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Chapter Seven

Francesca

I betrayed him. Not once, but twice. And both times… it was against my will.

Well… sort of.

The first time, my father was ready to pull me out. Said I’d been there too long with nothing to show for it, and he was threatening to marry me off again. So I gave him something.

Gordo Overseas. The company Dante was trying to acquire to smooth his port shipments.

It was the one thing I’d overheard, and it was enough to buy me more time. Enough to appease Don Salvatore.

But it felt horrible because, God help me, I’m growing attached. To this house. To those children. To… him.

And that scares the hell out of me. The more attached I become, the more likely I am to slip. To say the wrong thing. To tell him the truth.

And he’d never forgive me. Why would he? I’m terrified.

Because if my father finds out what I’m feeling, he might just order my death to spare himself the dishonor. And then what? I’ll be hated on both sides.

Lately, I’ve been staring at the pizza flyer in my drawer more and more, the one Bruno gave me. The one with the number to call if I ever wanted to disappear.

But every time I reach for it, I see Lucia’s smile. Alessio’s cheeky grin. And I melt.

Today, though, is the mandatory catch-up.

So I take the burner phone, slip it into a waterproof pouch, and step into the shower. I let the water run hot as I dial, my heart pounding louder than the spray.

The moment it connects, I hear his voice. “You better have something for me, Francesca.” It’s cold. Impatient.

“You’ve been there almost two months. Don Salvatore is not amused.”

“I gave you something,” I snap. “The company, Gordo Overseas. That’s what you wanted.”

“Yes, and it was useful. But it’s not enough. Not after two months in his house.”

“Father, I?— ”

“Give us the kids.”

I freeze. The heat of the water suddenly feels like ice against my skin.

“Excuse me?”

“The children,” he repeats casually. “They’ll start school soon. They’ll be out in the world. Vulnerable. We can grab one, make him talk.”

“No,” I say, my voice shaking. “Absolutely not. If anything happens to those children—if you touch a single hair on their heads—I’ll tell Dante everything. And more.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then his voice is low and venomous.

“Is that a threat, figlia? Dante, now, is it? Have you already spread your legs for him? Maybe that’s your plan—fuck him for secrets.”

“I’ll get you something today,” I snap, my heart splitting between shame and fury. “But you leave the kids out of it.”

I end the call, drop the burner onto the sink, and lean against the tile. My legs shake, and my chest is tight. His words echo louder than the pounding water, wrapping around my ribs like a vise.

I dry off and dress quickly, slipping back into Alice-like armor.

Lucia finds me first. She peeks into my room, her hair a halo of sleep-frizz and her crown from yesterday still slightly crooked. “Can we play hide and seek before breakfast?”

I nod, swallowing the storm brewing inside me. “You hide first.”

She squeals and darts off down the hall, her giggle echoing like wind chimes through the corridor.

Alessio joins in immediately, shouting out rules that don’t make a lick of sense but somehow still govern the chaos.

I let their laughter settle around me like a balm, a reminder of exactly what’s at stake and who I’m really trying to protect.

But there’s something else I need to do now. A different kind of seeking. Not for hidden treasure or dragons but for leverage. Something I can use to appease my father and Don Salvatore, at least for a little while.

I’m painfully aware that whatever I find today will only be a temporary reprieve, a bandage over a wound that’s already festering. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that if I don’t use the number on that damn pizza flyer soon, I might not live long enough to regret it.

The hallway is empty. Still. I walk toward Dante’s office with measured steps, forcing my breathing to stay calm even as my heart pounds like a warning. The door, of course, is locked. I glance over my shoulder to double-check. Nothing.

I kneel, tug the bobby pin free from my hair, and ease it into the lock with the kind of practiced precision that should probably shame me more than it does. The mechanism clicks open under my fingers, and I slip inside.

The room is tidy in a way that feels unnatural, so meticulous it’s almost surgical. Everything is in its place, a perfect facade of order, as if Dante is trying to box in the chaos of his world and keep it sealed behind this door.

I head to the desk first. It’s neat and impersonal. The drawers are filled with predictable things—pens, crisp envelopes, nondescript invoices, but nothing that would raise a red flag. I move to the low cabinet on the right, the one I noticed him use when he thought no one was watching. Locked.

Another bobby pin. Another gentle twist. The cabinet gives.

Inside, I find a narrow accordion file, worn at the edges and tucked in like it hasn’t been touched in years. I open it carefully.

The first file I flip through is everything my father could dream of.

Shipping logs. Port authorities paid off.

Names I recognize and some I don’t, written in Dante’s sharp, methodical handwriting.

It’s a complete money trail, clear evidence of Forzi operations tied to unlicensed weapon imports from Eastern Europe.

If I handed this over, it would cripple Dante’s business overnight.

No more secrets. No more protection. The entire operation would collapse like a house of cards. And the twins… they’d lose everything.

I stare at the pages, frozen. My hands ache to do something, either burn them or use them, but I force myself to gently close the folder and tuck it right back where I found it.

The second file is labeled Morozov – Temp Agreement.

It’s not as dramatic, but it’s still useful.

A short-term deal with a small arms broker in Montenegro.

High-value shipments, nothing huge, but enough to interest my father and pacify Don Salvatore for now.

It expires at the end of the month. Just enough to buy me time.

I snap a photo of the key pages with my burner phone, then return everything to its exact place. No trace. No proof I was ever here .

But as I close the cabinet, I hear the unmistakable creak of a floorboard behind me.

My whole body goes still. The air changes. He’s here. I should’ve checked if his car was still outside, but I didn’t. A stupid rookie mistake.

I turn, plastering a bright smile on my face like a mask I’ve worn too many times before.

“Surprise!” I say, then let my smile falter as if I’m only just realizing it’s him. “Oh. It’s you.”

Dante is leaning in the doorway, arms folded, his gaze pinned to me with unsettling precision. He doesn’t speak right away, and the weight of his silence makes my skin prickle.

He tilts his head slightly, dark eyes narrowed, and the stillness around him is worse than any raised voice.

“What exactly are you doing in my office, Miss Winters?” he asks, his voice calm but edged with suspicion.

My brain scrambles, searching for something, anything , that won’t make this worse.

“We’re playing hide and seek,” I say steadily. “And I was sure I saw Alessio take this corridor. If I find him, he promised he’d eat an apple.”

He watches me in silence for a moment, too long for comfort. “The children aren’t allowed in my office. No one is. Not unless I’m here.”

I glance at the door and take a breath. “It was unlocked.”

A blatant lie, and I know it. Goodbye, world.

His gaze doesn’t waver, and for a second, I’m convinced I’m about to get dragged out of here by the throat. But then something shifts. The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“An apple, you say?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “That’s the deal.”

He studies me for another second, then says, “He’s probably in the cabinet under the stairs.”

“Great, thank you.” I step to pass him, but he shifts at the same time, and I slam straight into him.

My breath catches.

I’m not short, five-seven, tall enough to hold my own, but pressed against Dante Forzi’s chest, I feel swallowed.

He’s well over six feet, maybe six-five, all broad shoulders and solid muscle, a wall of heat and power.

His body radiates control, even in stillness, and the sharp spice of his cologne wraps around me, grounding and dangerous all at once.

My pulse stutters, and when I look up, his gaze is already on mine.

Something sharp flutters in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “Since you’re here… I wanted to ask if you might want to do another pizza night. With the kids.”

His brow lifts, and it feels like a punch to my gut.

The silence stretches, heavy and filled with tension. I’m still plastered against his body, and I know I should take a step back. But I don’t. And, maddeningly, neither does he.

Instead, he leans forward, almost wrapping himself around me and nudges the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe. The soft click echoes like a gunshot in the quiet room.

I’m dead .

“No,” he says.

My heart sinks .

I nod once, already retreating inside my head, mentally scrambling for another excuse to save face until he adds, a little quieter and rougher, “Actually… I want to propose something else.”

I blink.

“I have a connection. They’re running a pirate-themed show at the aquarium this weekend. Private event. Kids would lose their minds over it.”

He leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching me like he’s waiting for something, like he’s trying to catch the tremor beneath my calm exterior.

“Take them.”

I blink. “You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head once, slow and deliberate. “You’ll go. You’ll represent the family.”

His tone is casual, but there’s a weight behind it, a pressure I feel like a hand against my back, testing, pushing, waiting for me to crack.

“Can you handle that, Nanny Alice ?”

“Yes. Of course,” I answer, too quickly, too eagerly.

He studies me in silence for a beat longer, then straightens and takes a step toward me. My breath catches without permission, my heart stumbling as he moves closer.

“Good. I’ll have the driver take you. Vito will be going with you.”

I nod, though I’m not sure I hear much over the pounding in my ears. But then his gaze lingers longer than it should, sweeping over my face like he’s memorizing something. Or searching for something that doesn’t quite add up.

Then, quietly, almost too softly, he says, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

My stomach twists into a sick knot. I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I pretend I didn’t hear it.

Instead, I offer the one lifeline I have left. “You should come. It would make another good memory. The children need that… and so do you.”

For a moment, I think I see it, a flicker in his eyes. A hesitation. Something close to regret or longing. But whatever it is, it’s gone before I can name it.

He lifts a brow. “I didn’t realize we were intimate enough for you to speak on my behalf.”

His words cut, clean and precise, and before I can form a response, he’s already stepping toward the door. Not away from me. Just to open it.

“I didn’t mean—” I start, my voice low and strained.

But he cuts me off with nothing more than a gesture, his hand sweeping the door open as he holds it there, waiting.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, the formality of it colder than any dismissal.

I nod and step out into the hall, my heart beating too loudly in my chest and my feet numb as I walk. I make it halfway down the corridor before I allow myself to breathe.

I don’t know if he believed me. I don’t know if he’ll kill me or if my father will get to me first. But I know one thing, with a clarity that settles like ice in my bones.

Whatever life I used to know, the one I lived, the one I dreamed about when I was younger, full of hope and soft things, is gone.

Gone for good.