Marchetti’s jaw tightens. “Are you threatening us, Rafe?”
“I’m stating a fact,” I say. “Nikki Ricci is under my protection. She’s mine. And if anyone whispers her name with disrespect, I won’t just retaliate, I’ll raze everything they’ve ever loved to the ground. This isn’t posturing. It’s prophecy.”
There’s silence.
Then, eventually, agreement.
By the end of the hour, we have an understanding: Nikki Ricci is untouchable. The whispers will stop. The testing ends. They’ll spread the word.
They’ll make it clear.
She isn’t a liability.
She’s mine.
Step two: Reposition the narrative. The public perception. The digital footprint. This is where Nikki's skills become truly invaluable. This is where her innate understanding of the masses, of the influencers, of the fleeting attention span of the internet, comes into play.
"Her team needs to leak new photos," I instruct Enzo. "Images that reinforce the narrative. That solidify the illusion. That scream 'in love.' But subtly. Authentically. In a way only she can orchestrate."
Enzo nods, already tapping at his tablet. "What kind of images? More staged romantic shots?"
"More than staged," I clarify, my eyes fixed on the digital feeds, envisioning the outcome. "Authentic. Vulnerable. Glimpses into our 'private' world. Us, laughing on a sun-drenched balcony in Capri. Her in my arms, wrapped in a silk sheet, just after waking, grinning, looking utterly adored. A close-up of the ring on her finger as a symbol of a very real, very public commitment." I need the world to believe this.
My people do the rest. They have their own network, their own subtle ways of manipulating the information stream, of ensuring the right images, the right captions, reach the right eyes. They'll ensure these photos go viral, that they're spread across every platform.
I let the world assume what it wants. That I've gone soft for an influencer, that I've been tamed by her beauty. That shetransformed the ruthless capo into a lovesick fool. That we're a modern-day fairytale, a scandalous romance that eclipses all others.
Let them think what they want.
They don't need to know I still keep a gun under my pillow. A cold, heavy piece of metal that reminds me of the brutal reality of my existence. Or that I'd slit a man's throat with the same hand I use to zip up her dress.
They don't need to know the monster they believe I am has simply found a new, more precious thing to protect. And that for her, I'm willing to burn the world down.
Every single last piece of it.
Step three: Prepare for war. Because even if we've won this round, even if the public believes the lie and my rivals understand the warning, it's not over.
Not with groups like Scorpione Nero. They're like rabid dogs. They'll circle and wait for a weakness. And then they'll strike.
This is only a temporary reprieve. A declaration of war, and they'll answer it.
Enzo brings me files. Thick folders filled with intelligence reports. Maps. Threat assessments. He lays them out on the table in my office, each one a stark reminder of the brutality that awaits.
The Scorpione Nero are regrouping. Their pride's wounded. Their power challenged. Smaller families, opportunistic vultures, are watching. Waiting to see who comes out on top. Waiting to align themselves with the victor whoever that might be.
I study the maps, the names. A cold calm settles over me. Let them come. Let them make their move.
This time, I won't be protecting a secret. I'll be defending my queen.
That night, after the last of the reports are reviewed, after the final orders are given, I find her on the rooftop terrace of the villa. The night air's cool, carrying the scent of blooming flowers. She's barefoot with a glass of red wine in her hand. Her hair's up, revealing the elegant line of her neck. She belongs here, in the quiet solitude of my world.
"You look like trouble," I say. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest, inhaling the scent of her. She fits perfectly.
She smiles, a soft, knowing curve of her lips. She leans her head back against my shoulder, her body warm and solid against mine. "And you look like you love it, Rafe. The trouble. The chaos. The fight. It suits you."
"I do," I admit.
It's a truth I've only just begun to acknowledge, even to myself. I tighten my arms around her, pressing my mouth against her temple.
