Fed pushes off the counter. “Alright, lovebirds and love-adjacent people, I’m going to make sure the house is secure before Silvo gets here. He’ll want to dive straight into whatever intel you’ve gathered.”
“Good idea,” I say, finishing my pancakes and draining my juice. “Isabella and I will get everything set up in the office.”
As Fed heads out, Sophia begins clearing plates. “You know, Carmela, when you first got here, I never thought I’d see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Happy. Settled. Like you belong.” She smiles warmly. “It’s good to see.”
Her words touch something deep inside me. She’s right—I do belong here now. This house, this family, this life I initially resented has become mine in ways I never expected.
“Thanks, Soph,” I say, hugging her. “For coming here with me. For staying. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Please,” she waves me off. “Like I’d let you face the mafia alone. Besides, the view isn’t bad.” Her eyes drift toward where Fed disappeared.
Isabella and I exchange knowing glances.
“Come on,” I tell Isabella. “Let’s make sure everything’s perfect for Silvo’s arrival. I want to hit him with all of this at once—show him what his wife is capable of.”
Isabella grins. “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees what you’ve put together.”
We return to the office, making final adjustments to the presentation. I arrange the photos in order of importance, stack the financial documents by category, and ensure the maps are clearly labeled.
By the time we’re finished, the office looks like a professional intelligence briefing room. Every surface covered with evidence, every connection clearly marked. This is more than just research—it’s a complete breakdown of our enemy’s strategy, psychology, and vulnerabilities.
“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Isabella says, surveying our work with obvious pride.
“We did this together,” I remind her.
“True. But you’re the one who saw the bigger picture. Who connected the emotional history to the tactical reality?” She squeezes my shoulder. “Silvo’s lucky to have you.”
The sound of a car engine makes my heart leap. I rush to the window and see Silvo’s black sedan pulling into the driveway.
“He’s here,” I breathe, suddenly nervous.
Isabella heads for the door. “I’ll give you two some privacy. But call me when you’re ready to discuss next steps.”
“Thank you, Isabella. For everything.”
She pauses at the doorway, looking back with a soft smile. “That’s what sisters do.”
Then she’s gone, and I hear the front door opening, Silvo’s deep voice greeting Fed in the foyer. My pulse races as his footsteps approach.
This is it. Time to show my husband exactly what I’ve become.
29
SILVO
The moment I step through the front door of our home, I sense something different. The air feels charged, as if the house itself breathes with a new energy. I drop my bag in the foyer, my body aching from the flight and the bullet graze on my shoulder, pulling with each movement.
“Welcome home,” Carmela’s voice comes from the doorway to my office.
I turn, and the sight of her stops me cold. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing a simple black dress that hugs her curves. But it’s not what she’s wearing—it’s how she’s standing. There’s a confidence in her posture that wasn’t there four days ago.
“You look different,” I say, crossing to her.
She doesn’t move to meet me halfway as she might have before. Instead, she waits, watching me approach with those intelligent green eyes that have seen too little sleep.
