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“Shall I give more details?” Uncle Roberto asked, his tone mild and teasing.

“No!” my brothers chorused.

“Jesus Christ!” Bruno mumbled under his breath, his head down and fingers rubbing his forehead.

Uncle Roberto laughed. “That’s for mocking your uncle, boy.” He extended his hand and ruffled Bruno’s hazelnut-brown hair.

I lowered my face, suppressing my smile, pretending I had no idea what Uncle Roberto’s analogy meant.

He turned to me, a wide grin spreading beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Shit. La mia preziosa gemma , I forgot you were at the table, too.” The Italian statement was his cute way of referring to me as his precious gem.

I set down my glass and threw up my hands defensively. “Don’t worry, uncle. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” My lips curved into a faint smile.

“Yeah, right,” Bruno said, sarcasm creeping into his tone.

Uncle Roberto shot a quick glance in his direction. “You haven’t learned, have you?”

“Please, no more.” He clasped his palms over his ears, eyes dropping to the floor.

We laughed.

Uncle Roberto beamed at me. “So tell me, Ciccina , how’s law school treating you?”

Ciccina —a nickname he gave me since I was three years old. It was Italian for “little one,” and even though I was all grown up now, the name still stuck. Plus, my petite frame didn’t help at all.

“Have they figured out yet that you’re too smart for them?” he added, chuckling.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I tried to sound as modest as I could. “Not yet, uncle. I’m not sure.”

“Ah. It’s your professors I pity.” He laughed lightly.

“Poor bastards, thinking they’re there to actually teach you, Alessia Romano, who has the law coursing through her veins.

Idioti .” He dramatically waved a hand, chewing his vegetables.

“One day, you will run circles around all of them…and when that day comes, I hope you remember your favorite uncle.” The fleeting pause ensued when he locked eyes with me.

My response was a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

One of my father’s men—his lieutenant, Mario—walked over to where my father was seated and lowered his head, whispering something in Dad’s ear. At first, I thought it was nothing until I watched Dad’s eyes narrow. His jaw tightened, and his expression turned dark. Sinister.

Whatever information Mario had passed to him must have been something serious, considering how tense he’d suddenly become.

“Dante, è tutto a posto ?” Uncle Roberto asked him if everything was alright.

Dad’s fingers tightened around his fork, a glint of anger simmering beneath the surface. “The shipment deal with the Russians has gone sideways,” he said, his voice a throaty growl.

My brothers looked at each other, their expressions darkening, a mix of worry and fear flickering in their eyes.

“That can’t be good,” Uncle Roberto said, sipping his wine.

“Nik Tarasov is threatening me,” Dad added, his grip tightening around the fork. “The son of a bitch thinks threats will get him what he wants.” His voice was laced with contempt. “He forgets who he’s dealing with.”

Even though everyone at the table tried to act all calm and composed, I could still sense the tension in the air. And I knew why.

The name Father had mentioned rang a bell in my head—Nik Tarasov.

I knew who he was. Or at least I was familiar with his reputation.

Word on the streets was that he was a brute, a cruel Bratva leader known for his strategic thinking and unforgiving nature.

Nikita Tarasov was a man of few words, but he had a subtle way of striking fear in the hearts of his enemies.

“Russian pigs,” Marco cursed under his breath.

“They might be pigs, but they’re not the kind of pigs we want to have as enemies,” Uncle Roberto said, setting down his wine glass, his gaze darting toward my father.

“You overestimate those assholes, brother,” Dad said to him, his tone laced with disdain.

“Not all of them,” he replied. “Just one. Nik.”

“Nik is nothing but a violent thug,” Dad blurted out, his voice venomous. “He’s insignificant and unworthy of my attention.” His face contorted into a frown, his breathing ragged.

So much anger for someone so insignificant and unworthy of his attention. Something wasn’t right.

Uncle Roberto stared at his brother for a moment, silent with an unwavering gaze. “You know best, Dante.” He broke eye contact and returned to his meal.

Beneath the calm exterior, I could feel my uncle’s unease, which was strange because he was hardly ever uneasy about anything. My brothers were quietly eating their food, the sound of clinking cutlery filling the air.

As the evening unfolded, Dad cleared his throat and faced me, wearing an affectionate smile. “You’ll finish school soon,” he said in an attempt to fill the awkward silence.

I met his gaze, a faint smile twitching on my lips.

He continued, “Your uncle was right; you do have the law coursing through your veins. You know every section of the Constitution by heart.” Pride flickered in his gaze, stirring a flutter in my chest. “I cannot wait to see you in action, working with the rest of us in the real world.” He paused, letting his words sink in.

“I have no doubts that you’ll be one of the very best, Alessia. ”

I heaved a sigh, feeling a rare warmth spread across my body. My sole purpose was to make him proud, to be the perfect daughter he wanted.

“ Grazie, papà ,” I thanked him with a wide smile and a heart full of gladness.