Page 42

“Possibly,” Giancarlo agrees. “Or the Russians. They’ve been unhappy with our new distribution channels cutting into their profit margins.”

Luca slams his fist on Antonio’s mahogany desk. “This isn’t random! This is sabotage from within.”

The room falls silent. Giancarlo raises an eyebrow at his son. “Explain.”

“It’s too convenient,” Luca says, his gaze sliding to me. “The shipment route was known to only seven people. Four of them were at the casino with me until two hours ago. One is you, Father, and one is Antonio.”

I can feel his accusation building like a pressure system before a tornado. I keep my face impassive, my posture relaxed, though every muscle in my body is coiled tight.

“That leaves Gravano,” Luca finishes, pointing at me. “Who conveniently can’t account for his whereabouts except for being ‘in his quarters’ here at the De Angelis estate—where he has direct access to Isadora and all the family’s security protocols.”

“I’ve been here all night,” I say calmly, meeting Luca’s furious glare. “Ask any of the security detail.”

“Security detail that reports to you!” Luca’s voice rises. “He’s been acting strange for days. Ever since he was assigned to Isadora.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through me that I carefully conceal. Does he suspect something about us? Has he seen the way I look at her when I think no one is watching?

“You allowed him into your home,” Luca continues, addressing Antonio now, though his words are meant for Giancarlo, too. “A Calviño enforcer given full access to your daughter and your security protocols. And now, coincidentally, our most important shipment disappears.”

Antonio’s gaze fixes on me, measuring, calculating. I’ve gained his trust over the past days through careful professionalism, but suspicion comes easily to men in his position.

“My daughter’s safety is paramount. We all know her worth.” Antonio says carefully. “Giancarlo vouched for his loyalty.”

“Isadora is not an asset to be protected,” I say before I can stop myself, the words coming out sharper than intended. “She’s a person deserving of respect.”

Luca’s head snaps toward me, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

I recover quickly. “Miss De Angelis is a person. Your future wife. Not cargo to be assigned a value.”

“You see?” Luca turns triumphantly to his father. “He’s forgetting his place. He’s been different since meeting her.”

Antonio, who has been silently watching this exchange, tilts his head. “What are you suggesting, Luca?”

“I’m suggesting that perhaps Gravano has developed inappropriate feelings for my bride,” Luca says, the words dripping venom. “And that perhaps he’s attempting to sabotage our union by hitting this shipment.”

My hand instinctively moves toward my weapon, a motion I halt before it becomes obvious. One word from me and twenty years of planning collapse like a house of cards. One slip of control, and I lose everything.

“That’s quite an accusation,” Giancarlo says, his voice dangerously soft. “Especially against a man who has served our family with absolute loyalty for the past two decades.”

To my surprise, he moves to stand beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. The unexpected contact sends a cold shock through my system.

“Alessio Gravano has eliminated our enemies without question,” Giancarlo continues. “He has protected our interests across three continents. He has earned his place at this table.” His grip tightens. “And you, my son, are out of line.”

The defense—from the man who ordered my mother’s murder, who tried to have me killed as a boy—is so unexpected that for a moment, I feel disoriented. There’s approval in his touch, pride in his voice. Like a father defending his son.

Except I’m not his son. I’m Alessio Gravano, a loyal soldier. The irony burns like acid in my throat.

“You cannot be serious,” Luca splutters. “Father, you—”

“Enough.” Giancarlo’s voice cracks like a whip. “Antonio and I will handle this investigation. You will focus on the wedding. Four days, Luca. Four days until the De Angelis and Calviño families unite permanently.” He glances at Antonio. “Nothing will disrupt that. Correct?”

Antonio nods grimly. “Nothing.”

“And you,” Giancarlo turns to me, his amber eyes—the same shade as mine—assessing, calculating. “Continue your protection of Isadora. Double your efforts now. Whoever hit this shipment might target her next.”

I incline my head in acknowledgment, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Of course.”

Luca looks between his father and me, disbelief and rage warring on his face. “This is a mistake,” he seethes. “Mark my words.”