Chapter 19 The plane touched down in New York just past noon. The city greeted us with a low, gray sky and that thick humidity that hugged your skin like obligation. Maya pressed her face to the window, grinning like a kid on their first field trip after we picked up the rental. "Why are you so excited? Haven't you been here before?" I asked. I knew she and her sister had lived in New York for a short period. She didn't look at me when she answered. "Yes. But this is different than the other times." There was something in her voice, but I dismissed it. We didn't go to my house right away. I drove her to SoHo instead. Parked outside one of those glass boutiques where everything was overpriced. "Get what you want. Anything you want," I told her, handing her my black AmEx. Her brows lifted. "You sure?" "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." She squealed and did this little excited hop that sent her into my arms. She kissed my jaw. "You are too nice to me, Ra. I will take advantage of you." "And I'll allow you." I smirked, sliding my hand over the curve of her hip as she leaned closer. She was so soft, so alive under my touch. This is why I couldn't get enough of her. I pulled a key from my pocket and pressed it into her palm, then grabbed her phone and added my address into her Google Maps. "Take a car service when you're done. Go straight there. Don't wander." "What is this address?" "My home." She looked down at the key, her expression shifting from giddy to something more profound. This wasn't just a hotel key. It was a key to my place. My space. A silent invitation she understood perfectly. She leaned in again, her kiss slow, deeper, with more feeling than before. My heart sped. She pulled back before I could deepen it, licking her swollen lips. "Don't take too long," she whispered against my mouth, her breath warm. Then she was out of the car, the door clicking shut behind her. I watched her walk into the boutique before pulling back into the sluggish New York traffic. The taste of her was still on my lips as I pointed the car toward Dyker Heights, toward the past, and the obligation that waited there. I thought about her the whole drive. The irony wasn't lost on me that my father lived in the same neighborhood where A Bronx Tale was filmed. C and Jane. She always talked about them like they were real. I pulled up to my father's house. The same house I used to ride past on my bike as a kid. My mother passed in the spring. By fall, he was married to someone new. My stepmother, Serena. She had soft curls and eyes like my mother's. And she was warm and sweet to me. I still hated her. When she opened the door now, I could smell cloves and rosemary. "Raziel," she said like a sigh. "Serena," I nodded. She didn't hesitate. She stepped forward and hugged me. Her arms were soft. Familiar. I didn't hug back. It wasn't her fault. I knew that. But every time she smiled at me, I felt like I was betraying the woman who carried me. Still, I followed her inside. My father was in the study, surrounded by dark wood, tall shelves, bottles of scotch lined up like old friends. He turned when I entered. For a second, neither of us spoke. He looked older. But not weaker. And when he stood, I saw my own face in his-just harder edges and something unforgiving in the eyes. He had seen a lot more than me. It made him rougher. "I had to come see you before you returned to Italy," I said. He motioned for me to sit, then poured two fingers of scotch into a cut-glass tumbler. "Didn't think you would." I took the drink but didn't sip. "I wanted to ask you something. About my mother." His expression shifted. Slightly. I continued. "She made me promise two things. To marry Alessia. And to forgive you." He sighed, long and tired. "She was dying, Raziel. She was scared. She needed peace. You're not obligated to do either." He leaned in. "Make your own decisions, son. Don't live a life someone else designed in their grief." He watched me for a long moment, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You also don't have to lower yourself to work under Alessia's father forever. It's time you took your rightful place. You don't have to live in Italy to lead. Everything I built is yours by blood." "Ask Caine to do it," I said, the name bitter on my tongue. My brother, always so eager, so willing to get his hands dirty for a taste of power. My father's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press. He knew a closed door when he saw one. He watched me a moment longer, the hard lines of his face easing into something that, on anyone else, might have been regret. Then he softened. "Stay for dinner. Please." Please. A man like my father didn't ask. He commanded. His will was law. Absolute power was his natural state, and he wore it like a second skin. He used words like execute, acquire, eliminate. He didn't use please. Except with me. Maybe it was time for me to let go of the past. I hesitated. "Can I bring someone?" His brow lifted. "Is it serious?" I thought about Maya's laugh. Her mouth. Her rage. "Complicated." "Bring her. Let me see what kind of woman is making my son question everything he knows." I texted her the address. Maya showed up an hour later in a black wrap dress and combat boots. She had new hair. It was pinned up in curls, her skin glowing from the late-summer sun. When I opened the door, she looked up at the brownstone, then at me. "You sure you meant to send for me?" she asked, half-teasing. I took her hand and pulled her inside. Serena fussed over her immediately, bringing her a glass of wine and complimenting her dress. Sometimes it was hard to hold on to the grudge I held against her. She left us, returning to the kitchen. My father was in the dining room, wine already poured. "This is Maya," I introduced them. "This is my father, Raffaele Mercier." My father stood. "Pleasure." Maya's smile was soft, cautious. "Same." She looked to me. "You didn't tell me I was meeting your father." "Didn't want you to back out." As we moved toward the table, she leaned in and whispered, "Are you falling for me, Ra?" Her voice was velvet mischief against my ear. I didn't answer. Didn't have to. She knew the answer. Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...