Nico is right.
The thought burns like acid.
He's right, and I hate him for it. Hate myself more for knowing it's true.
I don't want to lead. I want to prove I'm still the man I was. I want to prove that the bullet didn't destroy everything. That I'm not broken beyond repair.
But I am.
I am broken.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again. And again.
"What?" I snarl into the receiver.
"Sir." Liam's voice is calm. Professional. Steady as always. "We found him."
I go still.
"Romano?"
"Yes, sir. He was trying to get back to Chicago. One of our contacts spotted him at a bus station in Indiana. He's in custody now."
My grip tightens on the phone. "Where is he?"
"En route. ETA forty minutes."
I close my eyes. Breathe.
I need answers.
"Bring him to Lorenzo's restaurant." The words come out cold. Controlled. "The private room in the back."
"Understood. Should I inform Pietro?"
"No." I open my eyes. "This is my problem. I'll handle it."
A pause. "Sir, with respect?—"
"Did I stutter, Liam?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"No, sir. I'll have him there within the hour."
"Good." I hang up before he can say anything else.
My hands are shaking.
Eraldo Romano ran. He ditched his security detail, abandoned his phones, and tried to disappear. The question is why. What spooked him? What made him think running was better than facing whatever consequences awaited him in New York?
I need to know.
More importantly, I need to know where he went. Who he talked to. What he told them.