Page 27

I pace across my office, my polished shoes whispering against the marble, while Cassian stands by the window, phone pressed to his ear. His voice is calm, but I hear the strain in it. The weight of what we’ve set into motion is beginning to ripple outward.

He lowers the phone, turns to me. “Vittoria is livid.”

I don’t stop pacing.

“She says you’ve humiliated her family. Gustavo is still bruised. Monte’s father is threatening to pull the Adelaide routes in retaliation.”

I finally stop, facing him. “Let them.”

Cassian blinks, not hiding his surprise. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.” My voice is steady, cold, final.

He exhales slowly. “You’re really doing it.”

I nod once. “I’ve already done it.”

Cassian’s eyes narrow as he steps toward me. “You’re cutting Vittoria out.”

I stare back. “I am restoring what was always hers.”

“Fioretta.”

I nod again. “Fioretta.”

His brows draw together. “You’ve known for years. You were in on it before.”

“I was.” The words taste bitter. “But I was done the moment they hurt her. The night she jumped.”

The room falls quiet, heavy with the weight of those memories neither of us wants to voice aloud. He watches me carefully. He’s known me long enough to read what I don’t say.

“Monte’s father won’t take this lightly. Neither will the council.”

“I’m aware.” I walk behind my desk, pull open the thick drawer containing the family ledgers—ancient records that have governed Melbourne’s underworld for decades. “Which is why we move before they do.”

Cassian steps closer, scanning the documents. Ownership records. Asset registries. Estate deeds. Shipping routes. And most importantly: transfer of title.

I lay the final document flat on the desk.

Cassian stares at it. His eyes widen slightly. “You’re handing her the full Accardi share.”

“Yes.” My voice doesn’t waver. “My father’s empire was never truly mine.

Vittoria knew that when she arranged our marriage.

She thought she could control me by controlling Fioretta’s inheritance.

But Fioretta was always the rightful heir to Gaspare’s lines—and to my father’s bloodline.

” I pause. “I’m simply correcting the lie we all profited from. ”

Cassian shakes his head, almost smiling. “You’re burning everything.”

“I am.” I look at him sharply. “And I’ll rebuild it for her.”

His voice softens, almost fond. “For her.”

“For her.” My jaw tightens. “No more secrets. No more half-truths. I will tell her everything. From the beginning.”

Cassian chuckles under his breath, shaking his head again. “You’re out of your mind.”

I allow myself the smallest smile. “You’ve always said that.”

“And yet,” he sighs, folding his arms, “I’m still on your side.”

“Good.” I tap the document. “We start now.”

Cassian studies the transfer papers again. The full estate. The routes. The D’Angelis properties. The Accardi holdings.

“This will piss off the entire council. Vittoria won’t let this stand.”

“I’m not asking her permission.”

He nods slowly. “So what’s the plan?”

“We reintroduce Fioretta as the true sovereign heir. No longer as my wife, not as my shadow—as the one who carries both dynasties.”

Cassian whistles under his breath. “You want to seat her before the full assembly?”

“First, private audiences. Neutral houses. The older dons who still respect bloodlines and tradition. Then we escalate—formal summits, exclusive councils, and finally a full gathering. She stands beside me, not behind me.”

“You’ll trigger a war.”

“We’re already in one.”

Cassian smirks. “You’ll make enemies.”

“She already has them. Now they’ll see she has me.”

He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Reach out to the quiet houses—Bellanti, Romano, Costa. The old bloodlines. Secure their loyalty before Vittoria can spin her version.”

Cassian nods, already slipping into strategy mode. “And Monte’s father?”

“We’ll offer them Darwin’s southern routes instead of Adelaide. Diversify the lanes. If they refuse, we cut them off completely.”

Cassian sighs. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else since she came back.”

He pauses at the door, glancing back at me one last time. “For what it’s worth—this is the first time I’ve seen you fight for something that isn’t control.”

I exhale. “It’s not about control anymore.”

He nods, disappearing into the hall.

I sit behind the heavy desk, staring at the open ledger. Years of blood. Years of lies. All leading to this moment. For the first time, I choose her.

Fully.

I step into the hidden door behind my office bookshelf. The old latch clicks open, and I walk into the room lit by the dim glow of the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

I light the candle before the box and kneel, lowering my head. My voice breaks through the quiet.

“Mother, I never imagined I would stand here like this.”

The flame flickers as if answering me.

“You suffered so much because of him. Because of this life. And now here I am, repeating his sins while pretending I’m better.”

I inhale deeply, the scent of wax and old wood filling my lungs. My chest tightens, but I keep speaking.

“Fioretta... she was just a pawn, like you were once. Like I was. But I can’t lose her. I won’t let them take her from me too.”

The words catch in my throat for a moment. My voice drops lower, thick with quiet desperation.

“I am willing to do right by her this time. I love her. And this time, I will fight for her. Against anyone.”

I stare into my mother’s painted eyes, as though seeking her blessing. The heaviness eases, if only slightly.

I sit there for a while, breathing, letting the silence wrap around me. My mind drifts to what’s coming—the council meetings, Vittoria’s rage, the Families, the blood that may still be spilled.

But I’ve made my choice.

Finally, I rise and snuff out the candle. My fingers brush lightly over the box one last time before I leave, closing the hidden door behind me.

step out from the shadows of my mother’s shrine, the candlelight still flickering behind me. Her painted eyes follow me as I close the door softly. My steps feel lighter. For once, I feel like I am not lying to myself.

When I enter my bedroom, I freeze for a second.

There she is—Fioretta. Lying on my bed, wrapped lazily in the sheets like she belongs there. Like she always belonged there. Her long legs are folded, one arm behind her head, her hair loose and messy around her face. She’s watching me with that little smirk she’s perfected.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says with that sharp-edged playfulness, her voice soft but cutting through the air. “I missed you.”

I chuckle under my breath, sliding off my jacket. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

She shifts slightly, making space for me. I sit on the edge of the bed, and she slides closer, pressing her shoulder lightly against mine. The warmth of her skin seeps through my shirt, unsettling me in a way that’s far too familiar.

I lean back, resting against the headboard, and she follows, curling into my side like she’s done it a hundred times. My arm wraps around her instinctively, and for a moment neither of us says anything. Just her steady breathing. Her scent. The simple, terrifying comfort of having her this close.

Then she breaks the silence.

“Did you ever love me even a little bit?”

Her voice is quieter now, but there’s weight in it. Something raw. Something real.

I close my eyes for a beat, breathing her in. The question digs into my chest like a blade. She doesn’t know how much. How badly. How long. She doesn’t know I’ve loved her far before I was ever brave enough to admit it.

I turn my face toward hers, meeting her gaze. Those hazel eyes lock on mine, and they’re full of things unsaid.

“I’m horrible with words,” I murmur, my thumb brushing lightly along her jaw, “and worse with my actions. But I can show you.”

Her lips part, and for a second she’s utterly still, like she’s weighing whether to believe me. Then that guarded smile blooms on her face. A smile that belongs only to me.

Without a word, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

Not desperate like before. This time, it’s something else. Like we’re both trying to rewrite every bitter page we’ve already lived.

I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, my fingers tangling in her hair.

Her hand rises slowly, fingers ghosting along my chest, and I shiver beneath her touch.

She traces along the buttons of my shirt one by one, and patient, opening them with an almost teasing slowness.

The fabric falls open, exposing my skin to the cool air of the room.

My breath catches when her fingertips slide over my bare chest, drawing lazy circles, her nails barely grazing me as goosebumps ripple across my skin.

And then—God—her tongue.

She leans up, her lips brushing softly across my sternum, and drags her tongue down the center of my chest, leaving a wet trail that sends a surge of heat directly to my groin.

My breathing hitches again, sharper this time, and I feel my abs tense beneath the heat of her mouth.

The cool air kisses the dampness she leaves behind, only heightening every sensation.

She tilts her head up, locking eyes with me as she presses her lips back to mine.

This time, the kiss is deeper. Her tongue slides into my mouth, and I feel her exhale into me—warm, heady, intoxicating.

My entire body throbs with need, every muscle tight with restraint as I fight the instinct to take control.

Her hands slide down to my belt, working it open with practiced ease, and she tugs my pants down my hips.

My cock springs free, already hard, aching, the cool air licking over the sensitive skin.

I groan low in my throat, my breathing sharp as I feel her fingers wrap gently around the base, her touch both soothing and torturous at once.