"You don't know that. Viktor is smart, strategic. He's had this planned for days, maybe weeks. While I was focused on the anniversary celebration, on Bianca, on everything else—he was setting up this exact scenario, as a backup plan."
"Then we out-strategize him. We find Piero. We bring him home."
"And if we can't? If Viktor demands the fifty percent and I refuse, and Piero dies because of my pride?"
"Then you give Viktor what he wants. Territory isn't worth Piero's life."
Cesare turned to look at me, something broken in his eyes. "I already gave him and the other Dons twenty percent of New York territory. I've been bleeding assets to him for weeks—trying to satisfy his demands, trying to keep peace."
"So give him more."
"It's not that simple anymore. Giovanni's empire was leverage I could afford to lose—it was never really mine, just a temporary acquisition for exactly this purpose. But the Monti empire? My father built it over thirty years. My grandfather before him. If I give Viktor fifty percent of that, I'm not just surrendering territory—I'm destroying my family's legacy. I'm making the Monti name worthless."
"But you'd have Piero. You'd have your brother."
"Would I? Or would Viktor just come back in six months demanding more? Where does it end, Paola? When he owns everything and I'm left with nothing but my brother and my shame?"
I understood the dilemma now. This wasn't about pride—it was about whether surrendering would even save Piero, or just delay the inevitable whilst destroying everything Cesare had left.
"So what's the alternative?" I asked quietly.
"We find Piero before the deadline. We extract him without giving Viktor anything."
"And if we can't?"
His jaw set. "Then I make the choice no Don should ever have to make."
"I'd have you keep your brother alive. Everything else can be rebuilt."
Something shifted in his expression—gratitude, love, recognition that I understood. Got him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For being here. For not running when this gets messy."
"Where would I run? We're in this together, remember?"
He pulled me close, kissed my forehead. "Together."
We returned to the war room where Rocco was coordinating surveillance with six different teams. I felt a wave of dizziness hit suddenly—the room tilting slightly beneath my feet. I grabbed the edge of the table, steadying myself.
Must be exhaustion. I'd barely slept in thirty hours, eaten almost nothing.
"You okay?" Giulio asked, noticing.
"Fine. Just tired."
But then my stomach churned—nausea rolling through me in waves that made my mouth water.
"Actually, excuse me—"
I made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet.
Afterward, I sat on the cool tile floor, breathing hard, confused.
This wasn't just exhaustion. This was something else.
Another wave hit. I vomited again, bile burning my throat.
A knock on the door. "Paola?" Cesare's voice, concerned.
