Chapter 162

“Just…say as little as possible, Iris,” Nico murmurs, glancing at me.

“No problem,” I reply, my answer dry.

He huffs a tiny laugh at me and then steps forward, opening the door for his Don and his Donna, stepping inside.

The house is quiet, but it doesn’t take long to find people. We move quickly through the foyer, heading for the kitchen, but Gianna’s voice calls us from the formal living room.

“We’re in here,” she says, her words tight, maybe even shaking.

Christian turns towards her voice and the three of us enter to see Bianca and Giana sitting prim on the couch, Giana’s children sitting quietly next to her, the baby in her arms.

Christian stops before them and I move close to his side. Nico stops neatly before me. Giana and Bianca simultaneously go pale as their eyes sweep over the pair of them, taking in the blood staining their shirts, their suits. Their hands.

“My husband isn’t responding to my calls,” Bianca says quietly, looking straight at Christian, her phone clenched in her hand.

Christian lets out a long, heavy sigh and lifts a hand to his face, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingertips as he lets his eyes drift shut. “It’s done, Bianca,” he says, his voice quiet and firm. “It’s done.”

“So you can’t even say it?” Gianna bites out, her voice shaking, clutching the baby close to her chest.

Christian drops his hand and meets her eyes, his face darkening at her challenge.

“So that’s it?” she says, her voice raising as she gets slowly to her feet. “You come in here covered in my husband’s blood -“

“Get the children out of here,” Christian growls, gesturing towards Ricky and Bella as they go pale, hearing their mother’s words, staring at their uncle.

“To save them from what!?” Giana shouts, throwing one arm wide. “The knowledge that you murdered their father, their grandfather!?”

A cry bursts from Ricky’s throat as Bella bursts instantly into tears, jumping to her feet and wrapping herself around her mother’s leg, looking up at Christian, terrified.

“And what!” Giana continues as Bianca just sits so still she could be made of marble, staring down at her lap. “You just waltz in here like you own it now!? Like it’s your house!? This is my home, Cristian! You can’t -“

“Enough!” Christian barks, so loud and vehement that even I jump and stare at him. He takes an aggressive step towards Giana but doesn’t drop my hand. “Spare us the hysterics, Giana! It was him or me and you know it!”

“You could have found a way!” She screams, stepping towards Christian in kind, baring her teeth up into his face. “You didn’t have to kill him! He was your brother - my husband! My children’s fa-“

But her voice breaks on this last word as she looks down at her youngest daughter fussing unhappily in her arms, a sob slipping from her lips. And then suddenly Giana’s knees go out from under her and she slumps gracelessly to the floor, knocking Bella down with her. Ricky curls facedown into the couch, crying hard.

My own lips start to tremble at the sight of their grief. God, horrible - horrible - how will they ever survive it?

But my eyes slip to Christian and I wonder if he’s right - if he hadn’t made the move he has today if it would have been me slumped on the floor, sobbing for the loss of my husband.

I tighten my hand in his, not knowing what else to do.

Christian squeezes my hand back but keeps his eyes on the women before him. “You are still the mother of my nieces and nephew, Giana. You have a place here, in this family, if you’ll take it.”

My eyebrows go up because…I wasn’t expecting that.

“Bianca,” he says, turning his face to her. She raises her eyes to meet his, and expression reminds me of nothing but a woman looking at her executioner. “There’s nothing left for you here. Pack your things. I want you gone tonight.”

Bianca’s mouth pops open as she stares at Christian. A hand flutters up from her lap to press against her chest. “Cristian,” she murmurs, so soft I can barely hear it, “I…I raised you…I loved you like a mother…”

“And then you betrayed me,” he says, working hard to keep his voice even, though I can hear the tension in it, the true hurt at her betrayal. “Go back to your people. There’s nothing left for you here.”

Christian turns away, heading for the door, taking me with him. I make no move to protest and Nico moves to Giana’s side, crouching down, telling her to get up and start packing her things.

But Bianca’s voice rings out in the room. “My son?” She calls, looking down into her lap.

I realize, with horror, that I’d forgotten the true tragedy of the day. That Bianca may have raised Christian through his teens and played stepmother to Lorenzo…but she gave birth to Tony.

And now he’s dead.

Christian stiffens at the door, pausing, but he does not turn back. “You have a funeral to plan,” he says quietly. “You may draw on whatever funds you wish for it. But keep it small.”

And with that, he pushes through the door, taking me with him.

As we walk down the hall, the sound of weeping fills the air.

Christian doesn’t stop, pushing into the kitchen, and as I look around - noting that we’re alone - I see his shoulders are shaking.

He drops my hand by the kitchen island and moves immediately for one of the cabinets. I stand quietly, watching as he pulls down a crystal cut glass and a bottle of whiskey.

He turns to me, his actions and his voice sharp. “Do you want one?”

I stare at him for a moment before I nod, hard, once.

Christian exhales a long slow breath as he takes down another glass and sloshes whiskey into both. As he crosses to me and I take my glass from his hand, footsteps echo on the back stairs. We both turn towards them to see Frankie appear at the door.

“How is Lucy?” Christian asks, tense, taking a long sip of his drink. I do the same, pouring half the glass down my throat at one go and coughing a little at the resulting burning sensation. Christian glances at me once but doesn’t comment.

“She’s drowsing,” Frankie says, crossing to us and pulling a tin out of his pocket - one I recognize as the kind Bianca kept on the mantle. “Gave her a couple of these. She’ll be out soon.”

“Is that safe?” I whisper, wondering at the dosage.

Frankie just sends me a glance. “It’s fine. These are like mob wife tictacs - she’ll be out of it for a couple hours, and she’ll sleep. Which is better than sitting around thinking about it.”

I look him evenly in the face before my eyes slip to the tin, a bit envious if I’m being honest.

“You want one? Or six?” Frankie asks, holding it out to me.

I step forward, reaching as he opens it, but Christian takes my arm.