The Don Slept With His Sister-in-Law

Adair—three months after you died, my life followed you into the grave.

“Kelly will be here at midnight.”

Adair didn't turn around. His right hand flicked back—

the Beretta he always used skimmed the edge of my coat and slammed onto the black stone top of the entry cabinet with a hard *bang*.

He unfastened his overcoat without a trace of emotion, as if he were settling a debt. “It's not safe on her end. Until she finds a new place, she's staying here.”

The dull thud of the door behind him sounded exactly like my heart stopping.

Kelly—his brother Luca's widow. The woman he'd been with every single day for the past three months.

I stopped in the foyer.

“This is our home,” I said. My throat was desert-dry. “Not a safe house.”

Adair turned. A thin layer of impatience pressed down in his eyes. “She was Luca's. Luca's gone. I have a responsibility to her. Do you seriously not have even that much room in you?”

“That still doesn't include letting her sleep here.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “You know that crosses the line, Adair.”

“Crosses the line?” His mouth twitched—almost a smile, not quite. “In this house, what I say is the line.” He took a step closer, his shadow dropping over me. “Or is it that you just can't stand her? Luca's barely cold and you're already rushing to play lady of the house?”

“Is it me?” I didn't back up. I met his gaze head-on. “Last Christmas—the one who crawled into your arms after getting ‘drunk.' Was that me?”

His jaw snapped tight, the line of it hardening. His eyes went cold. “Watch what you say, Caterina. That was a misunderstanding. You know what happens when you slander a member of the family.”

His eyes looked like they were protecting something priceless.

I didn't know what that was.

I only knew that next to his “family responsibility,” what I felt didn't even register.

“So you've already decided.” It came out quieter than I intended.

His knitted brows met my exhausted eyes.

Silence crept up like ice water around my ankles.

After a few seconds, he spoke, each word hard as stone. “One a.m. The car will bring her.” Then he snatched the gun off the cabinet and turned toward the stairs leading to his study.

I stood there, listening to his boot heels strike the wooden steps—once, once, once—until the sound disappeared.

At 1:10, the door slid open again.

Cold, wet night wind rolled in. He was first through, mist clinging to his shoulders. Kelly followed, wrapped in an oversized black men's coat, her face white as paper.

She lifted her head. Her unfocused gaze drifted—and the instant it landed on his face, she shuddered violently, her lips trembling.

“Luca…? Is that you? You're back… I knew you'd come back…”

The dish towel in my hand clenched tight. That name fell into the thick carpet like a dud round—no echo, just all the air in the room locking solid.

He moved at once, letting her grip his arm. His voice dropped into a strange softness. “Kelly. Look properly. It's me. Adair.”

She froze. Tears suddenly spilled, and her icy fingers fisted in his shirtfront. “I'm sorry… I saw wrong again… he's everywhere… I can't take it…”

“Alright. It's okay.” He didn't pry her off. Instead he patted her back with his other hand, then turned his head—his gaze skimming over me. “Go make something hot.”

I went into the kitchen. When I came back with a mug, he'd already helped her onto the sofa. The big coat had slid to the floor. He was down on one knee, lifting the herbal tea from the coffee table and holding it to her lips.

“Drink a little. It'll calm you down.” Still soft.

She took a few sips, then started coughing hard, folding forward until her forehead pressed into his shoulder. He stiffened—then didn't move.

“I'm still scared…” she sobbed, her voice muffled in his clothes. “What if they come for me? Am I… never going to have a peaceful day again?”

“They won't.” His tone left no room for argument. “As long as I'm here, no one touches you.”

The whole scene was warm in the way a terrible drama tries to be warm.

I set the mug down. Porcelain kissed glass—*ting*, bright and sharp. Only then did he look up at me. The softness vanished in an instant, back to the usual flat calm. “Hot milk? Give it to her.”

Kelly looked at me with wet lashes and forced out a smile. “Thank you… Caterina. I'm so sorry to cause you so much trouble… I won't stay long…”

“Stay here and don't worry about it.” He cut her off. “This is your home.”

The words were for her. His eyes were on me—cold warning.

An order from the Don.

I held his gaze, perfectly calm.

Then Kelly lifted her face, tears still clinging to her lashes, and her voice floated over like thread.

“Caterina… can I… can I ask you something?”

I looked at her.

“I have nightmares every night…” Her voice began to shake; tears welled again. “It's always that night… blood… I—I can't sleep alone…” She turned to Adair, fingers closing around his arm. “Could you… could you sit in my room for a while? Not long, just ten minutes… just… someone next to me…”

The air congealed.

Adair frowned and glanced at me first. His look was complicated—hesitation in it, briefly—then it was covered over by a decision that said *this has to happen*. He turned his hand and gripped Kelly's wrist, lowering his voice, but not enough to hide it. “Okay. I'll stay. I'll leave after you fall asleep.”

I heard my own voice—dry, brittle. “That's not appropriate.”

“She just lost her husband!” Adair's pitch jumped, then forced itself back down, like he was biting his temper back. “She's on the verge of a breakdown. I'm just sitting there. What's the harm? Can you stop making everything filthy in your head?”

“Is this about filthy?” I stared at him. “You're my husband. Not hers—”

“I am!” he cut in, fast. “I'm Luca's brother! Taking care of his widow is my responsibility. There's nothing to discuss!”

“Nothing to discuss.” I repeated it, my throat tightening.

“Can you stop making a scene?” Weariness and impatience bled through his voice. “She's like this and you can't spare an ounce of compassion? You have to pick this moment to keep score?”

I didn't answer. He took my silence as consent. He pulled the wool throw from the rack, shook it open, and draped it over Kelly's shoulders—an ease to the movement that made my eyes sting. “Come on. I'll walk you back.”

He helped her up. She leaned into him so heavily she was almost hanging off him. As she passed me, she lifted her eyes and flicked me a glance—

no apology, no pleading—only a cold, satisfied calm.

I stood still and listened to their footsteps fade down the hall. Then the guest room door opened, then closed.

*Click.*

A light sound—the bolt sliding home.

I went back to the master bedroom and stood at the window. Outside was pitch-black. I stood there until my legs went numb. The bedroom door stayed open, light spilling into the empty hall.

Two a.m. The guest room door opened. Footsteps came out and paused in the hall for a few seconds.

Then another door opened. Another door closed.

I heard Kelly's voice, very soft, with a tear-thick edge: “Thank you for coming back, Lu…” She stopped, corrected herself. “Adair.”

Night poured in like freezing tidewater, rising past ankles, knees, chest.

I knew he wasn't coming back.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My father's name lit up the screen.

I didn't look. I killed the screen.

The grandfather clock in the living room struck three. The chime echoed through the empty house, once, once, once.

The phone buzzed again. My father's second message appeared: “Do you need me to step in?”

I thought: I already know the answer.