed."
I can't deny it. Won't insult her with lies while she kneels in the mud where her mother rests. The payment is right there in black and white. My father's signature authorizing the transfer. Blood money that led to her becoming an orphan.
