I nod slowly. “Good. How soon can we send the message?”
Valerio whips out a burner and waves it. “How about right now?”
“Do it.”
He types quickly, then turns the phone toward me. I grab it and read the screen.
Then I pull out my own burner and send the final message:
Marseille is slipping. Your boys are selling pieces of the deal behind your back.
Word is Matteo’s name is on the contract.
You’d better get out there before you lose more than respect.
“Do you want to do the honors?”
I hit send and toss the burner back to Valerio.
“He’ll be on the move within 24 to 48 hours. He’ll ask Luca, of course—that’s his point of contact in France.”
Valerio’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. His expression is calm, but I know him better than anyone. He’s on edge, with a point to prove. He’s still carrying the weight ofthe boutique incident, trying to make up for what he views as a failure.
He doesn’t have to.
I lift my gaze from the table. “How sure?”
Valerio flicks his wrist. “I’d stake my life on it, boss.”
I exhale once. I won’t breathe easier until that bastard is off American soil.
“But while he’s away,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “I think we should pay some of his establishments a visit.”
Valerio’s lips curl into a sinister smirk, eyes glinting with understanding. “You read my mind, brother.”
Giacomo will rue the day he ever laid hands on my woman.
Now he will atonefor everything he’s done—even if I have to drag him to hell myself.
Game on, motherfucker.
20
BEATRICE
“Ido.”
Marta beamsup at her husband, love and devotion spilling from her in a way that feels almost sacred. The kind of love that doesn’t ask permission to exist.
A smile claims me before I can stop it. There is something unbearably powerful about witnessing two people choose each other in front of the world, about hearing vows spoken with certainty instead of fear.
“And do you, Marcello Dante Faravelli, take Marta Riola to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Father Torre asks, his voice warm, his eyes shining with the same joy he wore at our own wedding only weeks ago.
Marcello doesn’t hesitate. He looks at her like she is the axis his world turns on. “I do.”
The words settle into the air, soft but unbreakable, carrying promise and permanence all at once. A breeze slips through the olive trees behind the altar, lifting Marta’s veil as though the land itself is blessing them.
She is radiant. Glowing with quiet strength and joy, her belly gently rounded beneath pale silk, life growing where love already lives. Marcello stands at her side, solid and proud, his hand locked around hers with instinctive certainty, like he was always meant to hold her there.
