Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

I stared out of the window, my mind still reeling from Zotov’s revelation, trying to think it over logically.

The manicured lawn of La Dimora stretched out before me, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding inside.

My father hated me enough to put a contract out on me. It made sense. I’d always known, ever since my mother killed herself, it would come to this. Him or me.

But this was how he wanted to go about it? And if Zotov’s information was true, he wasn’t only targeting me; it was all of us. What was his end goal?

If he killed all of his children, who would take over Salvini Global Enterprises? Who would take over as the capo of the Salvini family?

What would happen to his legacy? Shouldn’t he be more concerned about that?

My jaw clenched as I thought about all the times I’d swallowed my anger and resentment for the sake of family unity. What a fucking fool I’d been .

A fool who’d thought that finally, everything I’d worked so hard for would come to fruition.

The door opened, and I turned, ignored Dom and my brothers staring at me, and watched Hawk enter.

He gave me a single, sharp nod.

My stomach tightened. If Hawk’s sources confirmed Zotov’s story, then this shit might be real.

I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on my shoulders. I’d always felt responsible for my siblings, but I never thought Father would extend our fight to include all of them, to threaten all of them.

Did he think using them, threatening them would weaken my resolve and my position?

I suppressed a sigh. He knew my weak spot and had gone for it. Of course, he would.

But I couldn’t just take Zotov’s word for it, no matter how much Hawk trusted his sources. I needed to verify this information myself.

“Go talk to Marco Bianchi, and bring me everything we have on Father’s recent movements,” I said to Hero, my voice low and controlled. “Phone records, financial transactions, everything. And I want eyes on him 24/7.”

Hero nodded, his face grim. “Already on it.”

As he turned to leave, I called out, “Hero?”

He stopped and turned back around.

I raised my voice so that everybody in the room could hear me clearly. “Not a word of this to anyone outside these walls. Understood? ”

“Crystal clear,” he replied before slipping out the door while the others nodded.

I turned back to the window, my mind racing. If this was true, if Father was truly behind all of this, then this meant war.

I’d be damned if I let him hurt the people I loved.

And I wanted to hear it from him.

I took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and steeled myself for the conversation ahead. With a steady hand, I dialed the number to Salvini Global Enterprises—and my father’s extension—the familiar digits feeling like a countdown to confrontation.

The line rang once, twice, before his gruff voice answered. “What?”

“Father,” I replied, my tone carefully neutral. I could feel all the people in the room staring at me. Was it too bold a move to directly confront him, to have him tell me? “I’ve heard a very interesting bit of information today.”

A pause, then a dry chuckle. “You did? Well, there’s a lot of fake news out there, Son.”

I cut to the chase. “Did you put a contract out on me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. I could almost see him sitting in his leather chair, a glass of Scotch in hand, weighing his words.

“And if I did?” he finally said, his voice cold and challenging.

My grip on the phone tightened. “So it’s true then?”

“You sound surprised, Vincenzo. Did you really think you could challenge me and get away with it?” He cackled, and it sounded borderline creepy. “You’re not fit to lead. ”

I fought to keep my voice steady. “What’s your endgame?”

He laughed, that harsh, grating, maniacal sound that still sent chills down my spine. “My endgame? To remind you of your place. You can never beat me, Vincenzo. You’re still that weak little boy crying over your mother’s corpse.”

The words stung, but I refused to let him see how deeply the mentioning of my mother’s death cut. He was the one responsible, so how dare he even mention her? “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” he spat. “I tried to make you strong, but you’ve always been too soft. Too sentimental. Weak. You might’ve managed to con everyone else. But not me. You’re not fit to follow in my footsteps. You’re like a cancer, weakening this family.”

I took a deep breath, centering myself. “Great. See you,” I said and ended the call.

My father thought I was weak?

I had been…a long time ago. But he’d beaten the weakness out of me. He’d never managed to make me as self-centered, as bloodthirsty, as unhinged as him.

That was the difference between us.

That would forever be the difference between us.

I turned to face Zotov, my eyes narrowed as I studied him. Despite the information he’d just shared, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was playing some kind of angle.

Trust wasn’t something I gave away freely, especially not to someone like him.

“Don’t move an inch,” I ordered, my voice low and dangerous. I glanced at Michele, giving him a sharp nod. “If he so much as twitches, put a bullet in him.”

Zotov’s lips curled into a smirk, but he remained still. Smart man.

I jerked my head toward the door, signaling to Dante, Matt, Dom, Alex, and Hawk. “You five, with me.”

As we filed into my office, the familiar scent of leather-bound books and aged whiskey enveloped me. This had been my grandfather’s library—the same as the one in the Staten Island mansion, and both still smelled the same. My nonna had loved to read. And Nonno loved her.

Simple as that.

For a fleeting moment, I was transported back to the other library, to Jemma’s soft lips and the warmth of her body pressed against mine. I shook my head and forced the memory away. This wasn’t the time for distractions, no matter how tempting. I’d forgotten for a moment, gotten lost in fantasies about the future when not even the present was guaranteed.

I needed to get my priorities straight, ASAP.

And Jemma was the #1 distraction.

The heavy oak door closed behind us with a soft click. I moved behind my desk, bracing my hands on its polished surface as I faced the men I trusted most in this world, then at Hawk. Gabe told me I could trust him, and until now, nothing suggested otherwise.

“Alright,” I said, my voice tight with tension. “Let’s figure out what the hell we’re going to do about this mess.”

I sat down and leaned back in my chair, surveying their faces. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, but I could see the determination in their eyes. We were in this together.

Hawk spoke first, his voice steady. “If you can get enough of the high-ups on your side, you could take over Salvini Global Enterprises. Your father would have no choice but to step down.”

I nodded, considering his words. Of course, Hawk would suggest a clean version of how this could go. “He would need to step down, but he wouldn’t back down. Losing is not in his vocabulary. And he’s not really…mentally stable.”

Hawk sighed.

His expression was probably the same as mine. My father wouldn’t back down, no matter what, but if I could strip him of his influence and power, that would at least help. “But it’s a good first step,” I said, acknowledging his plan. “I need you to find out more about those other two teams my father hired. And keep digging into who’s behind this ongoing hack. Do you have enough people to cover all that?”

Hawk nodded. “We’ll manage.”

Dante leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “It’d be easier to talk to the higher-ups in the organization face to face. Get a read on where their loyalties lie.”

“Too dangerous,” Dom interjected, shaking his head. “Going back to the city now would be suicide.” My gaze met Dom’s. Of course, he was the one I could count on to have my well-being in mind. Our banter might be flirty, and he might be all soft at times, but he was an iron fist in a velvet glove.

Matt’s eyes lit up. “So we bring them here. Our turf, our security, our rules. ”

I drummed my fingers on the desk. “We’d need a damn good reason to gather everyone on such short notice. Especially in times like this and without raising too much suspicion.”

Alex grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Your wedding would be an excellent reason.”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me. I mulled over the idea, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread settle in my gut.

I hesitated, my fingers drumming on the desk. The idea of using our wedding as a cover left a bitter taste in my mouth. I should keep Jemma as far away from me as possible, not make her an even bigger target.

Not only that but I didn’t mean for our wedding to be a spectacle, a means to an end. Somehow, as crazy as it sounded, I wanted it to be about Jemma and me, an intimate celebration of our commitment to each other. A coming together of the Salvinis and the Donnellys, with only closest friends and family in attendance. Or would she have wanted to make it a big thing?

I’d never really thought about it, and of course, we hadn’t talked about it. There was so much we hadn’t yet talked about. But she, for sure, wouldn’t have wanted it to be this—some elaborate scheme in this war.

But as I looked around at the expectant faces of the men in the room, I knew they were right. This was our best shot at gathering everyone, on quick notice, without raising suspicion. And it would be as safe as possible. It was usually seen as bad form to bring weapons to a wedding. So, it wouldn’t attract attention if we enforced this unwritten rule.

And if it meant protecting Jemma and keeping my family safe in the future, I’d do whatever it took .

I let out a heavy sigh. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, but I could still feel the unspoken concerns of what we were about to undertake.

It would be a big thing. A lot of exposure…and not at all what my father would expect.

I reached for the house phone, my mind already racing with plans and contingencies. I caught Dante’s eye. “Start making calls. We need to move fast on this. Three days?”

He nodded, already pulling out his cell phone.

“Matt, help Michele coordinate security. We need a bulletproof concept and emphasize the ‘leave your weapons at home if you don’t want to start a war’ rule.”

The line connected. “Bring Jemma to my office. Now,” I said, my tone of voice unnecessarily terse.

I needed to tell Marianna, as well. It wouldn’t be easy to plan an event like this on such short notice. “Matt, can you brief Marianna?” I said, and Matt nodded and left.

I hung up and leaned back in my chair, waiting. My stomach tensed at the thought of seeing her, of telling her our plans. How would she react? Would she understand the necessity of what we were about to do? Or would she get all sarcastic on me and tell me to fuck off?

“Are you sure about this?” Dom asked.

I looked up and met his concerned gaze. Dom had been my voice of reason for years. He knew me better than anyone, even my brothers. He also was the one always to question my decisions—even when others wouldn’t dare. It was one of the reasons I valued him and his friendship so much .

“Am I sure?” I echoed, a humorless chuckle escaping my lips. “No, Dom. I’m not sure of anything right now. But what choice do I have?”

I stood up, pacing behind my desk. The familiar scent of leather and old books, which usually calmed me, now felt suffocating.

“My father wants me dead. He wants all of us dead,” I continued, my voice low and tight. “I can’t sit back and wait for him to make another move.”

Dom nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I get that. But a wedding, Vince? That’s a big step.”

I paused and realized he didn’t know—I hadn’t introduced Jemma to my best friend. Hell, we’d only just started our relationship. But then, I thought of Jemma’s fierce determination, the way she stood up to me—even to her own father, and the feeling of her in my arms. I thought of how desperately I wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the storm that was coming.

She wouldn’t be safe by my side. Not safe at all. On the contrary. I needed to create some distance, needed her to be as far away from me as possible—which did not go together with marrying her. Fuck.

I needed the wedding, and then I needed her to go into hiding until the situation was back under control—something she would never do voluntarily.

Ordering her to do it wouldn’t work either, not with her crazy-ass habit of doing the exact opposite of what she was told to do. So that left only one solution: I needed her to believe I didn’t want her anymore—only after the wedding.

“I’m sure,” I said finally, my resolve strengthening. I’d practiced hiding my true feelings all my life—to the point where I sometimes wondered if that cold and dangerous man was me and the other parts were just remnants of the past. I just needed to show her that side of me. Convince her of it.

I sat down again and exhaled.

Dom held my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Alright,” he said. “If you’re sure, then I’m with you. All the way.” And that was our friendship in a nutshell.

I’m with you. All the way. No matter how stupid your plan is.

The sound of the knock on the door made me sit up straighter. This was it. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Jemma stepped in. One look at her face, and I knew she was not okay. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders slumped.

Guilt hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d been so focused on the threat, on planning our next move, that I’d completely disregarded her feelings.

Hadn’t even considered them.

“Everyone out,” I ordered, not taking my eyes off her as I got up.

How could I pretend not to care about her when all I wanted to do was pull her into my lap, wrap my arms around her, and tell her I was sorry?

As the room cleared, I held out my hand to her. “Come here.”

She hesitated for a moment before she crossed the room and stopped right in front of me.

“I should have checked on you earlier. How are you holding up? ”

She shrugged, but I could feel the tension in her body. “I’m okay.”

I took a deep breath, knowing that what I had to say next would make things no easier. “We need to talk about the wedding,” I started.

She stiffened. “Now? Are you mad? We have bigger problems right now…like survival.”

I grinned; there she was, my feisty little punk, telling me how it was. “We will have a big wedding in three days. It’s the best way to gather all the important men in the organization and neutralize my father.” I watched her face carefully for any reaction.

She nodded along, her expression neutral. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Her easy agreement should have been a relief, but instead, it felt all wrong. This wasn’t the fiery, argumentative punk I’d come to know and love.

I wanted to cup her face, force her to meet my eyes, tell her it was not okay. I wanted her to fight me, to demand what she wanted, what she needed.

But it was easier this way—easier to create distance, easier to send her away, easier to keep her safe.

And then, she raised her hand and cupped my cheek. “It’s okay,” she said.

I turned my head, dislodged her hand.

She narrowed her eyes, and the surprise in them slowly transformed into hurt, then anger. She took a step back.

Good .

This was what needed to happen. Distance meant safety. And as soon as this wedding was over, I needed her as far away from me as possible. “Go get prepared,” I said, turned back, and sat down behind my desk, dismissing her. “I’ve got work to do, and I can’t have any distractions.”

I didn’t look up when the door opened, didn’t look up when it closed again with a click. But the finality of the sound settled into my chest. As if it was the sound of the door to my heart, which had been opened briefly, being shut again.