I nod, then turn to Carmela one last time. “Stay inside. Stay safe.”
“Just come home,” she whispers.
With one final lingering look, I force myself out the door and into the waiting car. Miami awaits, and with it, a reckoning the Morettis won’t soon forget.
25
CARMELA
The estate feels too large, too empty without Silvo. Three days since he left for Miami, and the walls seem to close in despite the mansion’s vastness. I wander through the garden, trailing my fingers along the rose bushes I’ve been trying to maintain—though they’re nothing compared to Giulia’s expert touch.
“Careful of the thorns.” Fed appears behind me, his footsteps silent on the stone path. “You’ll ruin those pretty hands.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not made of glass.”
“No, you’re made of fire.” Fed grins, so much like Silvo yet so different. “Has my brother called?”
“This morning.” I don’t mention how my heart races every time the phone rings, how I strain to hear any hint of danger in Silvo’s voice. “He says it’ll be another day or two.”
A maid approaches us, carrying a small package on a silver tray. “This just arrived for you, Mrs. De Luca.”
I take the unmarked brown parcel, feeling its lightweight in my hands. “No return address?”
“No, ma’am. It was hand-delivered to the gate.”
Something cold slithers down my spine as the maid retreats. Fed frowns, stepping closer.
“Let me open it.”
“I can handle a package, Federico.” I tear through the brown paper, revealing a plain white envelope inside.
The moment I slide my finger under the flap, several photographs spill onto the stone path. I freeze, my blood turning to ice.
They’re photos of Silvo and me. Leaving restaurants. Standing on our balcony. Even one through our bedroom window makes my stomach clench.
“What the fuck?” Fed snatches up the photos, his playful demeanor vanishing.
My hands shake as I pull out a typed note from the envelope:
The De Luca’s prized possession. How easy it would be to take you. Your husband can’t protect you forever. The Morettis send their regards.
Fed’s face hardens as he reads over my shoulder. “We need to call Silvo.”
“No.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “He has enough to worry about.”
“Carmela—”
“They want to frighten me.” I crumple the note in my fist, anger replacing fear. “I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’m not sitting around waiting to be the victim in someone else’s war,” I say, gathering the scattered photos. “Let them come. I’ll be ready.”
Fed studies me with newfound respect. “What are you planning?”
“Knowledge is power, and I’m tired of being powerless.” I march back toward the house with purpose. “The Morettis want to play games? I’ll learn every rule before they make their next move.”
I head straight for Silvo’s office, a room I’ve barely entered since arriving. The heavy oak door swings open to reveal leather-bound books, filing cabinets, and a massive mahogany desk.
“Carmela, you shouldn’t be in here,” Fed warns, following close behind.
I ignore him, sliding into Silvo’s chair. “Your brother married a Bianchi. I grew up in this world, too.” My fingers trail over the sleek laptop on the desk. “The password. What would Silvo use?”
