LOGINGabe’s birthday was always loud, but this year it felt bigger, brighter, like the whole world was celebrating with him. And maybe it was. The Fourth of July always brought fireworks, music, and half the neighborhood outside, but today it was all for him too. The backyard was packed. Kids splashing in the pool. Adults gathered around the grill. Music drifting through the warm summer air. Fireworks waiting in neat boxes for later tonight. It felt good. It felt peaceful. It felt like life finally settled into something soft again.The family had flown back from Italy a few days ago, just in time for the party. They’d been gone for weeks, giving us space to breathe, to settle, to heal. Now they were back, loud, loving, and exactly what Gabe needed. He ran across the yard with Koda chasing him, both of them dripping water everywhere. Even though Koda was four years younger, they talked every afternoon. FaceTime, voice messages, silly videos. Gabe said it helped him &ld
The compound was quiet in the mornings. Too quiet. Matteo and I walked side‑by‑side down the long concrete hallway toward the cells, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I’d gotten used to the sound over the last week, the same way you get used to pain when it’s constant.Juan had been dragging things out. Talking in circles. Playing games. Trying to stay alive one more day. But today felt different. I could feel it in my bones. Matteo must’ve felt it too, because he didn’t say a word until we reached the metal door leading into the holding wing. He stopped, hand on the handle, waiting. I looked at him. “It’s time,” I said. He didn’t ask what I meant. He already knew. “We can deal with Kansas City now,” I continued. “We don’t need anything else from him. Not anymore.”Matteo exhaled slowly, nodding. “Ciara told me the same thing last night.”I raised an eyebrow. “She did?”He smirked. “She said, and I quote, ‘End it. I want to go home for a few weeks before we come back
It didn’t feel real until about a week later. The first few days home were a blur, unpacking, cleaning, catching up on sleep, trying to remember what normal felt like. But now… now the house felt lived in again. Warm. Safe. Ours. Kat, Wolf, and their three kids had left earlier in the week to head back to Jasper. The boys needed to get back to school, and Wolf had club business waiting for him. Kat texted me every day, checking in, sending pictures of the boys, asking how I was feeling.And even though Koda was four years younger, he and Gabe talked every afternoon. FaceTime, voice messages, little videos of whatever Koda was doing. Gabe didn’t mind the age difference, if anything, it made him feel older. Responsible. Ready to be a big brother. He told me that yesterday, actually. “I think talking to Koda helps,” he said. “So I know how to help the baby.”My heart melted. Now, I stood in the hallway with GreenLee, Ciara, Nonna, and Abuela, all of them helping me clean out the room I w
The house felt different the moment we walked in. Not tense. Not on alert. Just… ours again. Sara unpacked slowly, touching things like she was reminding herself they were real. Gabe ran straight to his room, yelling about how he missed his bed. Even the air felt familiar, the quiet hum of the AC, the faint smell of lemon cleaner, the creak in the hallway floorboards. Home.Abuela was settled back at her place with her nurse and guards posted around the property. Matteo and I had checked everything twice before leaving her. She hated the extra security, but she didn’t argue. Not after everything Juan pulled. Wolf, Kat, and their 3 kids were staying the night, but they’d be gone in the morning. The boys needed to get back to school, and Wolf had to check on the club. Prez duties didn’t wait, even for family emergencies.I stood in my office, staring at the map spread across the table, Juan’s network, his routes, his contacts, the mess he’d built here in the States. Matteo leaned agains
I couldn’t believe they actually did it. They really brought me here. To the middle of nowhere. To a ranch. With dirt. And animals. And no city for hours. I wasn’t a country girl. I wasn’t built for this. I was supposed to be in the city, in heels, in nice clothes, with people who mattered. Not… here. And the worst part? I didn’t even know Russian.Mama tried to teach me when I was little, but why would I need it? I lived in America. I wasn’t planning on running off to some frozen farm in the middle of Russia. I tuned her out every time she tried to talk. Now, I wished I hadn’t. Now I was sitting at a long wooden dinner table, surrounded by people speaking a language I barely understood, pretending I wasn’t dying inside.And Babulya was gushing over Marco. Marco...The man who stole my brother from the life he was supposed to have. “Oh, Roc,” she said, patting Marco’s hand like he was made of gold. “He is so handsome. Such kind eyes. You chose well.”I stared at her in disbelief. “Why
I hated packing. Not because it was hard. Not because I didn’t want to go. But because every folded shirt, every zipped bag, every checklist reminded me that this trip wasn’t a vacation. It was damage control. Marco sat on the edge of my bed, watching me shove another sweater into the suitcase. “You’re going to break the zipper,” he said gently.“I’ll buy a new one,” I muttered. He didn’t argue. He knew better. The lockdown being lifted should’ve felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like a countdown. The sooner we got Letta to Russia, the sooner I could get back here and help Salvatore and Matteo deal with Juan. I wasn’t leaving them to handle that alone. Not after everything. From the hallway, I heard my parents talking in low voices, my mother switching between English and Russian as she double‑checked flight details. My father reminding her to pack warm clothes even though it was summer there too.Marco leaned back on his hands. “You’re nervous.”I froze mid‑fold. “About what?”He ga
Sunday dinners at Abuela’s always felt like stepping into a different world, one where the air smelled like simmering tomatoes and fresh bread, where laughter bounced off the walls, and where love was loud, messy, and everywhere. Tonight was no different. My aunts were already arguing over seasonin
It had been a week since the Letta incident, and the house had finally settled again. The tension, the shouting, the slap, all of it had faded into something quieter. Something steadier. But the thing that surprised me most wasn’t the Letta melt down. It was Sara.That night, after everything, she
I was still gripping the steering wheel too hard when I pulled into the driveway behind Letta. My sister slammed her car door like a child throwing a tantrum and stomped toward the house, heels stabbing the concrete with every step. I got out slower, breathing hard through my nose. I wasn’t just pi
I didn’t want a big celebration. No loud music, no crowds, no spotlight. Just family. Just the people who mattered. So when my aunts, uncles, and Abuela insisted on making dinner to celebrate the marriage, I agreed, on the condition that it stayed small.Small for my family still meant a full table







