But he didn’t fail his wife like I failed Genevieve.
Evi’s still here, and I trust that when this is all over, Sandro will find a way to heal.
The hole in my heart that formed the day my wife died is far less likely to do so.
But I can’t tell if it’s the sense of loss or guilt that continues to eat at me so relentlessly, leaving the jagged wound gaping.
All I can be is grateful that my brother won’t suffer that same pain.
“We can’t just keep sitting and waiting,” Miko says flatly, drawing me from my reverie, and when my eyes snap toward him, he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Kenji is dead. Tatsuo is too old to lead his troops the way he used to. That means they’re weak, and we’re squandering the best chance we have to crush them once and for all.”
“We’ve said that before, and look where it got us,” Sandro says, not looking away from the window.
My twin taken prisoner and his wife kidnapped—that’s where it got us.
“We need to stop underestimating the Tanakas,” he continues. “Raf was right. We can’t keep going at them head-on with the numbers we have.”
I sip my whiskey and relish the burn as it goes down. “He’s right, Miko. We got reckless. We thought we’d evened the odds, but look what it cost us.” I glance pointedly at Sandro. “We need something more to tip the scales.”
Miko shoots me a glare. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Knowing and learning are two different things,” I say lightly. It’s easier to let sarcasm do the talking.
Humor keeps me from thinking about my wife’s face the night she died.
The way her blood looked on my hands.
The silence that followed her last breath.
I take another sip of whiskey, pretending it helps.
Sandro finally turns from the window. “We can’t go on the offensive until we have the numbers.”
“You’re thinking about the Murrays,” I observe.
“They’ve been taking their sweet time, but I think they’ll come around,” he insists.
I shake my head. “You’ve been working that angle at the fighting pits for months, and they haven’t given an inch. They might not be happy with the Tanakas, but they’re not ready to switch sides, and the more time we spend trying to keep a finger on the pulse of their fickle tempers, the less time we’re putting into strengthening our defenses.”
Miko runs his finger through his hair, jaw tight, blue eyes flashing. “Then we find new allies.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You make it sound so easy. What, should we post a classified ad?Mafia brothers seek morally flexible partners with guns and grudges. Must love long walks through bloodshed.”
My oldest brother’s flat gaze tells me just how unamused he is. Some things never change.
Sandro shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The sight hits me harder than I expect.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him smile—since before he and Evi were taken, before they nearly died.
I still can’t shake the image of my brother’s back from my mind.
The discolored crisscrossing lines that will never heal properly. Because of me.
It’s been weeks since we brought Sandro and Evi home, but the sight of his injuries that night has burrowed under my skin and stayed there.
He catches my eye, and I can tell he knows what I’m thinking. We don’t need words for that. Twins never do.