Not the careful, calculated smile she'd used in the strategy meeting. Not the defiant smile she'd used when she'd declared she wouldn't be compliant. A real one. The kind that suggested she knew exactly what I was feeling and found it amusing.
Then she turned back to Ricci, and I watched her continue her ascension into my world, and something cold settled in my chest.
Later that night, I found myself on the rooftop of The Apex. Wind whipped through my hair, the city spread out below.
I'd built this empire because I was terrified of being powerless.
And now I'd handed it to her without realizing it.
Not physically. I still controlled the money, still made the final call, and still had the power to destroy anything that threatened us. But Julietta—my captive, my obsession—she moved through my organization like she owned it. And the worst part was that my men respected it. Feared it. Followed it.
They'd have followed her if she asked.
The thought made something violent rise in my chest.
I turned away from the edge, jaw clenched, fists white-knuckled. The wind tore at my suit jacket, and I let it. Let the cold city air burn my skin. Let the height press down on me. Let the fear sit in my throat like swallowed glass.
And fear I should feel. Lorenzo hadn't been idle—his men were turning over every stone in the city, following leads that got closer every day. The Suarez family, meanwhile, was making noise about retaliation, though they didn't know who to retaliate against yet.Miguel's death remained officially unsolved, the ballroom assassination attributed to a phantom sniper no one could identify.
My anonymity was the only thing keeping us alive. I'd been careful—the extraction clean, no witnesses who could identify me, my men's loyalty absolute. Lorenzo suspected someone from the underworld had taken her, but the list of candidates was long, and I'd made sure my name wasn't at the top.
But that protection was temporary. Eventually, someone would talk. Someone would connect the dots. Someone would realize that Dante Taviani, who'd quietly consolidated northern territory while Lorenzo was distracted, might have more than a passing interest in the Altieri princess.
And when that happens, this fragile peace would shatter.
What if she no longer needed me?
The question came unbidden, and I couldn't force it back down. It sat there, sharp and poisonous, in the dark place where I kept the truths I didn't want to acknowledge.
Three weeks into her role, Julietta had power now. Real power. Not the ceremonial kind that came from being a title or bloodline, but earned power. Respect. Authority. The kind that made men listen and plans shift and territories reorganize themselves around her thinking instead of mine.
She could walk away.
That was the vulnerability I couldn't bear. I'd spent twenty years building walls high enough that no one could hurt me. But Julietta had walked through them like they were made of smoke, and now the only thing keeping me from shattering was her presence.
If she left, the walls wouldn't matter. Nothing would.
I could lock the doors. Bring her back to the bedroom. Remind her with my hands and my voice and the weight of my body that shebelonged to me, not to ambition. That safety came from submission, not from power.
I could.
But I wouldn't.
Because somewhere in the last three weeks, obsession had transformed into something worse. Into love. Into the kind of vulnerability that made a man willing to lose everything just to watch the person he loved become everything they could be.
Even if it meant losing them.
Especially if it meant losing them.
CHAPTER 12
Julietta
The phone call came during dinner. Dante was reviewing something on his laptop, and I was pretending to eat the pasta Ricci had prepared while actually mapping the compound's layout in my head—exits, blind spots, security rotations. Old habits. New purpose.
His phone buzzed. Then again. Three times in rapid succession.
I watched his jaw tighten as he read whatever appeared on the screen. The kind of tightening that meant blood vessels were constricting, oxygen flow redirecting to his brain, body preparing for a fight.
