Me: Wake Andre.Ledger pattern.Old offshore.Pull anything that survived the burn.
A bubble appeared almost instantly.
Marco: On it.We’ll cross with the car cameras from Via del Leone.
I pocketed the phone and walked the upstairs loop, checking doors, letting muscle memory patrol what affection couldn’t protect.
When I returned to the landing, Luca waited in the shadows like a well-trained sin.He kept his voice low.“Boss.”
“The car is back?”
He shook his head.“Street’s clean.But the west camera glitched for sixty seconds at 2:08.Came back with minimal static.”
“Pull the feed.Send it to Marco.I want timestamps from the crane.”
I wasted no time going back to the study.Someone was coming after me.I expected it, but Gallo?I hadn’t thought of that name in… over a decade?
I sat the coin on the map and drew three small circles: the dock camera, the old Di Fiore property, the street beyond our gates.A triangle, neat and mean.
I called Marco.He answered on the first ring.
“Listen.Cross the numbers with Father’s final quarter.Look for counterparties with Eastern intermediaries.”
“Copy.The west camera stuttered at 2:08.No lag in power though.”
Someone was messing with her as well.Using her to get even with me?Maybe I shouldn’t have married her so soon.Would she be safe if I would have waited?
I went back upstairs.Mia hadn’t moved.The sheet slipped to her waist; she’d thrown an arm over her eyes the way she did when light tried to wake her before she was ready to meet it.I stood there a long time, letting the sight of her settle into the places violence can’t quite reach.My hands—those instruments my father honed—were heavy and human.I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.She didn’t wake, but her mouth softened, the smallest sign that some part of her recognized the presence and forgave it.
I lay down beside her without touching and gazed at the ceiling.In another life, a younger version of me would be getting dressed, loading a car, igniting the city one corner at a time to send a message written in smoke.In this one, I let the plan root deeper than impulse, let the ledgers and cameras earn their keep.
Mia shifted, seeking heat, and found my ribs.
I slept.Not long.Not deep.Just enough to refuel.
31
MIA
Enrico’s side of the bed was cold.Sheets still rumpled, scent of his cologne clinging to the pillow.I reached out, fingers brushing over the empty space as if I could pull him back into it.Days blurred together since the rescue.The doctor’s visit, the stitches, the long nights where Enrico barely slept beside me.He’d been here and not here, his body close but his mind miles away.
I slipped from bed, pulling one of his shirts around me.It was oversized, the fabric falling just enough to remind me of his hands on my body, the way he’d claimed me like I was both salvation and punishment.He’d been not completely here lately.Hell bent on getting revenge on the one responsible for my kidnapping.I loved that he was so concerned for my safety, but I’d like to sleep next to my husband too.
From the hallway, voices came.Low.Rough.The kind that tried to hide the weight behind the words.I padded closer, bare feet silent against the cool floor.Enrico’s study door was half-closed.The scent of smoke curled through the air—cigars and danger.
“…they sent the warning directly.”Marco’s voice.Tense, clipped.“No middlemen.Gallo ink, old family signature.They’re not hiding it this time.”
The Gallos were well known.
Enrico’s reply came like thunder, barely restrained.“They want me to react.They always have.Our father gave them blood.I’ll give them fire.”
A long silence.Then, Marco again, softer: “We’re already stretched thin.Whatever this is, it’s personal.”
Personal.
I pressed closer to the door, careful not to make a sound.Enrico stood by the window, sunlight slicing across his face.He appeared carved from shadow and intent, sleeves rolled up, jaw set tight.Marco stood a few feet away, every line of his body pulled taut.
“They think they can get to me through her,” Enrico said finally, voice rough, almost broken under the veneer of control.“They’re testing how far I’ll go.They always did.”
