Page 11 of Righteous Enforcer
These are the tenets I've lived by all my life.
Show no weakness.
Eliminate threats.
Protect the family.
But hearing Eva’s name again has stirred something inside that I thought was long dead.
"I need to know," I say.
Alessandro's expression darkens. "Don't make me repeat myself."
For the first time in my life, I turn my back on my Don's direct order. "I'll handle my responsibilities when I return."
"If you walk out that door?—"
"Then what?" I face him again. "Will you put a hit on your own brother?"
The silence between us stretches.
“Don’t be a fucking asshole about this, Adriano. She’s dead. Ivan is pulling one over on you. Don’t fall for it. Don’t risk the family for it.”
I suck in a breath. “Have I ever let you down?”
“This isn’t about that?—”
“Have I? Have I ever asked for anything? Ever gone against you, even when I questioned?—”
He scowls. “What have you questioned?”
“All that shit going down after Dad died and Luca returned? Or the plans to marry Valentina to that sadist Maksim. I’ve been your fucking dog. The least you can do is let me chase this one bone.”
I don’t wait for an answer, already calculating the fastest route to New Jersey as I stride from his office.
It’s just over two hours to Lakewood.
Two hours of drowning in memories and ruminating on why she’d have left, why she let me think she was dead.
Maybe Alessandro is right.
I’m chasing a ghost, trying to grasp back a part of my soul that I’d had when she was with me, that died when I lost her.
Hope and dread war inside me as I cross the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge to Staten Island, heading south until I cross the Arther Kill into New Jersey.
I've spent four years believing Eva died. If this is a lie…
If it's true…
I don't know which possibility terrifies me more.
When I reach Lakewood, it occurs to me that it could take me days, even weeks to find Eva if she’s here.
It’s not a large city like New York, but it’s a decent-sized town. There’s a lot of places to hide.
Four hours of hitting dead ends, and my patience has about run out.
The motel clerk stares at the photo on my phone, eyes darting nervously between my face and the image of Eva I've kept hidden in my gallery all these years.
