Better he hate me and stay alive than go home to a death sentence.
My phone buzzed. Another text from Sandro.
Meeting tomorrow, 9 AM. All partners. We need a plan for Giuseppe.
I typed back:I'll be there.
Then I silenced my phone and pulled Stefan closer.
Tomorrow I'd deal with strategy and planning and the war that was coming. Tomorrow I'd face my partners and justify keeping Stefan despite the complications. Tomorrow I'd figure out how to destroy Giuseppe without destroying Stefan in the process.
But tonight, I'd hold him and pretend we were just two people who'd found something real in the middle of chaos.
Even if that was a lie we both needed to believe.
CHAPTER 9: STEFAN
I SPENT THEnext few days trying to process what Matteo had told me about my father.
Giuseppe Romano was cooperating with the FBI. Feeding them information about the Vitale operations. Trying to take down his rivals while securing immunity for himself.
The more I thought about it, the more pieces started falling into place.
My father hadn't sent me to Inferno to prove myself. He'd sent me to fail. To die, probably. Or at least to get caught and humiliated so he could finally justify cutting me loose from the family entirely. One less disappointment to manage. One less pretty face that wasn't useful for anything except making the Romanos look respectable at charity events.
And separately—completely separately—he'd been working with federal agents. Betraying the code. Doing the one thing that was absolutely unforgivable in our world.
Two betrayals. Not one coordinated plan. Just my father being exactly who he'd always been: a manipulative bastard who used everyone around him as tools.
I was a pawn in his game. Again.
It shouldn't surprise me. I'd spent twenty-three years being used by my family. Paraded around. Sold at auctions. Treated like property instead of a person. I'd thought this mission—stupid and dangerous as it was—had finally been my chance to prove I was more than decorative.
Instead, it was just another manipulation. Another way for Giuseppe to use me and discard me when I was no longer useful.
It hurt.
God, it hurt more than it should have. I'd known my father didn't value me. Had known for years. But some part of me had still hoped. Had still believed that maybe, just maybe, if I succeeded at this one thing, he'd finally see me as more than the pretty one. The useless one. The son who didn't fit the mold.
Now I knew the truth. Giuseppe had never intended for me to succeed. Had probably been relieved when I disappeared. One less complication. One less weak link to worry about.
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling and tried to figure out how I felt about all of it.
Angry. Definitely angry. At my father for using me. At myself for being stupid enough to think I could prove anything to him. At the entire fucked-up world I'd been born into where family meant nothing except leverage and manipulation.
But underneath the anger was something else. Something that felt almost like relief.
Because if Giuseppe was a traitor—if he'd betrayed the families—then I didn't owe him loyalty anymore. Didn't have to pretend I was a good Romano son. Didn't have to go back to that life even if I could.
I was free.
In the most fucked-up way possible, I was finally free.
The lock clicked.
I looked up. Matteo entered carrying his laptop and a bag of food that smelled incredible.
"Thai," he said, setting everything on the table. "Thought you might be sick of Italian."
