My stomach clenched, like I was going to puke. “Why would he do that?”

“Money. Always money.” Phoenix said in a bitter voice. “I of course didn’t know of her existence until I took over the Nicolasi Family just this last year. Secrets, as I said, are what I deal in. Luca Nicolasi was one of the most well known bosses in the five families, and he left everything to me, but he did business in secrets, he has so many people by the balls, people you wouldn’t even—” He stood abruptly. “He has what I call Black Folders on hundreds of individuals.”

Phoenix walked over to black messenger bag and pulled out a sleek black folder, then dropped it right on the table next to my wine. It wasn’t very thick, the folder, but it was daunting, almost like opening it would unlock things I wasn’t sure should be known.

“Truth, always comes out.” Phoenix towered over me. He was lithe, muscular, intimidating, and dark, so very dark. “One of the greatest lies you will ever believe is that you can sin in silence and get away with it. Because most of the time silence is the loudest, it demands to be known, to be heard.” He sighed and leaned down opening the first page of the folder.

I leaned over, my heart slamming against my chest.

It was a picture of me.

And beneath it was a name.

Maya De Lange.

It was me, but there was a different name. I knew my father wasn’t really my father, but… that would mean. I glanced up at Phoenix. “You’re my brother?”

He winced, as if the word held nothing but pain for him.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I don’t…” My eyes felt blurry, my body heavy.

“Lay down.” He instructed in a soft voice. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

“I have a terrifying brother,” I muttered as my mouth filled with cotton, a whooshing sound caused me to close my eyes.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he chuckled.

The last thing I registered before my body gave in to the darkness.

I blinked my eyes and winced as a man I’d only seen once had a flashlight pointed in my eyes. I pushed his arm away as tears filled my vision.

“Russians don’t cry.” He said it with a small smile and then tilted his head to the side. “Are you okay, Maya?”

“Yeah.” I pressed my hands to my temples as Sergio slowly helped me to a sitting position in the couch. “Where’s Phoenix?”

“Here.” Phoenix said from somewhere behind me, soon he appeared next to Sergio with coffee. “I added whiskey.”

I pressed my lips together in a smile. “Smart man.”

“My wife thinks so. That’s all that matters.” Phoenix’s voice was still gruff, he and Sergio shared a look.

“She’s fine.” Sergio stood. “Just a little… stressed.”

“No shit.” Phoenix muttered. “I still can’t believe you’re here, why are you here?”

“I felt left out.” Sergio shrugged. “And it’s time.”

Phoenix swallowed, looked away, then slapped Sergio on the arm just as the door to my apartment burst open revealing a bleeding Nikolai and Italians.

“Not on the couch!” Chase shouted. “It’s white!”

“Who the hell cares?” Tex fired back. “Dead is dead! Save the couch or save the Russian?”

They all paused, like actually paused as if they were contemplating keeping the white couch pristine.

“What!” I shrieked, as Nikolai nearly collapsed against the floor.

“Sorry.” Nixon grabbed Nikolai. “Old habits and all that.”

“Damn it, let me sit!” Nikolai yelled, his face was bloody, his mouth swollen.

I lunged for him, but Sergio grabbed my arm. “Let me patch him up first, stop the bleeding and give him something for the pain.”

“But—”

“Maya.” Sergio shook his head once. “He knows. Believe me. And out of all these schmucks I’m the only one who actually has any medical knowledge that won’t end up making Nikolai look like Frankenstein.”

“Ha ha.” Chase winked in my direction. “Tell me it wouldn’t be hilarious if we had to start calling him that?”

Nikolai muttered a string of curses then tried to lean against the counter as blood dripped from a wound on his arm.

“I can walk.” He grumbled half shoving half stumbling past the counter top and nearly falling into Sergio’s arms in a brave effort to avoid the white couch.

Our eyes locked.

I knew why he would avoid it.

Because the blood on white made him sick—it was his thing, we all had them, and it hit me, in that moment, that maybe he was just as traumatized over our joint past as I was.

“Here.” I quickly moved to his side and helped Sergio take him into the bedroom—my bedroom. It’s where he belonged, with me, on my bed. Once he was positioned over the bed, I grabbed one of the red Afghans from the chair and tossed it over the white duvet in an effort to make sure he didn’t see his own blood on the white—I didn’t want to add emotional stress to his already physically stressed state.

“Sergio.” Nikolai said his name like an angry curse. “Why the hell do I have six Italians in my home?”

“Seven.” Sergio said in a bored tone just as Phoenix walked into the room with a large boxy briefcase, handed it to him and walked out. “Technically there are seven of us. Eight if you count Maya.” He winked.

“Phoenix told you.” Nikolai’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I was not here for you during that time.”

“That’s okay.” I sat next to him on the bed and held his bloody hand. “You were too busy getting beat up.”

“And by the looks of it.” Sergio tore the rest of Nikolai’s shirt with his hands. “Shot at.”

“What!” I shrieked, grasping Nik’s hand with more intensity than necessary.

“I’m fine,” he assured me. “It went clean through.”

“What the hell?” Sergio leaned down to examine the wound I guessed, then cursed again. “How did a simple bullet wound tear?”

“They beat the shit out of me and I tried to fight back. How else do you think it tore open?”

Sergio ignored him and placed the box on the floor, opened it, and pulled out a syringe.

My eyes widened, maybe too much because Sergio smirked in my direction. “Don’t worry I’m not killing him, just giving him a nice dose of morphine that should make him dream of unicorns and shit.”

“I don’t need morphine,” Nik grumbled as sweat started pouring down his temples.

I nodded to Sergio. “Give it to him.”

“Maya I don’t need—” He hissed as Sergio jabbed a needle into the inside of Nik’s elbow. “I hate drugs.”

“Always good when a doctor that invented his own special drugs actually hates them. That way you won’t ever become an addict,” Sergio said helpfully. “Now, you were only shot once, but I’m thinking…” His hands moved to Nik’s chest and ran down. “Two broken ribs?”

Nik was silent and then, “One black eye, three broken ribs on my right side, possible internal bleeding, a pissed off kidney, and a giant gaping wound where I got shot. That’s it. See?” He tried to get up, but fell back onto the bed and wheezed out. “I’m fine.”

“Doctors are always the worst patients.” Sergio grabbed another needle and jabbed it into Nik’s neck, within seconds he was slumping back and then sleeping.

“What did you give him?” I asked in a panicked voice. I was surrounded by Italian mafia, and as much as I wanted to trust them, because Nik did, because my sister had, I was still apprehensive. There were seven of them, seven huge terrifying men in my apartment. What if they decided we weren’t worth it? It’s not like I wasn’t aware of what Nikolai did now, or what my father had done to them, to Andi.

“Hey,” Sergio drew my attention back to him. “Why don’t you help me wash off the blood so I can see where he needs to stitch?”

“He?”

“I highly doubt a surgeon as talented as Nikolai is going to want someone who dropped out of his fourth year of med school sewing him up. Besides, I’m hoping it doesn’t look as bad once we get him cleaned up.”