After they ate, Neva’s face turned serious again. “I must go soon. I will call some men to guard the house while I am away.” “No,” Calla said immediately. “No guards. I will be fine. I have the gun you gave me. I know how to use it now. I won’t run. I promise.” Neva looked worried. “Calla, after the hospital… I do not like the idea of you being here alone.” “I am not the same woman I was at the hospital,” Calla said, and she meant it. The news of two babies had lit a new fire in her. She had too much to fight for now. “I will lock the door. I will have my gun. Nothing will happen.” Neva saw the new strength in her eyes and finally nodded. She could not win this argument. “Okay. But you be careful. I will come back with good news.” * * Neva drove to the headquarters of La Fiamma, her mind sharp and clear. She gathered what she needed: strong rope, a black cloth bag, a sedative shot. She picked three of her best, quietest men. They asked no questions. They just followed.
Vincenzo stepped out of the company. He slid into the cool leather seat of his car, a thin, cruel smile on his lips. The spy he had planted in Killian’s house, the quiet maid who no one noticed, had been right. Calla was alone and vulnerable except that Neva was usually everywhere with her but that was still perfect. He had said his piece. He had laid out his simple, terrible choice for her. She could listen, do as she was told, and live. Or she could be difficult, and end up in a grave next to that of the one he had dug for Killian. He started the engine, the low purr a satisfying sound. Later that day after the whole paperwork and Vincenzo's visit. Calla and Neva went to the hospital, the sterile smell of the hospital filled Calla’s nose. She clutched Neva’s arm, her fingers tight. A black mask and a large cap hid most of her face, but nothing could hide the fear in her eyes. The ultrasound room was cold. The doctor, a friendly older man with glasses, smiled at her as she lay
Calla was quiet for a long moment. The anger was not in her eyes, but a deep sadness. She let out a soft sigh, the fight seeming to leave her shoulders for a second, replaced by a heavy understanding. “I am sorry,” she said, her voice low and clear. It wasn’t an apology to him, but for him. For the situation. “I am truly sorry for what happened to you. To both of you. To Helen. That is a… a terrible pain to carry. A weight no one should have to hold.” Vincenzo watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt. She took a slow breath, choosing her words with care. “But you know… you both lost her. You both lost someone important to you. I hear it when you say her name. You lost her too. That pain… it belongs to both of you. It’s a shared hurt. Not a weapon for one to use against the other.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but his voice lacked its earlier sharpness. It was defensive. “Maybe I don’t,” she admitted. “But I know what it is to lo
Vincenzo Settled in on the chair comfortably .the smile he worn before was gone. He looked at his hands for a moment. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. The flirty man had disappeared. In his place was someone older. Someone carrying a heavy weight. “Helen was...." He looked lost in the memory for a second. “She was sweet. She was kind...”” he began. His voice was much quieter now. “We found her, or maybe she found us, on the streets. Me and Killian. We were just boys trying to be men. Our gang was our only family. And she became a part of it.” He looked up at Calla. “You know our father was a bad man. He beat us. The night he beat our mother to death… and he decided to hit me next… that was the night everything changed. Killian, he was always the brave one. He took our father’s gun. He shot him in the head. He saved me. We ran. The street was our home after that.” Calla said nothing. She just listened. This was a part of the story she did not know. "And Helen was like a
The walk to the visitor’s area felt longer than usual. Calla’s heels made soft sounds on the clean floor. Her mind was busy, full of other thoughts. She was not thinking about the past. She had locked that door long ago. So when she turned the corner and saw the man standing there, her whole world stopped for a single, silent second. It was Vincenzo. He was leaning on the wall, but when he saw her, he stood straight. A slow smile spread across his face. It was the same smile that once made her heart light. Now, it only made her feel tired. “Nice seeing you again, Calla,” he said. His voice was, smooth and deep. Calla stared at him. She said nothing. Her face was calm, but inside, a storm had started. Neva, who was walking close behind, stepped forward fast. Her hand touched the gun at her side. “What is this Carbon doing here?” she asked coldly, her voice like ice. She looked ready to throw him out. Calla lifted her hand to stop Neva. She didn’t look away from Vincenzo. “It’s
Neva walked into La Fiamma from the back, she wasn't interested in passing the front which intially looks like a restaurant. When she entered the big, heavy doors closed behind her with a soft sound, cutting her off from the world outside. Inside was quiet and rich, filled with the smell of smoke and leather. It felt like a place full of power and secrets. She went straight to Killian’s study. Her boots made no sound on the thick carpet. The study was dark, lit only by one lamp on the desk. Shadows moved on the walls full of books. She bowed a little, showing respect. “ Good day Boss.” Killian sat behind his desk. A cigar burned slowly in his hand, the red tip glowing. His sharp eyes left the papers on the desk and looked at her. “How is Calla?” His voice was flat, but heavy with meaning. “She’s strong. She’s doing well,” Neva answered. She took a deep breath. “Boss, I think you should tell her the truth.” Killian leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. Smoke came from his