“Why can’t I go to the north gardens anymore?” she asks one evening, her voice filled with barely controlled anger. “I’ve been going there every day for weeks.”
“Security concerns,” I repeat the bullshit explanation, purposefully looking down at my plate. “It’s temporary.”
“Everything with you istemporary.” She throws her napkin onto her dinner plate with more force than necessary. “Therestrictions are temporary, seeing my father is comingsoon, my future is something we’ll figure outlater.” She sighs and I look up to see her close her eyes. She looks exhausted and some tendrils of guilt try to take hold. “I’m tired of temporary, Luca. I’m tired of being kept in the dark about things that affect my life.”
I could laugh at the irony, and those guilty strands wither away.She’stired of being kept in the dark while simultaneously keepingmein the dark about whatever she’s planning.
“I’m doing what’s necessary to keep you safe,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Or what’s necessary to keep me controlled.” Her eyes flash with the defiance I’ve missed seeing. “There’s a difference, and we both know which one this actually is.”
I ignore that statement because admitting that means admitting I’m losing my grip on both the situation and my own paranoia.
“I need to know you’re protected,” I hear myself say, and at least that much is true. Even if my methods are destroying what I’m trying to protect.
“Protected fromwhat?” She stands, tossing her silverware onto her half-eaten plate. “From your enemies? Or from my own choices?”
I don’t have an answer that won’t confirm her worst suspicions. So I say nothing, watching her storm out of the dining room with her head held high and fury radiating from every line of her body.
That night, she doesn’t come to our bed. I find her in her old suite, the door locked against me—a clear message that my surveillance hasn’t missed.
She’s pulling away. Exactly as Danny predicted. Exactly as I feared.
And I have no idea how to stop it without revealing that I’ve been watching her like a prisoner instead of loving her like a husband.
The next day, during an afternoon meeting in my office with Danny and Dimitri to discuss the territorial expansion we’ve been planning, my phone lights up with Viktor’s name. I gesture for silence before answering.
“Viktor.” I keep my voice casual even though Danny’s watching me with careful attention and Dimitri is leaning back in his chair with barely concealed impatience. “Good to hear from you.”
“Luca.” Viktor’s voice fills the room. “The merger of our operations is proceeding smoothly. Better than I anticipated, actually. Your men and mine are coordinating beautifully.”
“Excellent news.” I lean back in my chair, watching Dimitri’s expression change from impatience to sharp interest. He’s been pushing for more aggressive expansion and more visible demonstrations of our combined power.
“Indeed. Which brings me to another matter.” Viktor’s tone shifts slightly, becoming more businesslike. “We should discuss moving forward with disposing of the prisoner problem. Justice for Marco’s death, yes? It’s time to complete what you started.”
My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral. Dimitri sits up straighter, his eyes locked on me with intensity that makes my skin crawl. Danny goes very still, like a predator that’s sensed danger.
“Of course,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the way my heart is hammering. “We’ll coordinate timing and logistics.”
“Perfect. We can discuss details next week.” Viktor sounds pleased, oblivious to the tension now crackling through my office. “Give my regards to your lovely wife. Natasha mentioned she would love to get together with her soon.”
I highly doubt it. “I will. Talk soon, Viktor.”
I end the call and set the phone down carefully, already knowing what’s coming. Dimitri has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting for confirmation that I haven’t gone soft and that I remember what this was always supposed to be about.
The silence stretches for several long seconds. I can feel both men watching me, waiting for my response to Viktor’s thinly veiled directive.
“Finally.” Dimitri breaks the silence, his voice carrying so much relief that it makes me want to hit him. He shifts forward in his chair, his scarred hands spreading on the armrests. “Viktor’s right. It’s past time we moved forward with the Conti girl.”
“Giuliana,” I correct quietly, my voice coming out in a near growl. “My wife.”
Dimitri waves a dismissive hand, either missing or ignoring the warning in my tone. “Wife, target, whatever you want to call her—she’s served her purpose.” He leans forward, his knuckles rapping against the arm of his chair with each point. “The menare getting restless, boss. They want to see justice for Marco. They want to know you haven’t forgotten why we started this. They want bloodshed.”
I study him with the cold assessment I usually reserve for enemies. Dimitri has been useful. He’s brutal and efficient in ways that built this empire, but weapons don’t get to question the hand that wields them.
“The men want to make sure the plan is still being followed,” Dimitri continues, oblivious to the glare that Danny’s sending him. “The plan was always to kill her first, make Antonio watch his daughter die, then execute him.”
“The men want to see justice,” I repeat slowly, my voice devoid of emotion. “And they’ll see it. WhenIdecide the time is right.”
