“Kindness is not a weakness, kid. Don’t let life take it from you.”

Gus

 Jennifer

The moment we arrive at the house, we drop the groceries on the kitchen island. He’s been silent since the store and carried the heavy bags.

"How did it go?" Rem appears beside me with a grin. I take a step to the side.

"I’ll be right back," I excuse myself and head to my room.

I lock the door behind me, shrug off the coat, and slide into Sam’s old sweatpants and hoodie, worn and soft from years of use. I take a deep breath. What a long morning.

Something still claws at the back of my mind. Nothing seems out of place. They wouldn’t enter here while I was out… right?

I walk over to my desk and stare at the right drawer. I open it. I need to check.

My gun is still there, in the exact same position. I lift it, check the chamber… it’s still loaded. Good.

I slide it back in carefully, same angle, same alignment, and send a text to my assistant to tell her I'm going to take a week off… I still don’t know what I’m getting into.

Then I create a new user account on my laptop so they won’t have to use mine, and head back outside.

Rem and Enzo are talking. Enzo’s back is to me.

“Do you know someone named Gus? He owns the workshop downtown,” Enzo asks.

Rem answers with a sly smile.

“Yes. Well… he was well known back in his days. He’s respected. Has a lot of contacts. Used to work for the Russo family.” Rem’s eyes drift toward me. “Seems like we have to be nice to our host—or in your case, at least civilized,” he adds, winking at me. Ugh.

Enzo mutters something without even turning around. Rem chuckles, not the least bit sorry.

I pass by them without a word, place the laptop on the kitchen island for them to use, and begin unpacking the groceries, pulling out the ingredients I’ll need now.

Rem deliberately settles at the other end of the counter, right in front of me.

“How do you know a man like Gus, darling?” That flirtatious tone again.

“Coincidence.” I don’t elaborate.

“I guess you met Salvatore thanks to him,” he continues.

“No.” His eyes widen slightly.

“How so?” His tone is curious now.

“Another coincidence.” He narrows his eyes slightly, unconvinced. He’s collecting information. But it’s true. I didn’t know they knew each other. I’ve learned not to ask Gus about his past. The price of information is too high. I’d rather stay ignorant.

My phone vibrates with a message. I read it out loud.

“Sal says, ‘Dress properly.’”

I glance at Enzo.

“I know,” he replies, looking at me for a second too long before turning his attention back to Rem.

“Where’s Mark?” Enzo asks.

“Taking care of Jace’s wound.” I focus on cooking, trying not to cringe when I hear my voice singing in the background of the video playing on the laptop.

After a few torturous minutes, they find what they’re looking for.

“She was right. Polish. But I can’t recall their faces. No one important here,” Rem says casually, clearly choosing his words with care, not wanting to share too much in front of me.

“Fuck,” Enzo mutters.

Rem stretches and starts wandering around the space again. For some reason, the paintings catch his eyes like he’s trying to see the secrets behind them.

I shake the thought and focus on the food. I quickly finish preparing the stew and place a full bowl in front of Enzo. He frowns at the sight of the brown and smelly content.

“What is this?” he asks, clearly disgusted.

“For your friend upstairs. Liver stew. For the blood loss.” He looks even more confused.

“Why?”

“You want him to recover, right?” I ask, voice flat.

“Yes,” he says slowly, then, “But why?” Again.

“You have some kind of contusion? I just want to help. You’re probably not familiar with the term?”

His tone shifts, wary, almost menacing.

“What do you want from him?” Oh, I get it now. I think he’s the kind who protects his own.

“How cynical,” I huff. “I don’t have ulterior motives toward him,” I reassure. “While all of you stay here, I’ll offer you my food and hospitality. You’re free to take them or you’re free to leave.”

He stares at me with those storm-colored eyes, trying to read me like a puzzle missing too many pieces. But I don’t blink and place the spoon next to the bowl.

His jaw tenses, but he finally takes it and goes upstairs.

I’ll take it as another win. I can’t help but smile.

Enzo

I head upstairs with a hot bowl of stew in one hand to check on Jace.
Mark is leaving the room.
“How is he?” I ask as he passes.
“Good,” he says with a nod, then heads downstairs.

I open the door. Jace is standing by the window, still pale. He winces when he turns to look at me, and I feel it too. But he’s strong. I know he is.
“You should eat this.” I place the bowl on the table beside the bed.

He steps closer, sniffs the air, and grimaces.
“Liver,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow.
“No, I didn’t cook it,” I add. “Jennifer did.”

He looks at the bowl again with a cautious, skeptical stare, then barely shakes his head.
“I don’t want it,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse.
“But if you want to recover, you’ll need to eat. You look like shit.”

His stomach growls, loud enough to echo. He flinches. His eyes flick back to the bowl, then to me.
He hesitates… but then sits on the edge of the bed, grabs the spoon, and starts eating.
Slow at first. Careful. Then he devours the whole thing without looking up.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Leaving him to rest, I head downstairs. I need to send Mark to buy me a suit.

As I reach the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of Jennifer—still cooking, sleeves rolled up. Her movements are sharp, precise. The smell of spices fills the space. There’s something nostalgic about it. She doesn’t look up. But I know she knows I’m there.

I find Mark on the couch, devouring a bowl of that same strong-smelling stew.
I give him instructions to get me a suit for tonight.

My eyes drift to what he’s wearing. The Harley shirt is too tight on him, so I remind him to grab clothes for himself and Jace too.
Naturally, Rem strolls over and adds his own instructions.