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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ava
The warehouse looms like a forgotten promise—Chicago's industrial wasteland and my new stage.
I ease Tomasso's car to a stop, the engine's purr fading into absolute silence. My fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles white. One last moment to breathe. One last moment before everything changes.
The location couldn't be more perfect for a mob hit if a Hollywood director had designed it. Abandoned. Isolated. No witnesses. No escape routes.
Perfect for them. Potentially perfect for me.
My hand drifts to my stomach. The reason I'm here. The lever I'm about to use in the most dangerous negotiation of my life.
"We're going to be okay," I whisper again. The words sound less like a promise and more like a prayer.
I take inventory, the way my parents taught me.
Phone charged. Check.
Hairpin weapon secured. Check.
Message to Kira sent, protecting the club girls and telling them to get out. Check.
Absolutely terrified but determined. Double-check.
The warehouse sits like a predator, waiting. The industrial metal walls are covered in graffiti, the high windows damaged, like broken teeth. It’s a normal and routine part of the world I'm trapped in, the life I never wanted but can't seem to escape.
I feel a dizzying sense of coming full circle.
Montana feels like a dream now, a fantasy I conjured during quiet moments between cons, between survival. Ranch life. Open skies. Peaceful anonymity.
Instead, I'm here. Pregnant. Married to a mob boss. About to trade myself to save the man I love.
Some fairy tale.
My fingers trace the wedding ring. Stefano's claim. His protection. His prison.
I pull the hairpin from my hair, examining it carefully. A gift from my mother years ago, ornate, deadly. Disguised as something beautiful. Just like me.
"Time to work," I murmur.
The Fiori brothers aren't stupid. They'll be watching every move, looking for any sign of deception.
Which means my performance needs to be flawless.
I take a deep breath. Center myself. Become exactly who they expect me to be.
The desperate wife. The betrayer. The woman willing to sell out her husband to save herself.
Just another role. Just another con.
Except this time, everything actually matters.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Pale skin. Dark eyes. I look like someone who has nothing left to lose.
Perfect.
Time to go to war.
The gravel crunches beneath my shoes, each step deliberate. My hand nestles the hairpin deeper into my hair, a weapon hidden in plain sight.
Abandoned warehouses always smell the same, stale dust and rusted metal. This one breathes decay. Industrial grime coats every surface, telling stories of neglect and abandoned dreams. Just like mine.
I scan the perimeter instinctively. Three potential entry points. Two shadowy corners that are perfect for an ambush. A stack of old pallets that could provide temporary cover if things go sideways.
The massive metal doors look like they've weathered a hundred battles. Rust-eaten hinges. Faded graffiti. Paint peeling like old skin. I run my fingers along the edge, feeling the texture.
I'm not just walking into a trap. I'm walking into the most dangerous performance of my life.
Time to remind the Fiori brothers why they should never underestimate a woman with nothing left to lose.
I place my hand on the warehouse door.
And push.
The warehouse interior swallows me whole. Shadows stretch like hungry fingers across concrete floors stained with decades of industrial secrets. My eyes adjust quickly—another survival skill honed through years of practice, of always needing to read a room faster than anyone else.
Four men. No, five. Their positions are etched into my mind before they can fully register my presence.
Two are near the far wall, trying to look casual but hands too close to their waistbands. Classic concealed carry. One is by a rusted support column, and another is near what looks like an old office doorway. And Stefano.
God, Stefano.
He's barely recognizable. Beaten. Broken. A shadow of the powerful man who forced a wedding ring onto my finger just hours ago. The sight hits me like a physical blow, but I can't, won't, let it show.
My face becomes a mask. Cold. Calculating. Exactly what the Fiori brothers expect from a woman about to betray her husband.
The Fiori brothers, Carlo and Marco, watch me with predatory intensity. Their expensive shoes stand out in stark contrast to the warehouse's decay. They are vultures in thousand-dollar suits, waiting to pick apart what remains of Stefano's empire.
I've been underestimated my entire life. By my own parents. By marks. By entire criminal networks.
Today I hope it is the same. Today the Fioris mistake will cost them everything.
"Gentlemen," I say, my voice cutting through the silence.
Marco steps forward, a smirk playing across his lips. "Miss D'Amato. Or should I say, Mrs. Rega?"
The double meaning hangs in the air. A taunt. A challenge.
I match his smirk. "I'm here to make a deal."
Stefano's broken form catches my peripheral vision. I know he's watching. Listening. I send a silent prayer that he understands what's coming.
Trust me , I think. They are the words we've spoken to one another a thousand times since we were young.
"Your husband's empire," Carlo says, circling me like a predator. "Interesting negotiation strategy."
I laugh. Sharp. Cold. "Not a negotiation. A transfer of power."
My hand drifts to my stomach—a deliberate gesture. A reminder of everything at stake.
"I'm carrying the Rega heir," I continue. "Which means I'm carrying the future. And I'm willing to give you that future. On my terms."
The warehouse goes absolutely silent. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
The Fiori brothers exchange a look, calculation, replacing their initial confidence.
They know they can’t take over the Rega empire by killing Stefano and his heir. Networks, connections, loyalty— they are not easily transferred. Killing us, putting an end to the empire Stefano has built. Though they might get some satisfaction from that, I know money and power are even higher on their list.
Time to make them an offer they can't refuse.