We move deeper into the warehouse, our footsteps echoing off concrete floors. The space smells of rust and motor oil and something else—something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Blood. Old blood, soaked into concrete and never quite washed away.
This is where people come to die.
Lights flood on with a harsh buzzing sound that makes us both flinch. Industrial fluorescents mounted on the ceiling, casting everything in stark white light that eliminates every shadow and hiding place.
And there, in the center of the warehouse floor, is exactly what I expected and feared.
Salvatore Romano stands surrounded by at least a dozen armed men, all of them pointing weapons at us with the casual competence of people who kill for a living. He’s dressed impeccably as always—expensive suit, that smug smile that makes me want to rip his throat out with my bare hands.
And bound to a chair in front of him, beaten and bloodied but unmistakably alive, is Antonio Conti.
The staging is deliberate. Precise. Designed to echo Marco’s death in every detail—the chair, the zip ties, the visible signs of torture. Romano wants me to understand that he owns thismoment completely. That he’s been orchestrating everything from the beginning.
“Luca Marchetti.” Romano’s voice carries easily across the space. “How good of you to join us. It seems your lovely bride followed my instructions.”
Gigi makes a small sound beside me—something between a gasp and a sob—as she sees her father. I feel her start to move forward, and my hand on her back tightens, holding her in place.
“No,” I murmur. “That’s what he wants.”
“Very wise,” Romano agrees, like we’re having a casual discussion instead of a standoff. “You always were the smart one, Luca. Even when you were young and reckless, you had that core of intelligence that your cousin lacked.”
The mention of Marco makes rage burn hot in my chest, but I force it down. Rage is what Romano wants. Rage makes people stupid.
“Let him go,” Gigi says, her voice stronger than I expected. “You wanted us here. We came. Let my father go.”
Romano laughs. “Oh, my dear girl. Did you really think this was about your father? Antonio is merely…leverage. The real reason we’re all here”—his eyes fix on me, cold and calculating—“is because you decided to share someveryinteresting information with your husband recently.”
Ice floods my veins.
He knows about the recording, about what Gigi told me. But how much? How specific is his intelligence?
“Antonio Conti has been a thorn in my side for years,” Romano continues, answering my unspoken question. “I had a feeling he squealed to someone about what happened. And who else would he tell than his daughter?”
Gigi starts from beside me, and Salvatore zooms in on it.
His smirk widens. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have surveillance on known associates? That I wouldn’t be monitoring potential loose ends?”
He’s been watching Gigi. Foryears, he’s been watching, waiting to see if the secret would surface.
“So when my informants reported quite the commotion at the Marchetti estate—raised voices, security breaches, a certain desperate escape attempt”—he smirks at Gigi again, and her face is so, so pale—“I realized my secret was finally compromised.” Romano’s smile widens. “Rather than wait for you to come for me, I decided to end this on my terms.”
“By kidnapping my father?” Gigi sputters, fury evident. “By threatening?—”
“By giving you exactly what you wanted,” Romano interrupts smoothly. “A chance to save your father. A chance for your husband to avenge his cousin. All very noble, very touching.” His expression hardens. “And completely foolish.”
I step forward, putting myself more fully between Gigi and the weapons trained on us. “If you want me, Romano, then let’s end this. Just you and me.” My voice is steel. “Gigi and Antonio are innocent in all this.”
Romano’s laugh echoes through the warehouse, sharp and cruel. “Innocent?” He shakes his head, genuine amusement lightinghis features. “Oh, Luca. The two of them are far from innocent. For many, many reasons.”
His gaze slides to Antonio, still bound and bleeding in the chair. “Your father-in-law’s useless and idiotic information got your cousin killed.” Then to Gigi. “And your lovely wife kept that secret. Don’t pretend either of them are blameless victims in this.”
I refuse to let him know how much those words affect me, how much I’ve thought them myself. “Then what is this really about, Salvatore?” I ask. “Why bring us here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Romano spreads his hands wide, the gesture almost theatrical. “This is about finishing what I started three years ago. You’ve always been a thorn in my side, Luca. Your cousin may have been the brains, but we all knewyouwere the one who ran the organization. You needed to be dealt with as you were the one who posed the most threat to my organization. That’s what Antonio was supposed to help with.” He glares at the man, who cowers. Salvatore picks an invisible piece of lint off his suit. “But even though Antonio’s information wasincorrect, it wasn’t completely useless. A Marchetti still died.”
Hearing him admit to Marco’s murder so casually makes white-hot rage surge through me. My hand moves toward the gun at my back.
“Ah ah ah,” Romanotsks, and a dozen weapons cock in unison. “Not yet, Luca. We’re not finished talking.”
