But it was Bianca’s kidnapping several years later that transformed our professional relationship into something deeper.
Mario DeLuca’s betrayal cut deeper than Sophia’s ever could, because blood is supposed to mean something in our world.
When Giuseppe’s bastard son decided that his brother was weak, that the family needed different leadership, he chose the most brutal method possible to make his point—taking a twelve-year-old girl and using her as leverage against her father.
I’ll never forget the call that came in the middle of the night. Matteo’s voice, raw with panic and rage: “They took Bianca. Mario’s got her, and he’s going to kill her if I don’t step down.”
I’d helped coordinate search efforts before, but this was different.
This was personal in a way that surprised me—not just because of my loyalty to Matteo, but because I’d known Bianca, had seen her intelligence and courage even at such a young age.
The shipping container where we finally found her was a testament to Mario’s cruelty.
Fucking Red Hook, surrounded by filth.
When we breached the container, I was right behind Matteo, weapon drawn, expecting the worst.
What we found was a child stripped of her dignity—twelve years old, silent, trembling in the corner of a shipping container.
Her uniform was torn, her wrists chafed and bleeding.
That moment branded itself into my memory, a wound I’ve carried ever since.
But what stayed with me most wasn’t the rescue itself.
It was what came after.
Bianca, once so guarded, silent through the chaos, finally letting go.
She didn’t speak, just reached for Matteo with this quiet desperation, as if some part of her had always known he’d come.
She clung to him not like a victim, but like someone claiming safety for the first time.
And when he carried her out, it wasn’t her tears I remembered most.
It was the way her hand fisted into his shirt, refusing to let go.
That was the moment I understood what family really meant to the DeLucas.
Not just blood and tradition, but the kind of love that would burn the world down to keep each other safe.
It was also the moment I realized that my loyalty to this family was no longer just professional.
Watching Matteo carry his daughter out of that warehouse, seeing the relief and love and determination on his face…
I knew then I’d follow this man anywhere, fight any battle, face any enemy to protect what he’d built.
That operation cemented my reputation as someone who could be trusted with the family’s most precious assets.
Within two years, I’d built my own organization with Matteo’s backing, creating a separate but allied power base that strengthened both our positions.
But now, seven years later, I’m sitting in my car in Matteo’s driveway, fielding calls from men who want to know if that loyalty still holds when the federal spotlight gets too bright.
Before I can decide whether to head home or stay close in case Matteo needs additional support, my phone buzzes with a text message from Bella DeLuca.
Alessandro, all hell has broken loose here. Bianca knows the truth about Giuseppe and Sophia. Matteo is falling apart. Can you please find her and talk to her? She might listen to you.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my chest tightening with an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely.
