Page 11

CHAPTER TEN

Stefano

The sound of retching makes me walk faster into the room. It’s a harsh and desperate noise echoing from the master bathroom.

My body moves before my mind fully understands, years of threat assessment turning into something else entirely when I find Ava curled against the marble floor.

She looks small there, vulnerable in a way that makes something twist in my chest. Her skin has gone pale, dark hair sticking to her sweat-dampened neck.

"Don't," she manages when I step closer, trying to wave me away. "I'm fine."

Stubborn, beautiful fool.

I ignore her protest, moving to the sink. The crystal water glass, because everything in my world must reflect power, even the simple act of drinking, fills with cool water. I grab a hand towel, dampening it before kneeling beside her.

"Here." My voice is soft as I press the glass into her trembling hands. My other hand gathers her hair back, fingers gentle against her neck. "Small sips."

She obeys, and I track every detail with precision. The way her hands shake slightly. How she can't quite meet my eyes. The lingering scent of sickness that makes my jaw clench.

"Must've been the leftovers," she mumbles, attempting a weak smile. "From the club's kitchen last night."

My mind immediately starts calculating. Which supplies should I replace? Which staff should I question? How should I ensure this never happens again?

But beneath the practical concerns, suspicion stirs.

"I'll have everything from last night disposed of," I say, choosing my words carefully while I brush the cool cloth across her forehead. "Can't risk the club's reputation."

Or your health , I don't add. I don't tell her how seeing her like this makes the monster in me snarl with helpless rage.

She leans into my touch despite herself, eyes fluttering closed. Trust. It looks beautiful on her.

"You don't have to stay," she whispers. "I know you have meetings..."

"They can wait." My thumb traces her cheekbone, feeling the heat of fever or shame beneath her skin. Everything can wait. The empire, the threats, the endless games of power—none of it matters compared to this.

I gather her closer, letting her rest against my chest as the nausea seemingly passes. Her breath evens out, but I notice how one hand stays pressed against her stomach.

"Let's get you back to bed," I murmur, helping her to her feet. She sways slightly, and my arm tightens around her waist. "I'll have Maria bring you some ginger tea."

"We're supposed to visit your sister later today," she protests weakly. "I don't want to disappoint Angela."

The mention of my sister softens me a bit. "She'll understand. Besides?—"

A sharp knock interrupts, quickly followed by two more—Tomasso's pattern to indicate urgent business.

"Boss." His voice carries through the door. "We found them. The ones using your name to push product near St. Mary's."

I feel Ava tense against me. Of course. The high school near her brother's usual haunts. My jaw tightens as pieces click into place.

"Give me two minutes," I call back, then turn to Ava. "Rest. I'll handle this."

She studies my face, reading the shift in my demeanor. "Stefano..."

"Two minutes," I repeat, helping her to the bed. My touch remains gentle even as ice fills my veins. "Then we'll discuss visiting Angela."

In the living room, Tomasso waits with Matteo and two of our enforcers. Between them kneel three boys, all in their late teens. Their private school uniforms are stained with blood and dirt.

Good. They're already learning consequences.

"Found them selling to eighth graders," Matteo reports, disgust evident. "Using your reputation to scare off competition."

I adjust my cuffs. The monster is stirring. "Is that so?"

The middle one—designer watch, manicured nails, daddy's credit card practically visible in his pocket—starts blubbering. "Mr. Rega, please, we didn't?—"

My backhand silences him. The crack echoes through the penthouse.

"First rule of business," I say conversationally, crouching down to meet his terrified gaze. "Never invoke a name you haven't earned the right to use."

"It was just—" the one on the left starts.

"Second rule." I straighten, nodding to Matteo. He drives his fist into the boy's stomach. "Don't interrupt."

I hear footsteps behind me. It’s Ava, watching from the bedroom doorway. I don't turn, don't acknowledge her presence.

She needs to see this side of me. She needs to understand exactly who she's dealing with.

"Please," the third one whimpers. "Our parents will pay?—"

"Your parents." I laugh softly, deadly. "Yes, let's discuss them. Your father's on the city council, isn't he?" I look at the middle one. "And yours runs that investment firm downtown." My smile shows teeth. "How do you think they'll react to learning their sons are dealing to children?"

Silence, broken only by quiet sobs.

"Here's what's going to happen." I pace before them, each step measured. "You're going to donate every cent from your dealings to St. Mary's scholarship program. You're going to disappear from the Chicago drug scene. And you're going to pray I never hear your names again."

"But that's thousands—" the middle one protests.

I grab his chin, fingers digging in. "Or I can tell your fathers exactly what their heirs have been up to. After I break every bone in your privileged bodies."

The threat hangs in the air. Then, almost in unison, they nod.

"Tomasso." I step back, straightening my jacket. "Escort these gentlemen to their respective banks. Ensure the transfers are completed properly."

"And if they refuse?"

I smile, all teeth and promise. "Then we do this the painful way."

They're dragged out sobbing, leaving only the lingering scent of fear and expensive cologne. I turn to find Ava watching me, her expression unreadable.

"Still want to make that visit to my sister?" I ask, my voice deliberately lighter.

She studies me for a long moment. "Yes," she says finally. "But I'm driving."

I laugh, letting the darkness recede. "Not a chance, tesoro.”

* * *

The family estate looms ahead, its iron gates a stark reminder of everything I've become. Everything I never wanted to be.

Ava's quiet beside me as we drive through, her earlier sickness seemingly forgotten as she takes in the sprawling grounds.

"It's exactly like I remember," she murmurs, studying the gardens where we once stole kisses as teenagers. "Though maybe it was bigger before."

"Everything seems bigger when you're young." I park near the side entrance, closer to Angela's wing. "Ready?"

She nods, but I catch her slight hesitation. Understanding hits me. She's nervous about meeting my family properly. The thought spreads warmth through my chest.

Inside, the house echoes with emptiness. Once, these halls rang with life—my brothers' laughter, my father's booming voice, my mother's music.

Now there's only silence, broken occasionally by the sound of medical equipment and quiet footsteps.

"Stefano!" Angela's voice carries from her sitting room, bright despite everything. "Did you bring her? Is she really here?"

I feel Ava tense beside me, surprised by my sister's enthusiasm. I squeeze her hand once.

“Mask,” I say, offering her a medical-grade mask. I don’t think she needs it, but it’s better to be safe than sorry when it comes to Angela.

Angela sits surrounded by books and medical monitors as she gets her infusion, her face lit by genuine excitement. The treatments have taken her hair, but nothing dims those eyes. They are so like our mother's, that is, before grief dulled them.

"You're Ava," she says immediately, beaming. "Stefano's been afraid to bring you, but I knew you'd come eventually. He never shuts up about you."

"Angela," I warn, but there's no heat in it. She's the only person who can tease me without any consequences.

"What? It's true." She waves us closer. "Come, sit. Tell me everything. Are you really a dancer? Do you like books? What's your favorite?—"

"Breathe , piccola ," I interrupt, noting how the questions have brought color to her cheeks. Too much excitement isn't good for her. "Let Ava at least sit down first."

But Ava's already moving toward her, a soft expression in her eyes that makes my breath catch. She settles gracefully beside Angela's bed, asking about the book in her lap.

"Pride and Prejudice," my sister answers, lighting up further. "Again. Stefano says I should branch out, but?—"

"But sometimes you need the comfort of a familiar story," Ava finishes, and just like that, they're lost in a discussion about literature and romance and all the things I pretend not to understand for Angela's amusement.

They fit together so naturally—my fierce, beautiful Ava and my sweet sister. It’s like missing pieces sliding into place.

A shadow in the doorway draws my attention. My mother stands there, elegant as always in expensive silk, but her eyes are distant. She’s clearly lost in memories or grief. It's hard to tell anymore.

"Mama," I say softly, moving to her side. "Come meet Ava properly."

She focuses slowly, like emerging from deep water. "The D'Amato girl?" Her voice carries that familiar confusion. "But they left. They all left."

"She's back now." I guide her gently into the room. "And she's staying."

The last part makes Ava's head snap up, but I hold her gaze steadily.

"Ava." She stands smoothly, offering my mother a warm smile. "It's so good to see you again."

Something flickers in my mother's eyes—recognition, maybe. "You used to read in the garden. With Stefano."

"Yes," Ava says softly. "Under the oak tree."

"He was different then. Before..." My mother trails off, her hand fluttering vaguely.

Before the murders. Before I became the monster. Before everything changed.

"Mama," Angela calls, diffusing the tension. "Come hear what Ava thinks about Mr. Darcy. She agrees with me that he's misunderstood."

Just like that, they're all talking, my mother occasionally drifting away from the topic, but always drawn back by Ava's gentle questions or Angela's enthusiasm.

I stand back, watching how naturally Ava handles them both. I note how she adjusts her approach for my mother's confusion while still matching my sister's excitement. She seems to know instinctively what each of them needs.

"Your white blood cell count is better," I hear her say to Angela. "That's fantastic news."

My sister beams. "The new treatment's working. And Violeta—that's my nurse—says I might be able to start dance classes soon. Light ones, but still."

"Dancing?" Ava's eyes light up. "I could teach you, if your doctors approve. Something gentle to start."

The way Angela's face glows makes my chest tight. She hasn't looked this animated in months.

Even my mother seems more present, watching their interaction with something almost like her old awareness. She reaches for my hand, an increasingly rare gesture.

"She's good with her," she murmurs, nodding toward Ava and Angela. "Like she belongs."

"She does belong," I say quietly. "She just doesn't know it yet."

My mother studies my face, one of her lucid moments sharpening her gaze. "You'll keep her this time?"

"Yes." The word carries all the weight of a vow. And all the darkness of a threat.

"Good." She squeezes my hand once before drifting back to her own world. "The house needs life again."

I watch as Ava helps Angela with her afternoon medication, handling the awkward moment with grace when my mother’s hands shake too much to hold the glass. I watch how she naturally positions herself to support my mother when she sways slightly, making it look casual rather than protective.

She fits so perfectly into every broken piece of my world. She makes my sister laugh, and my mother remember, and my cold empire feel like home.

"Stefano?" Ava calls, drawing me from my thoughts. "Angela wants to show me the garden. Will you help her with the chair?"

I move to assist, careful of my sister's IV lines as we navigate toward the French doors. Ava walks ahead, asking Angela about the roses our mother used to tend.

The sunlight catches her profile, and for a moment, I see our future: Ava permanently by my side, our children playing in these gardens, my sister growing stronger, my mother finding her way back to herself. A family restored.

The monster in me purrs at the image. Yes, I'll keep her. Whatever it takes. Whatever masks I have to wear or games I have to play.