at seventeen. So did Emilio. This was our world. We all had to age up faster than most men.
Besides, Terry was a reasonably easy mark. Older. Slower. Arrogant enough to think he wouldn't be a target.
"Did he have anything to report?" I asked. "We should probably have him over for a drink."
"He's actually on his way over. He said he figured something out, but didn't want to talk about it on the phone."
"Wouldn't be surprised. Terry was always up to something."
"How's the head?" Milo asked, rummaging through the fridge.
"Getting better."
"Are you going to be a pain in the ass about going back to the doctor?"
"No. I was in a rush to get out of there. I have questions. Need to know when I can hit the workout equipment again. I will go stir crazy locked up in here."
We'd agreed that I needed to stay inside at least until some of the intel was in about the other families. Especially since I wasn't at one-hundred-percent yet.
"Well, at least you can finally rip all this hideous shit out," Emilio said, waving an arm out at the house in general. "We will find a crew we can trust. Have Brio breathe down their necks while they work. They will be too afraid to do anything like eavesdrop."
"Yo, Milo," one of the guards out front called in from the door. "Your brother is here."
"Yep, let him in," I called. "He doesn't need an invitation here."
With that, there were muffled voices, a door closing, and a sound I wasn't able to place right at first.
But then it hit me.
High heels on hardwood floors.
High heels?
My gaze slipped to Emilio, finding his brows drawn together too, coming to the same conclusion.
We both turned to the doorway just as Anthony and—unexpectedly—Chris moved inside, faces both mirror images of surprise and uncertainty and a small bit of eagerness.
"What?" I asked, looking between them. "Did I hear heels?" I added.
The two men shared a look then both moved to the sides of the doorway, opening it up for our other guests to walk through.
Giana.
And my mother.
My mother?
"Your lady here has been a busy woman," my mother declared into the shocked silence of the room.
I barely remembered her voice, so lost in time, having been so young when she had disappeared. It wasn't soft and warm like Giana's, but rather cool and smooth and confident. Which matched her appearance—tall, slim, dark-haired, sharp-featured, green-eyed, wearing a simple black dress and heels.
I should have felt a rush of joy, of relief, maybe even of sadness over the lost years when I thought she was dead. All I could feel right then, though, was surprise, confusion, a complete lack of understanding of what I was seeing. It overtook anything else that had been moving through my system with this new piece of shocking information.
"Someone needs to talk," I declared, barely recognizing my own voice as my gaze shifted to Giana.
The relief was like a wave through my system, knocking away the tension that had been bunched up in every muscle thanks to the uncertainty of her whereabouts, my fears about her safety.
She looked amazing.
Better than I remembered.
She didn't dress like my mother, rather wearing a pair of black jeans and a charcoal tee, her long, dark hair free.
No cuts, no bruises.
She seemed fine.
Great, even.
But there was something different, something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
I couldn't place it at first. Until her chin raised up and her gaze leveled with me.
That was a confidence that hadn't been there before.
But what had brought about the change?
"I went to follow through with my order," Anthony supplied. "To make my bones," he added.
To kill Terry.
"But there was a problem. I was too late. Christopher was already there."
"Why were you there?" I asked, gaze moving toward him.
"Well, my job was to find Giana. And I did."
"Alright, for fuck's sake, let's stop with the dramatics," I said. "Someone give me some straight answers."
"I guess that is my place, darling," my mother said, giving me a careful smile. "Yes, Anthony was supposed to take out Terry. And, my love, I very much approve of that decision on your part. But he was too late. Someone else had already stuck a letter opener in that sneaky bastard's carotid. No," she said when my gaze went to Chris. "Your lady friend here was the one who did it."
"What?" my voice hissed out of me, not able to accept this reality. "How... why?"
"Yes, great questions," my mother agreed, but turned to