Page 149 of Fallen Rook

“And it’s almost a done deal.”

“I didn’t even know you wanted children.” I was also confused as to why they weren’t going the old-fashioned baby-making way. Hell knew that they were prolific at fucking. It was all they’d been doing for the better part of last year. But it wasn’t my business to ask.

“I wasn’t sure until recently,” Tierney admitted. “I had my own journey to go through with my therapist before feeling confident I should be a parent. You know, not all humans should be.”

Lila and I nodded in agreement, both of us the children of the merciless late Vello.

“Excuse me, I need to go relieve my bladder from my green juice detox.” Tierney stood and slinked away. I returned my attention to Lila. She was rubbing her pregnant belly, and it occurred to me she’d waited until Tierney was gone to do that.

“What does Tiernan make of all this?” I asked her.

She tilted her head, considering my question. “He is happy for you for standing up for yourself. But he thinks, if you want to bring the Bratva to their knees, you need to deal with the FBI first. Which means you might need to speak to Agent Rothwell. Try to understand what you’re up against.”

“He’ll never tell me.” I shook my head.

I wasn’t a prideful man, and I didn’t have a problem reaching out to Tom if I thought I had a shot. But I didn’t. He’d always choose his morals over anything else.

Tierney returned from the bathroom, holding a tub of cream. “What’s this?”

My mouth hung open. It was my psoriasis ointment. But, of course, she already knew that. What she was really asking was how come I’d never said anything about it.

She walked deeper into the living room, sitting beside me. “When?”

I swallowed hard. “When Vello found out that I was gay and warned me off ever acting on my desires.”

Lila closed her eyes, and tears slipped down her cheeks. When she opened them again, I saw nothing but love.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Tierney said. “Coming out was a good start, but it’s not enough. Here.” She took out her phone and started typing something. “I’m sending you my therapist’s number. She is also a psychologist. Also a badass. You call her as soon as we leave here, okay? And you see her twice a week. You need this.”

“Okay, I will.”

I meant it. I wanted to get better. I realized I couldn’t outrun my misery, so I’d decided to outgrow it. Life was too short not to be happy.

Chapter Forty-Three

Tom

For the next week, I moved on autopilot.

Enzo was out of sight, but never out of mind. I knew what he was going through, and every minute he spent dealing with it alone turned me inside out.

He’d come out of the closet. I was proud, but also terrified for him. It was the talk of the Camorra. The blowback was brutal, down to memes and jokes they passed around on their end-to-end encrypted messaging channels. I hoped he wasn’t privy to them, but if I had access to those chats, I bet my goddamn neck he did, too.

Thirty-two soldiers had bowed out of the Camorra, citing the fact that they could not receive orders from a gay man. Sometimes Sully showed me a snippet or two from what the soldiers said on their messaging apps. I pretended it amused me, though it killed me inside.

Enzo hadn’t posted anything on Instagram and had turned off the option to comment. From clawing at the mental walls of my sanity from watching him interact with internet fangirls (and sometimes boys), I’d switched to feeling acutely, irrationally upset on his behalf. As long as he posted stupid shit online, I knew that he was doing fine, more or less. This new quiet made his suffering so loud.

There had been movement in bank accounts they thought weren’t under surveillance, too. Luca had transferred a large sum to Switzerland and liquidated many of his rentals. Enzo and Achilles had transferred funds to the Cayman Islands. I was sure they had escape routes, several fake passports, and hideouts in place.

I’d imagined being a Ferrante right now felt like a convict standing in front of a firing squad, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

What they didn’t know was that the shoe was never going to hit the ground.

Grams was right. I had found a way to fix it after all.

I was sabotaging my own case.

And I was beyond giving one measly fuck about the consequences.