Page 138 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

"You think this is survival?" I ask. "Being a wife in a house where every door locks from the outside? Watching my girls sleep with guards posted down the hall?"

"I think survival looks different depending on who is holding the knife," he says. "And I’ve always made sure yours stayed sharp."

The silence that follows is thicker than before.

I cannot tell if I am more afraid of what he’s saying, or the part of me that still wants to believe he means it.

He goes on.

"I activated Operation Umber not to burn this house down, but to build something underneath it. Quietly. Slowly. Without the eyes of men like Luca or the chains of Valentina. You weren’t supposed to find the trail yet. But now that you have..."

He pauses, lets the weight of the moment settle.

"You have a choice."

My hand begins to shake.

I press my thumb into the soft flesh of my palm until the sting clears my head.

"What choice," I ask.

"You can tell them," he says. "You can warn Dante, let him strike first. Let him drag us into a war that will stain this city for a generation. Or..."

"Or?"

"You can help me," he says, and his voice shifts, softens. "You can hold the door open long enough for me to finish this. There’s one more move left. One more consolidation. After that, no more secrets. No more shadows. You will not have to kneel to Valentina or answer to Luca. You will not be someone’s wife, someone’s pawn, someone’s debt to be repaid. You will be a Rossi. And your daughters..."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Your daughters will grow up with their names spoken like titles, not afterthoughts. They will not marry into power. They willbepower."

My throat is tight.

I cannot breathe past it.

"And Dante?" I ask.

"You already know he won’t survive this," Rafa says quietly. "But I can make sure it happens cleanly. No blood at your feet. No screams in the night. A transfer. An accident. Something soft."

I feel the world tilt.

"I love him," I whisper.

"I know," Rafa says. "And I know what it costs you to admit it. But you’ve loved before. You will again. Love is not a crown, sorella. Power is."

"Where are you, Rafa?"

He laughs gently.

"Oh, my dear, sweet sister. I wish I could tell you."

The call ends before I can say anything else, leaving behind a silence afterward that is louder than his voice.

It pulses in my ears, a high-pitched hum that fills the hollow left in his wake.

I stare at the blank screen, still lit from the call, my thumb hovering above it like I might redial.

Like I might undo.