Page 9

DANTE

I stare into my coffee cup, watching the faint ribbons of steam curl upward. The brew is dark and rich, just the way I like it, but the taste barely registers. I’m too preoccupied with thoughts of Lombardi—and her—to appreciate any flavor this morning.

Across from me, my mother, Isabella— la Nonna , as she’s known to most in our world—sits in one of the antique armchairs that have graced our study for decades.

She’s in her mid-seventies now, but she still carries herself like a queen; spine straight, chin raised, eyes gleaming with the sharp intelligence that helped build and maintain the Bellacino empire.

“Dante,” she says gently, lifting her porcelain coffee cup to her lips. “Stop brooding, figlio mio . That poor mug’s done nothing to deserve your scowl.”

I exhale, setting my cup down. “Habit, I guess. Too much on my mind.”

She arches a brow, unimpressed by such a meager explanation. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Fair enough.”

The study is a comfortable mix of old-world charm and modern simplicity. A large mahogany desk sits in the center, a worn, high-back leather chair behind it. My father’s chair, now passed on to me. The walls are lined with books that no one but my mother bothers to read anymore.

There’s a hidden panel behind the shelves leading to a panic room, though thankfully, we’ve never had to use it. Still, caution is forever in the forefront in my world.

I look over at a framed photograph on the mantel of my father and my two younger brothers, all three of them gone.

The War of the Black Roses took so many people, my father and siblings included.

It changed me, preparing me to become the man I needed to be to take over the Bellacino family when they died.

That was nearly a decade ago, but some wounds never fully heal.

Nonna follows my line of sight. “They’d be proud of you, you know. All of them.”

I grunt, not sure how to respond. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

She tilts her head. “That’s exactly what your father always said. But let’s not pretend this fiasco at the wedding can be overlooked. I understand Linda’s meddling has always been a thorn in your side, but the robbery, that was Lombardi, yes?”

My jaw tightens at the mention of Lombardi. “It was. Confirmed by the idiots who tried to pull it off. Gianni Lombardi tipped them off, probably hoping they’d humiliate us in front of half the city.”

My mother’s lips curve into a rueful smile. “He’s bolder than I thought. Or stupid.”

“I’m betting on stupid,” I say, picking up my coffee again. “But if he’s bold enough to try a stunt like that in my presence, he needs a reminder of his place. I plan to hurt him where it counts. We both know money is the lifeblood of the families.”

She nods, sipping her coffee. “And if he dare retaliates?”

I let out a low chuckle. “He’ll regret it. Retribution is the only language men like that understand.”

My mother sets her cup aside and fixes me with a look. “Good. The entire city needs to see that the Bellacinos will not be insulted. I’ve spent half my life reminding people of that. So did your father, and your brothers, may they all rest in peace.”

I picture Michael and Guiseppe, their cocky grins, their unwavering loyalty. I can still hear Michael’s laugh in my head sometimes. Then I blink, forcing myself back to the present moment.

“Our part in the War of the Black Roses wasn’t squeaky clean.”

She waves an elegant hand, the jewels on her fingers catching the sunlight.

“We did terrible things, yes, but so did the Russians. It was war, Dante. I just wish…” She trails off, a flicker of regret in her eyes.

“I wish it hadn’t claimed so many young lives.

Perhaps if I’d convinced your father to broker peace earlier?—”

“Mother.” My tone is gentle but firm. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for everything. Some burdens are mine to carry.”

She straightens, almost bristling. “I’ve told you this before, Dante. I pulled strings in that war, too . When I saw your father falter, I pushed him. Don’t carry guilt that doesn’t belong to you.”

I hold her gaze for a moment. My mother is many things—intelligent, ruthless, and fiercely protective of her family. Her involvement in the War of the Black Roses isn’t a story told in polite company. I know she orchestrated certain hits behind the scenes.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason she’s so adamant about me never hesitating. She learned the cost of doubt the hard way.

I sit back, sighing heavily. “Let’s not discuss who’s to blame for the past. It cannot be changed, and we have bigger issues before us. Lombardi, for one. Let’s focus on that.”

She gives a curt nod. “Yes, you’re right. I trust your judgment. You always had a knack for knowing exactly where to strike so it hurts the most.”

“I’m aware of a list of businesses where Gianni’s invested. I’ll have my men disrupt supply chains, maybe even sabotage a few key deals. Nothing so obvious that we can be traced, but enough to sting.”

“Good,” she says, lifting her coffee again. “Do it quickly, before he has a chance to regroup.”

A comfortable silence settles in, punctuated by the tick of the ornate grandfather clock near the door.

It’s an heirloom from the old country, shipped over decades ago.

The rhythmic sound usually calms me, but today my thoughts are overtaken by someone who draws me like a magnet, the invasion leaving no room for calmness.

My mother sets her cup down again, eyeing me intently. “Speaking of the wedding, I noticed a young woman among the guests. Shapely blonde, I believe? She sat in the back rows initially, then disappeared for a while, reappearing later at the reception. She was there with a girlfriend.”

My heartbeat thumps in my chest. “You notice everything, don’t you?”

A slow smile touches her lips. “I do. Now, what was her name? She’s Luca’s ex-girlfriend, yes?”

I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much. Why is my mother so curious?

“Eva,” I say at last, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Her name is Eva Smith.”

“Eva. Hm. I never met her. Showing up to your exes wedding uninvited is a confident move, wouldn’t you agree?”

My brow arches. “You say that like you approve.”

She laughs softly. “I like confident women. I didn’t take her for a wallflower, at least not from the little bit I observed. She seems interesting.”

Interesting is an understatement. My memories flash to Eva pinned against the suite’s wall, her breathy moans, the way her eyes sparked as I drove deep into her.

I clear my throat, banishing the image. “I wouldn’t know,” I lie smoothly, though I’m certain my mother can see right through me.

She tilts her head again, her expression knowing. “Really, Dante? You wouldn’t know anything about why she might have vanished or why she looked so, let’s say, refreshed, when she reappeared?”

I bite back a curse. Sometimes I forget how sharp my mother is. She could run circles around half the men in my organization.

“Perhaps she had someplace else to be.”

A sly smile takes over. “The kind of place that required a private elevator ride with you?”

I know there’s no reason to pretend, but I also don’t want to confirm anything that’ll become gossip.

“I don’t recall specifics,” I say, feigning indifference. “But if she is Luca’s ex, then she’s off-limits.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is she? Because I noticed a certain look on your face when you glanced her way.”

My grip tightens on the mug, but I keep my voice measured. “Mother, let’s not indulge in speculation.”

She laughs, the sound surprisingly merry. “Oh, Dante, don’t be so stiff. I’m old, not senile. I can appreciate a bit of intrigue.” Her tone turns gentle, affectionate. “And if you’ve found someone who stirs something in you, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Being the don can be a lonely place.”

I smile warmly at her. “I’m not sure what I feel yet, aside from curiosity.”

“Curiosity can often be the first step to all sorts of entanglements, but I won’t pry. I was merely intrigued by her nerve. She waltzed into a wedding willing to face an ex who clearly wronged her, and left without a scene—well, not one she created. I admire a woman with steel in her spine.”

“She’s got more than steel,” I murmur. She’s got a fire that draws me like a moth to a flame. But I keep that thought to myself.

My mother pats the arm of her chair. “So, you’ll keep an eye on Lombardi, punish him for his transgressions, and maybe, at some point, you’ll cross paths with this Eva again.”

I shrug. “If it happens, it happens. Right now, I have bigger concerns.”

She seems unconvinced but lets it go. “Very well. When do you plan to set things in motion against Lombardi?”

“Immediately.” I finish the last sip of coffee and place the cup on a side table.

“I’ve already ordered my men to start interfering with his supply lines—nothing overt, just enough to hit his pockets.

Once he feels the pinch, we’ll see if he comes crawling for a truce when he sees I’m not screwing around. ”

“That’s wise. If there’s one thing I learned in the War of the Black Roses, it’s that draining resources does far more damage than an outright bloodbath. Let him bleed money first. Then, if he refuses to learn his lesson…” She lets the implication hang in the air.

“Exactly.” I rise from my seat, crossing to the window overlooking the manicured gardens of our Long Island estate. The morning sun glints off the hedges, the gravel paths, and the ornate fountains. A picturesque scene for a life built from violence and power.

“I’ll keep the war quiet this time. No need to replay old misfortunes.”

“Good,” she says. “We can’t afford the city turning into a battleground again. We lost too many people. Too many of our own.”

I stare at the gardens, painful memories churning. My father taught me everything he knew, but he also died too soon, leaving me to bury my brothers and shoulder the Bellacino legacy alone. If I can handle Lombardi without any escalation, I’ll have done something right.

And yet, a dark part of me yearns to show him that messing with my family is a mistake he won’t live to regret twice.

Isabella stands, smoothing her long black skirt. She’s dressed in colors of mourning ever since my father passed. “Will you join me for lunch in an hour, or are you heading out?”

I turn to face her. “I have a call to make first, some business matters that need to be discussed. Then I’ll be free.”

She approaches, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “Don’t work too hard, figlio mio. Remember, we have a life outside of this, and we’re the only ones left to enjoy it.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

She glides out of the study, a regal silhouette fading into the corridor. I remain by the window, letting the quiet seep in until my phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a message from Riccardo, my right-hand man, about the next steps being taken to cripple Lombardi.

Instead of responding, my mind drifts to Eva.

I can’t help it. There’s a pull, a sense of unfinished business when it comes to her.

I want to see her again, to figure out what has made me so restless.

She’s tough, witty, and fiercely self-reliant.

The way she stood up to Luca—hell, the way she stood up to me —makes me have a profound respect for her.

Yet there’s also something guarded about her, a darkness behind her eyes. I sense secrets and pain. Who hurt you, Eva? And why do I feel so compelled to find out, to protect you?

I shake my head, trying to remove the thoughts. I’m not some lovesick boy. I’m the don of the city’s most powerful mafia family. We don’t get the luxury of daydreaming about women we barely know. At least, not without consequences.

Still, I can’t deny the spark she’s ignited. One night with her wasn’t enough to quench it. If anything, it only stoked the flames.

My phone vibrates again, this time with a call.

“Speak.”

“Boss, Lombardi’s main distributor in the garment district just got a sudden freight check from the Feds. Our tip worked. He’s going to lose half his shipments to regulatory issues. Should slow him down a bit. What are our next steps?”

“Excellent. Proceed with the second phase, quiet sabotage of Lombardi’s finances.”

“You got it, Boss.”

I end the call.

A grim smile tugs at my lips. One step closer to making Gianni regret ever targeting me .

I blow out a breath, returning to the window. The sunlight feels undeserved, shining on a man who’s lived more in the shadows than in the light. Perhaps the dark is where I belong, though I wouldn’t mind someone to share my life with. To bring light into my world.

A wry grin lifts one corner of my mouth. The thought of Eva’s eyes lighting up with that fierce spark is enough to keep me on edge in a much more pleasurable way.

I exit the study, nodding at the security detail stationed outside. My footsteps echo down the corridor as I head toward my office, my mind awash in equal parts ruthless intent and a longing I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.

Maybe this time, I think to myself, I won’t ignore it.