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Chapter Five

Francesca

I ’m conflicted.

I never thought I would be, and yet here I am, sitting on information I could give my father to please Don Salvatore… and choosing not to.

A week ago, I overheard Dante talking about moving merchandise. I knew, thanks to one of my father’s oh-so-charming “catch-ups,” that he meant weapons. He’d shifted them from a shipyard to some trailer park on the west side of the city .

That should’ve been gold. A gift. But when the end of the week came, and it was time to send an update to the number in my phone labeled Grandma… all I typed was:

Hi Granny! Hope you’re okay. I’m loving my new job. Nothing special to say though—just lovely kids. Love you! A.

I lied about having nothing to say. But I didn’t lie about the kids.

They are lovely and spirited in their own completely opposite ways.

It’s strange… Being around them lets me see that Dante, while far from tender, is still a loving father in his own, distant way.

His children are too carefree, too unguarded, to be growing up under cruelty.

I know what that looks like. I lived it.

They’re the age I was when I lost the last glimmer of childhood, when my own father’s hand turned too heavy to ignore.

I don’t see Dante much. In the past week, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him. Fewer still, the times we’ve actually spoken.

And yet, he doesn’t strike me as the monster my father made him out to be. But then again… mafia men have an uncanny ability to hide their cruelty.

It’s also hard pretending not to understand Italian.

But it’s one of my assets. So I play the part. Play Alice.

Most of the time, it’s easy. Because the longer I stay, the more I care. And the more I care? The harder it becomes to separate the mission from the people .

I don’t think I’d have any qualms about taking down Dante Forzi.

He’s a mafia boss. Men like him don’t deserve sympathy. They’re cold, condescending, controlling.

But I do have qualms about taking away the only parent two beautiful, innocent children have left.

A little boy with a whole fantasy world inside his head, full of pirate ships, dragons, buried treasure, and fighting for what’s right.

And a little girl who caught me on my first night here, slipping out of the bathroom without my brown contacts.

She looked up at me with wide eyes and whispered, “You’re a mermaid princess.”

She’s been calling me that ever since.

A little girl who believes her mother now lives among the fairy folk. A little girl whose big, trusting eyes make my heart beat a little faster every time she looks at me.

And a little boy who makes me laugh harder than I ever have, dragging me into his sunroom adventures and appointing me first mate of his magical crew.

And the truth is, as terrifying as it is to admit it, after just one week, I’ve started falling in love with these children.

And that? That complicates everything .

There’s something else that gnaws at me, too, something I try not to think about: the temporary nature of this assignment.

Every day spent under this roof is another risk. A risk of being discovered. A risk of being killed .

But even knowing that, I’m more temporary than Dante even realizes .

And the worst part? He’s right.

His children are already growing attached.

And when I leave, because I will leave, they’ll lose me.

I never meant to hurt anyone. Not really. Not beyond him .

I never imagined I’d form a bond with these kids.

But it’s clear they’re starving for something this house doesn’t give them.

Tenderness. Safety. Someone who sees them and stays.

The same things I craved my whole life.

I guess it’s true what they say: You grow up to become the adult you needed around you.

So I try to ease my guilt by thinking maybe… maybe I can do something good here.

Maybe I can show Dante how to reach them. Show him how to soften around his children.

Maybe if I can help him learn how to love them out loud, they won’t be too sad when I go.

Maybe if I make myself less needed, it won’t hurt so much when I leave.

I’m trying a new tactic tonight, one that might get the children to eat their vegetables without a fight: make your own pizza night .

Nina, the cook, wasn’t exactly thrilled when I first brought it up, arching a brow like I’d suggested setting fire to the kitchen.

But when I explained that it meant she wouldn’t have to cook and could leave early, a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

She even offered to prep the ingredients before heading out, grumbling something about “little tornadoes and flour on the walls” as she tied her apron .

I set everything up on the kitchen counter and lay out the toppings in little bowls: chopped tomatoes, mushrooms, sweet corn, peppers, spinach, mozzarella, and just enough pepperoni to spark Alessio’s excitement.

Alessio bursts into the kitchen like a whirlwind, eyes wide as he spots the table.

“Are we making pizza? Like real pizza? Can I make a dragon one? With extra fire?”

I laugh, handing him an apron. “Absolutely. As long as you can handle the heat.”

He grins like I just handed him a sword. “I want red peppers for the flames and pepperoni for the dragon scales!”

Lucia walks in more slowly, peeking at the bowls with cautious curiosity.

She doesn't say anything right away, just watches her brother piling toppings like it’s a treasure hoard.

I crouch beside her, my voice soft. “You can shape your dough however you like. A star, a moon, even a flower.”

She tilts her head, thinking. “Can I make a heart?” she asks in a whisper as if it’s something too delicate to say too loud.

I smile. “Of course. A heart is perfect.”

She nods solemnly and reaches for the dough. “Will you help me?”

“Always.”

Together we begin shaping it, her small hands pressing gently beside mine. She glances up at me with those big, searching eyes.

“Does the shape really matter?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Not at all. As long as it’s made with love.”

Her smile blooms slowly, sweet and secretive. She leans closer and whispers like she’s sharing a truth only the two of us will ever know, “Then it’ll be the best pizza in the world.”

As Alessio decorates his pizza with enough red peppers to burn a hole through it, I watch him with a small smile and ruffle his hair.

“You know,” I say casually, “we could invite your father to join us. He might like it.”

Alessio stops, but he doesn’t look up. “He’ll never join. He’s always busy or grumpy.”

Lucia, sitting across from him and carefully arranging spinach leaves into a heart shape, lifts her head. Her big brown eyes are solemn and bright all at once.

“Maybe you could use your mermaid powers,” she whispers with all the seriousness in the world. “You could make him say yes.”

I laugh softly, brushing flour off my hands, but the truth is… maybe I want him to join too.

Maybe I want to see if there’s any part of him that remembers how to be here, in the mess and the laughter and the sauce-smeared innocence of it all.

“I’ll go try,” I say, and when Lucia gives me an encouraging nod like I’m being sent off on a quest, I straighten my shoulders and head for the office.

The door’s slightly ajar, and I hear voices inside. I pause.

They’re speaking in Italian. It’s fast, clipped—Dante’s voice and someone else’s, a man on the phone.

“Sì, lo so che la Gordo Overseas è indebitata,” Dante says. “Ma se la compriamo, semplificherà i controlli doganali. Possiamo usare le loro spedizioni come copertura.”

( Yes, I know Gordo Overseas is in debt. But if we buy it, it will smooth things with the port authorities. We can use their shipments as a front .)

I feel my breath catch.

Gordo Overseas.

I repeat the name silently, committing it to memory, even as guilt needles beneath my ribs.

Based on the quick overview Don Salvatore gave me, Forzi’s operation relies heavily on illegal imports.

A company like this would be a major asset or a devastating loss if the Vescari got control of it first.

Another pause.

“Ho già parlato con l’uomo a Zurigo. Vuole discrezione. Niente deve risalire a noi.”

(I’ve already spoken with the man in Zurich. He wants discretion. Nothing can be traced back to us.)

I take a breath, keeping my expression neutral as I raise my hand and knock once on the doorframe.

The silence inside is immediate.

A second later, Dante’s voice, colder now, sharper: “Yes?”

I push the door open and step in, offering what I hope is a pleasant, non-threatening smile.

“Sorry to interrupt. We’re doing pizza night in the kitchen. The kids are making their own, and… well, they thought it would be a good idea to invite you.”

He lifts a brow. “Pizza night? Never heard them mention that before.”

“It’s new. I read something about it online.” I smile. “It boosts creativity and it’ll sneak a few veggies into Alessio without him noticing.”

He huffs a low breath. “Ah. Vegetables. Alessio’s mortal enemies.”

“We’re working on making them his friends. His little pirate body needs them.”

His brows twitch, whether in surprise or amusement, I can’t tell, but the sharp edges of his expression dull just a little.

He looks at his desk, and the way his face turns serious, I know he’s about to refuse. And because I think of it, because I know what’s coming, I continue.

“It’s not just for them. It’s good for you too. Creating memories.”

He looks up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me off. Frankly, I’d understand. It would be deserved. But instead, he’s quiet for a beat.

“I have ten minutes.”

It’s not much. But it’s more than I expected.

I return to the kitchen ahead of him, brushing flour from my sleeves and trying not to overthink his answer.

Ten minutes . He said yes.

Alessio is up to his elbows in tomato sauce, already shouting orders at an imaginary crew.

Lucia looks up the moment I walk back in.

“Did it work?” she whispers.

I smile. “He’s on his way.”

Alessio blinks and straightens, and I catch the joy he is trying to smother. “Papa is coming?”

Before I can answer, the door creaks open behind me, and Dante steps into the kitchen.

He looks out of place in his dark slacks and button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair slightly mussed, his usual air of lethal command muted under a faint cloud of uncertainty behind his dark-framed glasses.

He smells like cedar and clean soap with something sharper underneath, danger, maybe, or restraint.

Lucia immediately beams. “Papa! You’re here!”

Alessio stares wide-eyed. “Are you going to make a pizza?”

Dante raises a brow. “Is that the requirement?”

Alessio narrows his eyes. “It’s pizza night.”

Dante turns to me. “It seems I must make a pizza.”

I nod with a little smile, slipping a few spinach leaves onto Alessio’s pizza to finish the “dragon scales.”

Dante notices and gives me a wink to show he caught the ploy. And damn, if that doesn’t twist something in my stomach in a way it really shouldn’t.

He finally exhales, like he’s facing down an armed negotiation, and walks slowly toward the counter.

“What do I do?”

Lucia jumps up, grabbing his hand with both of hers. “I’ll show you.”

He lets her drag him to the station I’d set up earlier, where dough waits patiently beside toppings in bright little bowls lined up like paint palettes.

Lucia rolls out the dough with effort, her tongue between her teeth, while Dante stands awkwardly beside her .

She points to the sauce. “You need this first. I’ll help.”

She takes his hand, wraps his fingers around the spoon, and they spread it together.

And just like that… something shifts. He doesn’t flinch when tomato sauce stains his shirt.

He lets Alessio shout, “Papa’s pizza better be a fireball, or it’s not allowed!” And God help me, he smiles.

Not that cold, sharp smirk I’ve seen a handful of times. A real smile.

And at that moment, I don’t see the man my father told me to fear.

I don’t see the capo.

I don’t see the criminal.

I don’t even see the cold-eyed stranger who handed me a job and a warning in the same breath.

I see a father. Just a man. Trying .

And something in my chest twists painfully because I don’t know what to do with this version of him.

The one kneeling beside his daughter, letting her shape his dough into a star. The one who doesn’t look like a monster at all.

Just… tired. And trying. And a little lost.

I don’t know what to do with this man. But I know I’m in trouble.