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Chapter Twenty

Dante

I don’t know what to believe anymore.

But if I want even a sliver of Francesca’s trust, enough for her to start seeing past the monster I was, I have to give Bruno’s theory real consideration. No matter how much I want it to be wrong.

Because if it’s right… then the betrayal runs deeper than I imagined. And that means no one is above suspicion. Not even Vito… especially not Vito.

That’s the part that hits the hardest. We’ve been friends for years.

He’s been my right hand, my second-in-command.

The man who’s taken bullets for me and delivered bodies without question.

But neither Paolo nor Marco moved on the weapon shipments we fed them.

Not a whisper. Not a bite. And the only one who knew the details aside from me… was Vito.

I step out of my office, leaning casually against the doorframe. He’s standing a few feet away, barking orders to the men about collections at the gambling houses. He doesn’t look nervous. Doesn’t look guilty. He looks like Vito—steady, composed, efficient.

But there are things I know about him. Things he doesn’t talk about.

Like the fact that he prefers men, though he’s never said it out loud. I don’t care. That’s not the problem. The problem is secrets. And secrets are a cancer in this life.

And now I have to figure out if the man I’ve trusted with everything… has been feeding my enemies.

Vito glances over, his brow arched. “Problem?”

I shake my head. Not yet.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press.

“I need to take care of something,” I say, already turning away. “Can you handle things?”

Vito snorts. “When haven’t I?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is too flat, too quiet.

He pauses mid-sentence. “You sure you’re?—”

“I’m already late,” I cut in. “I’ll see you later.”

I don’t wait for his response. I’m halfway down the hall before he can say another word because if I stay a second longer, I might say something I can’t take back .

Not yet. First, I need to be sure.

I drive straight to the guest house.

I’m not even sure what I’m going to say until I’m standing at the door, fist hovering midair, and knocking hard enough to start a war.

It opens before the third knock.

Bruno stands there shirtless, a towel slung over his shoulder, clearly having just finished a workout. He doesn’t look surprised. Just annoyed.

“We need to talk.”

He doesn’t move aside. Just crosses his arms. “About?”

“Not here.”

He holds my gaze for a beat longer, then steps back, gesturing me in with a dramatic flourish. “By all means, Capo.”

I walk in, and Bruno shuts the door behind me, not offering a seat. “If this is about Francesca?—”

“It’s not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Because I’m pretty confident every breath you take right now has something to do with her.”

I grind my teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. “This is about business.”

Bruno raises a brow. “I’m listening.”

“Francesca told me what you said to her.”

His mouth curves in a half smirk. “So it is about Francesca.”

Asshole.

“No. It’s about your father. ”

His jaw tightens, the shift in his expression subtle but telling. He grinds his teeth too. Two wolves circling.

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know how you know.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the small counter and grabs a bottle of water before turning back to me.

“Mori is violent. Arrogant. Overconfident. He’s not subtle. Hell, he’s not even particularly clever. But you…” He pauses, tilting his head slightly. “You are. At least when it comes to business.”

I narrow my eyes. A compliment and an insult wrapped in the same breath.

“Why now?” I ask. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because you care about her,” he says plainly. “And because I think, maybe for once, you might make the right call. Instead of being your usual, stubborn, territorial self.”

I laugh, low and mirthless. “You do realize you just described yourself too.”

“Maybe. But I never spit in her face and called it justice.”

Fuck. That lands harder than I want to admit. A blow I wasn’t ready for.

I square my shoulders, trying to shake it off. “I don’t see how you have any right to judge me for that day. You let your sister walk into a lion’s den without blinking. If I were you, I’d ease up on the savior speeches.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t react. “I had no choice. But I gave her a way out. A way to disappear.” His voice drops. “She didn’t take it. ”

That catches me off guard. His admission isn’t just a risk—it’s a confession. An act of rebellion. He conspired against Mori. Against the Vescari. In my house.

And I didn’t even know.

“You ever wonder why she didn’t take it?” he adds, stepping toward me. “Because I did. For a long time.”

I clench my jaw. “And now?”

He shrugs with maddening ease. “Now, I think I understand.”

I don’t take the bait. I don’t ask him to explain.

But the bastard smiles anyway. That same smug, infuriating smirk that tells me he knows how badly I want to hear it. Knows how deep my need runs to make sense of her, of us .

“I’ll help you smoke out your rat.”

I scoff. “Why would you do that? You feel like a Forzi now? And why should I trust you?”

“A Forzi? No, hardly, but I never felt like a Vescari either. Whether you believe it or not, my loyalty is to Francesca, and despite her stubbornness and her justified fear and hurt, she loves this family. I also think that whoever this person is who’s conspiring is a danger to her, and I can’t accept that. ”

That shakes me out of whatever annoyance I feel for the man in front of me. “Danger? I protect what’s mine.”

He nods, not denying what I already know—that she’s mine. “You do,” he says. “But you’re only a man. And if the danger comes from beside you, how can you make sure she won’t be the one who pays for it?”

The idea of Francesca getting hurt because of me sends something violent crawling under my skin. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want blood. Need it.

“So know this,” Bruno continues. “You can count on my loyalty. But it won’t be to your name. It’ll be to hers.”

I don’t remind him that her name is mine now. That this loyalty, given not out of fear or title but love, means more than anything he could’ve offered me directly.

“That’s enough for me,” I say, my voice flat but sure. “So, what do you propose?”

“Put me at your side,” he says without hesitation. “Trust me. The traitor’s craving power, and this? Me, next to you? He’ll hate it.”

“You think it’ll rattle him?”

“I think it’ll scare him. He’s worked hard to stay invisible. But power breeds ego, and ego gets sloppy when it feels threatened. And the Vescari?” Bruno’s eyes harden. “They’ll see your move as a shift in the game. A crack they can push through.”

“You said the Vescari were not involved.”

“I said Mori didn’t do this,” Bruno corrects. “I never said Salvatore didn’t.”

I arch a brow. “Go on.”

Bruno sighs, like the weight of what he’s about to say costs him something.

“Mori’s a pawn. Useful for laundering money, sure, but he’s nothing without someone pulling his strings.

Salvatore’s always known how to stroke the ego of small men to get what he wants.

I think he’s running two plays. Mori only sees one. ”

“And you think someone on my side is helping him?” I ask, though the thought has already rooted itself deep.

“I don’t think.” His gaze sharpens. “I know . Someone close to you was promised something—power, position, maybe even a title. If you put me at your side, Salvatore will see it as a shift. He’ll see instability. And he’ll reach out.”

“To recruit you.”

“To test the waters. And when he does…” Bruno’s expression is all grit and certainty. “I’ll get the name.”

I stare at him for a long beat. My jaw clenches, and my pulse is pounding. I love this plan; I just hate that it came from him.

“You suspect someone already, don’t you?” he asks.

“I do.” The admission tastes bitter. “And if I’m right… it’ll make a fool out of me.”

He nods. “It’ll make you question everything. But it’s better than being blindsided.”

“I hope I’m wrong,” I mutter. “More than I can say.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs casually. “We wouldn’t want you to make another snap judgment and ruin a life you didn’t understand.”

The jab hits its mark. Francesca.

I let it go. Barely. “Come to my office tomorrow,” I say instead. “Fulvio can handle the kids and Francesca. You’ll shadow me through a few meetings—show face, stir the waters.”

Bruno raises an eyebrow. “Like a prized poodle?”

“Please.” I smirk. “We both know you’re a mutt.”

His glare is instant. “Well, I may be a mutt, but at least your wife enjoys my company.”

I step closer, lowering my voice to something darker. “Your sister …” I draw the word out, letting it land between us like a warning, “enjoys mine too. In very specific ci rcumstances. Trust me.”

His eyes narrow, and I smile. That’s my cue.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I should head straight home. I want to. But first, I need to do what I came here to do—plant the seed of doubt in Vito’s mind and prepare the ground for Bruno’s introduction tomorrow.

Do I trust him? Not entirely. Not enough to stand shoulder to shoulder in a firefight. But I trust his loyalty to Francesca. And for now, that’s the only kind of loyalty that matters.

By the time I return, irritation is simmering beneath my skin. I can’t let it show. Not yet.

Vito is waiting in the office, casual as ever, flipping through a stack of reports.

“So?” he asks, not looking up. “Did whatever you had to do go your way?”

“More or less.” I lean against the desk, folding my arms. “Are the guys in place at the gambling fronts?”

He nods. “Same rotations. Nothing’s changed. Why?”

I wave a hand vaguely. “Just making sure we’re covered. Bruno’s coming in to work with us tomorrow.”

That gets his attention. Vito’s head lifts, his brows pinching together. “Bruno? Isn’t he supposed to be guarding Francesca and the kids?”

“Fulvio’s handling that now.”