I bristled, my voice steady. “My family has nothing to do with the Biker Federation.”
Mischief’s gaze didn’t waver. “True, but your wife does, thereby your family could be considered collateral damage.”
Sitting up straighter, I stiffened, the gravity of her words settling in. “What are you saying?”
Mischief hesitated, her voice a whisper barely audible above the hum of my nerves. “There’s a storm coming, Mr. Vitale. I can steer you clear, but you have to decide quickly. Loyalty and blood have a way of complicating things, and soon, you’ll need to choose what matters most.” Her eyes flashed with something like regret, though it was gone before I could name it.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with implication. I searched her face for any hint of deceit, but Mischief wore her secrets well, letting only a flicker of vulnerability betray her confidence. My heart beat faster as the reality settled in—whatever choice I made tonight would have consequences that reached far beyond just myself.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew this woman knew more than she let on, but I couldn’t get a good read on her. I didn’t know if she was friend or foe. Yet the longer I watched her, the more I was inclined to trust her.
I studied her carefully, searching for any hint of her true intentions beneath the enigmatic smile she wore. Every word she spoke seemed layered, her tone never quite giving away the full story. My instincts told me to stay on guard, but there was something compelling in the way she carried herself—an air of confidence that bordered on dangerous. Despite the uncertainty swirling between us, I found myself drawn in, curiosity and caution warring inside me. In that moment, I realized that trust was forming, almost against my will, and I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a comfort or a threat.
Trusting my instincts, I finally broke the silence. “Alright. What do you want from me?” My voice was calm, but beneath my steady exterior, anxiety twisted in my gut. The question seemed to echo, filling the space between us with tension.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across Mischief’s face. “I want you to kill Katherine Barbari.” Her words were sharp, each syllable measured.
The weight of her request hit me instantly, and I went rigid, shock freezing me in place. The implication of what she’d just asked was staggering.
She leaned back with a smirk, her tone almost playful. “Call it an act of good faith if you will.”
Sitting there, I tried to comprehend the magnitude of Mischief’s request. Katherine—Kate—was not the villain in this story; she was merely a piece in her father’s twisted game, an innocent swept up in circumstances far beyond her control. Every moment she suffered was a direct result of a man who viewed her as nothing but collateral, a pawn to be sacrificed for his own gain. My involvement in her pain weighed heavilyon me, and knowing she carried my bastard child made the situation even more complicated. The urge to refuse Mischief’s demand was overwhelming; I wanted to turn my back on this and walk away, to leave Kate out of harm’s reach. Yet, as I wrestled with my conscience, another side of me emerged—the side that understood the brutal logic of survival. Eliminating Kate would mean tying up a loose end, removing a vulnerability that could unravel everything. The conflict inside me was fierce: compassion clashed with cold calculation, and the path forward was anything but clear.
Needing more information, I asked, “Why? She’s not a major player. Her death will have no bearing on the biker war or my family.”
Mischief’s lips curled into a more enigmatic smile, her eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and warning. “You’re right—she isn’t a major player,” she whispered, almost as if trying to reassure me. “But sometimes, it’s not about the game. It’s about the message. Her death will send ripples, subtle but unmistakable, to those watching from the shadows. It will prove you’re willing to do what needs to be done—even when it’s ugly.” She paused, letting her words settle over me like a cold shroud. “And make no mistake, Mr. Vitale, the Devil always has eyes in the dark, waiting to see where your loyalties truly lie.”
Slowly getting up from her seat, Mischief leveled me with a final, piercing look. Her words were laced with quiet authority as she said, “You have twenty-four hours, Mr. Vitale, and then the deal is off the table. Choose wisely.” With that ultimatum hanging in the air, she pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door, her presence lingering even as she retreated from the room.
I remained seated, my body rigid and unmoving as the silence closed in around me once more. I listened to the soft click of her heels fading away, each step echoing the gravity ofthe choice before me. Alone now, I could do nothing but stare at the empty space she’d left behind, the weight of her mandate pressing down on me, demanding a decision I wasn’t sure I could make.
“He’s testing you.”
Startled, I spun around and saw Guilio leaning casually against the wall, a look of resignation on his face as he slowly shook his head. His voice carried a quiet certainty. “I told you he was the master at chess, and the Devil just made his move. What are you going to do?” His question hung heavily in the air, underscoring the gravity of my situation and the precision of the trap that had just been set.
I let out a sigh, exhaustion and uncertainty weighing me down. Leaning forward, I buried my face in my hands, my thoughts swirling in turmoil. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper, each word laced with fear and indecision that gripped me.
For a long moment, I remained lost in thought, replaying every conversation and every choice that had led me here. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with expectation and dread. I weighed the consequences of action and inaction, knowing that whatever I decided, there would be no turning back. The night felt colder now, the shadows deeper, as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for my answer.
The silence grew heavier with each passing second, my heart hammering against my chest, torn between duty and remorse. Shadows flickered along the walls, mirroring the indecisioninside me. I closed my eyes, searching for some anchor, but found only the echo of Mischief’s ultimatum, the memory of Kate’s haunted gaze, and the smile on my wife’s face.
Guilio’s voice cut through the tension, his words measured but firm. “Word of advice, Massimo,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall. “Don’t overthink this. Just make a decision and act on it quickly. If you keep dwelling on it, it’ll only eat you alive.” His tone was practical, almost detached, as if he’d made such choices before and understood the toll they took.
I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper. “She’s pregnant, Guilio.” The confession hung between us, laden with guilt and regret.
Guilio’s response was immediate, his eyes searching my face with a mixture of sympathy and challenge. “And whose fault is that?” he asked, not with anger but with an understanding of the messy reality I faced. “He’s giving you a chance to fix this before everything spirals out of control.”
I looked up, searching his expression for any sign of hesitation. “Could you do it? Could you kill a pregnant woman?” My question came out rough, heavy with the weight of what was being asked of me.
Guilio’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening with the weight of unspoken experience. “You’d be surprised what I’ve done to protect my family, brother,” he said, his voice low and resolute. There was a warning in his tone—a hint that the boundaries of morality had long since blurred in the name of loyalty. “Don’t ask questions if you’re not prepared to hear the answer.” His words lingered in the air, heavy with implication, forcing me to confront the reality of the choices before me and the lengths to which Guilio was willing to go for those he loved.
The question was, could I follow in my brother’s footsteps?
Chapter Forty
Miranda
“So when does your residency start at Chicago Memorial?” Oliver asked, settling into the seat beside me as Milo navigated the busy streets toward downtown Chicago. The city’s energy buzzed past the windows, but a gentle anticipation hung between us in the car.
