Page 68

I exhale slowly, fingers drumming against the table’s polished surface. Giacomo is growing bolder, but he’s still underestimating me. A mistake he won’t live long enough tomake twice. But when I am to strike, I need to make sure that the hit is hard and it goes for the kill.

“The other families?” I ask, my tone even, though my patience is running thin.

Valerio’s jaw tightens. “They’re hesitant. Some are waiting to see which way the wind blows before they pledge their loyalty. As you know, boss, many of our allies are simply that because they fear retaliation from you.”

Cowards. Just like when we attended that gala. They were all nothing but a bunch of serpents and sheep. They have no real backbone of their own.

I lean back in my chair, my gaze sweeping the room. These men have killed for me, bled for me, sworn their allegiance in the kind of oath that can only be broken by death. And yet, even among my own, I see flickers of unease.

“Send a message,” I say finally, my voice quiet but firm. “One he won’t ignore. I am not the kind of man who does not return a punch when it’s launched at his face. Blood for blood—that is our way.”

Valerio nods, but before he can press further, Dario, one of my captains, clears his throat. “There’s another issue, boss. The Chinese want to discuss an arms deal out on the West Coast. It could secure a steady supply line for us, but they want to meet face-to-face.”

I rub my temples, weighing my options. The Chinese syndicates don’t trust easily. If they’re extending a hand, it’s because they think there’s an opportunity to be had. And in the midst of a war, I need every advantage I can get.

“Set it up,” I say. “We leave tonight.”

Valerio nods, but I can see the unspoken question in his eyes. He doesn’t need to say it—I already know what he’s thinking: Are you sure you should be leaving now?

The man knows me too well and it annoys the fuck out of me.

I should be focused on war, on strategy, on the crumbling balance of power in my world. But instead, my mind keeps drifting—to her.

Maria.

Something shifted between us. There is a softness in my chest now when I think of her. Before, all I saw was my obligation. But now, I see her differently. And for the first time, she didn’t look at me with this mixture of intrigue and fear. Instead, she looked at me with… warmth. The same kind of warmth I have seen her exude so easily to others but rarely to me.

I can’t afford to want her. I still need to tread lightly when it comes to her. Besides, if she ever finds out the truth of why this marriage even happened in the first place, she will likely never forgive me.

I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. “I’ll be back before the week is out,” I say, already moving toward the door. “With Giacomo’s next move unknown, I need to gather as many friends as possible. Bolster security and make sure every major area is watched with hawk-like precision. We do not give him another chance to hit us again. Dismissed.” I stand to my feet. “Valerio, get the jet ready for me. I need to be out within the hour. I just need to go home first.”

By the time I get home, the weight of the meeting still presses heavily on my shoulders. The war brewing with Giacomo, the uncertainty among the families, the deal waiting for me on the West Coast—it should all be my focus.

But as I step inside the house, my thoughts drift elsewhere.

To her.

The house is quiet, save for the faint murmur of a voice coming from down the hall. I don’t need to listen closely to recognize it: Maria. I follow the sound, my steps slow anddeliberate. The door to her room is slightly ajar, and I pause just outside, unseen.

She’s on the phone, speaking in low, measured tones. There’s a softness in her voice I don’t often hear. A longing of sorts.

“I miss home,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “I miss everything about it. The warmth, the familiarity… the way things used to be. America—New York, specifically—is a huge adjustment for me. The food, the people, the culture.”

I lean against the wall, my eyes closed, listening to the longing in Maria’s voice. It’s a side of her I rarely see, this vulnerability that she keeps hidden behind a mask of quiet dignity. The pang in my chest deepens, mingling with an unfamiliar sense of guilt.

“No, Mamá, I’m fine. Really,” she says, her voice wavering slightly. “Matteo is… he’s been kind. In his own way.”

I flinch at the hesitation in her words. Kind. Is that what she sees when she looks at me? A man who’s merely kind? Or is she simply trying to reassure her mother, to paint a picture of a life less complicated than the reality she faces every day?

“The gala went well,” she continues, a forced brightness in her tone. “Everyone was very welcoming.”

More lies.

“My role here, it’s… complex.”

Complex. What a delicate way to describe the web of violence, power, and deceit she’s found herself entangled in. I want to push open the door, to tell her she doesn’t have to pretend. But I remain still, listening.

She’s homesick. I hear it in the way her voice falters, the way she softens just at the mention of home. It should’ve been obvious, but I was too absorbed in my own world to see it. Now, the realization sits heavy in my chest, like a stone I can’t swallow. I’ve taken her away from everything she’s ever known, droppedher into my world of blood and shadows, and expected her to adapt.