“This small scar here.” His finger brushes the skin below my shoulder blade.

It takes me a few moments to realize what he’s talking about. “I don’t actually remember. I only know what Mom told me.”

“What happened?”

“I was at a mall with her and Dad. Mom was going to buy a dress for some event. Apparently, I slipped away from them and ran toward the jewelry store because I liked looking at the crystal roses and other sparkly things in the window display.”

Rafael’s finger stills on my back.

“There was some kind of explosion. Inside the store,” I continue. “Some guy grabbed me just before it happened. He saved my life.”

“How old were you?” Rafael asks as he resumes stroking my skin. His voice sounds strange. Strained somehow.

“I was three. And we never found out what happened to the man who saved me. Dad said he tried to find him when things settled down but had no luck. The guy was taken to a different hospital than where we ended up, and after, he just vanished. The only thing Dad knew about the man was that he was Albanian.”

“Oh?” Rafael presses his lips just over the mark, then continues stroking my scar.

“Yeah, he had an Albanian tattoo. Dad recognized it.” I turn around to face him. Rafael’s hair is wet, and some of his inky-dark strands have fallen forward. I reach up to sweep them back, but my fingers gravitate to his face, tracing the hard contours of his features. “I wish I knew who he was, you know,” I say in a whispered breath.

Rafael’s eyes crease slightly at the corners. “Why?”

“I owe him my life. Where I come from, it’s the ultimate debt.” I smile. “You of all people should understand the importance of debts, Rafael.”

He leans in and brushes his knuckles along my chin.

“It was just kismet. Right time. Right place. Your Albanian guy probably forgot all about it a long time ago. You’re not indebted to him.” His fingers seize my chin, tilting my head up for a kiss. “Were you hurt anywhere else?”

“Nope. Just that one cut. Everybody said it was a miracle.”

“Good.” He nods and pulls me closer. “How about I work on generating another ‘normal physical reaction’ out of you now?”

“It’s two in the fucking morning,” Guido grumbles as he takes a seat on the deck chair next to mine. “I thought you were upstairs.”

“Can’t sleep.” My eyes are fixed on the dark horizon while I take a sip of my wine.

“Well, you should try, because we might not get the chance in the upcoming days. I got word that Calogero is covertly mobilizing his men.” Leaning forward, he braces his elbows on his knees and lets out a heavy sigh. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“We knew Calogero would retaliate after we destroyed his investments. He will try to hit us without the rest of the Family finding out. Ten men, fifteen tops, who will keep their mouths shut.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Other Cosa Nostra members will execute you, Rafael. You can’t kill a fucking don and get away with it!”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve done that already.”

“That was different! No one other than Calogero knew you were the one who executed Mancuso.”

“Loyalty and respect are the key pillars of the Cosa Nostra creed, Guido. If a member goes against his word, he loses face, and with it, the respect he holds. But if it’s the don who breaks his word, it affects the whole Family. The damage to their reputation is absolute. I contacted old man Biaggi earlier and expressed my deep concern for how the Family may view their leader after finding out he broke his word to me. We came to the conclusion that it would be beneficial for all—me and the Sicilian Cosa Nostra—to keep that shame from reaching the light of day.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if I decide to alleviate their don of his existence, the Family will look the other way. So, you see, any problem can be resolved, if you know which buttons to push.”

“He’s our godfather, Rafael.”

“And that’s the only reason I let him live this long,” I snap and drain the rest of my wine. “But he used up all of his credit.”

“Rafael—”

“I called him. A month or so after we got to the States. I called our dear cumpari and I begged him to take you under his protection.” I meet Guido’s shocked stare. “He refused.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I was afraid you’d fucking starve if you stayed with me.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“It was. But I managed to find a way to get us out of it.”

“By swearing fealty to the Albanian clan. You did it because of me.”

I set the glass on the tabletop and look at the pair of crossed daggers with a snake coiled around the blades inked on the inside of my left forearm. More images surround the tat, so it’s not as prominent as it once was. Still, someone who’s walked the darker paths in life will know what it represents.

“Why haven’t you removed it?” Guido asks, glancing at the Albanian gang mark on my arm.

“It’s in the past now,” I say, scrutinizing the inked design. I could’ve had it covered up, but I’m not ashamed of anything I did so I could feed my brother.

I lean back on the chair and fix my gaze on the distant fishing boats scattered across the sea. “I’m going to call Roman Petrov and tell him I have his daughter with me.”

“What?!” Guido leaps out of his chair. “Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

“Nope. I’m sending Vasilisa back to the States.”

“Why? Don’t get me wrong, I was against this crazy idea of yours from the start, but—”

“I’m in love with her, Guido.”

He gapes at me. “And you’re letting her go? That makes no sense.”

“You know . . . when I was a kid, I loved playing behind Mom’s house, trying to catch butterflies. There was a southern white admiral that was always fluttering around the roses. I tried to capture it for days, absolutely fixated on that poor thing because I wanted to have it for myself. I spent hours next to a thorny flower bush, doing whatever I could to trap the creature, but it always slipped away. Until one day, I finally caught it. I put it into a marmalade jar and set it in my room, by the bed.”

“A determined son of a bitch, even then.” Guido snorts.

“It died the next day. Maybe I squeezed it too much when I caught it, or it just couldn’t live in a fucking jar. When I went behind the house to look for another, there weren’t any. I never saw another admiral back there again.” I tilt my head to the sky and close my eyes. “Vasilisa reminds me of that butterfly. I can’t force her to stay with me. I thought I could, but it wouldn’t be right. She’s going back to Chicago tomorrow evening.”