Page 78 of The New Godfather

Blinding white beams cut through the gloom from every direction — powerful, merciless, sweeping across Mario’s face like searchlights. He flinches, one hand flying up to shield his eyes, cursing viciously under his breath as he stumbles back a step. The lights are everywhere, bouncing off the walls, turning the room into a glaring, disorienting hell. Mario fires wildly, the gunshot cracking loud and sharp in the enclosed space, the bullet ricocheting somewhere behind me with a metallic ping that makes me flinch.

Before he can cause any damage, another shot rings out — clean, precise, final.

Mario’s head snaps back. A dark dot suddenly appears on his forehead. Then his body jerks violently, like someone yanked the invisible strings that were holding him, and he crumples to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He falls dead, eyes wide and staring at nothing, the gun clattering from his limp fingers.

I can’t scream.

The gag turns my cry into a broken, muffled sob. My ears ring from the shots, a high, piercing whine that makes the world feel distant and unreal. My whole body is shaking so hard I can barely stay upright, the ropes digging deeper into my wrists with every tremor.

Ricci bursts through the door in an instant, moving fast but controlled, gun still in his hand as he scans the room once before holstering it with a smooth motion. His eyes lock on me and something raw flashes across his face. Relief, fury, fear, all of it crashing together in a single heartbeat. He crosses the space in three long strides, drops to his knees on the dirty floor in front of me, but his hands are gentle as they reach for the gag. The fabric slips free, and I suck in a ragged breath, the air tasting like dust and gunpowder. But it’s okay. He is warm, alive, and here.

FBI agents spill in, but I barely register any of it.

I collapse forward into his arms the second I can move. The sobs tear out of me, hot and uncontrollable. I bury my face against his chest as I cling to him like he might vanish if I let go. My fingers fist in his shirt, knuckles white, my body trembling violently against his solid warmth. He wraps me up tight, one big hand cradling the back of my head, the other stroking slow, soothing passes down my spine.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair, voice rough and low, the words vibrating through his chest into mine. It’s nearly impossible for him to calm me. “You understood. I was so terrified you wouldn’t, and you would come alone.”

“You’re safe now. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The sobs keep ripping out of me in wave after wave, all the terror and confusion and love I’ve been carrying since the changing room spilling out in messy weeping. I just can’t stop crying. He just holds me tighter, rocking me gently, pressing kisses to the top of my head, my temple, my hairline, anywhere he can reach without letting go. His hands are steady, his heartbeat strong and steady against my ear, but I feel the slight tremor in his arms, as if he’s fighting to keep himself together for me.

When the worst of it eases, it leaves me raw and exhausted. I pull back and look into his eyes. Those beautiful eyes I know so well. They are dark with worry, and soft with something that makes my chest ache all over again. He’s safe. He’s here. The relief hits me so hard, fresh tears spill down my cheeks, hot and silent.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice cracked and raw, barely more than a breath. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. We’ll figure it all out later, I love you.”

He cries too.

I feel the wetness on his cheeks when he presses his forehead to mine as he hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. “It’s okay,” he says, the words thick and unsteady. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay.”

We stay tangled together in the room, his arms locked around me like he’ll never let go for a while. “What about Freddie?” I ask worriedly.

“He’s safe. We found him out back with the men.” He helps me up, his arm strong and sure around my waist as he guides me out of that nightmare place. After speaking briefly to the agents, we head home, Freddie tucked in my arms.

The penthouse is now heavily protected by the FBI. There are agents posted at every entrance, dark cars lining the street below. Their presence is like a constant, watchful shadow. The kind of security that would have terrified me a few months ago feels like a shield tonight instead of a cage.

Ricci makes me tea in the kitchen, his movements careful and steady, the kettle humming softly on the stove while I sit at the island wrapped in one of his hoodies. The warm scent of chamomile fills the air, soothing and familiar. Two agents step in a moment later, polite but professional, and one of them says quietly, “We’ll begin processing your testimony whenever you’re ready, Mr. Santori.”

I overhear their conversation.

“What are your plans now?” one of the agents asks him.

“There’s no need for witness protection,” Ricci says, voice calm and certain, the kind of certainty that makes me believe him even when everything feels like it’s unreal and unsafe. “I knew this day would come. I’ve been preparing for it. We’ll be flying out in a few days.”

After escorting them out, he returns to me in the kitchen and pulls me into his arms.

I look up at him, fingers tightening around the warm mug. “Where are we going?” I ask. My words are quiet. I am scared to admit I am almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Mexico,” he says simply.

I look skeptical, the doubt flickering across my face before I can hide it, but I don’t argue. From what I know, Mexico is not far enough. The hand of the Mafia reaches well into even the deepest part of Mexico. He pulls me into his arms again, hugging me tight, like he’s trying to press every broken piece of me back together. Then he kisses me deeply like he’s pouring every unspoken promise into it. When he pulls back, his breath is warm against my lips.

“Everything will be okay, you’ll see,” he whispers.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting the solid warmth of him chase away the last of the fear. “I trust you,” I say, and I mean it with everything I have left. “Nothing else matters as long as you’re safe.”

Chapter Seventy-Three

RICCI