She rises on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against mine. “I love you too. More than I thought possible.” Her voice cracks. “You’re not just my husband anymore. You’re my home.”
Something in my chest cracks wide open at her words. “Say that again.”
“You’re my home,” she whispers. “The only place I feel safe. The only place I want to be.”
I pull her against me, holding her like she’s the only solid thing in my world. “This is what I was afraid of,” I admit into her hair. “That I’d fall so completely that losing you would destroy me.”
Her hand slides up to cup my cheek. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not losing me. Ever.”
I capture her mouth in a kiss that’s driven by the bone-deep certainty that this woman is mine and I am hers. Completely. Irrevocably.
When we break apart, I keep her face between my hands. “Whatever comes with Tartarov, with the Morettis, with this whole fucked-up situation—we face it together. You’re my partner, my equal.”
“Your heart,” she whispers.
“My fucking soul,” I confirm, the words flowing easily. “I’d burn this whole city down before I let anyone hurt you.”
She presses her body against mine, and I feel her heartbeat matching my own rhythm. In this moment, the vendetta, the family obligations, the looming threats—they all feel distant. What’s real is her skin against mine, the trust in her eyes, the love that binds us tighter than any arranged marriage ever could.
37
CARMELA
Ipace the office floor, checking my watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. Silvo should have been back two hours ago. The call came just after lunch—one of our shipments from Atlantic City had been hit. Three men were wounded, and cargo was stolen.
My stomach twists into knots. We’re barely a week into this fragile truce with the Morettis, coordinating our defenses against Tartarov. But someone hit us anyway—and they knew exactly when and where to strike.
The door flies open, and Silvo strides in with Fed close behind. His face is granite, jaw tight, but his eyes soften momentarily when they land on me.
“What happened?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.
Silvo throws his jacket onto the chair. “Ambush at the county line. Professional job. They knew exactly when the trucks would arrive and the route they’d take.”
“Tartarov,” I say, my heart sinking.
“Yeah.” Fed pulls out his phone and shows me photos of shell casings. “Same Russian ammunition. Same red scorpion tattoos on two of the attackers we managed to corner.” He swipes to another image. “But here’s the problem—this route was onlyfinalized and shared with our inner circle and the Morettis’ coordination team two days ago.”
My blood runs cold. “You think the leak is from the Morettis?”
“Or from us,” Silvo says grimly, sinking into the chair behind his desk. “Someone on one of our teams is feeding Tartarov real-time intelligence about our coordinated operations.”
I perch on the edge of the desk, the implications hitting me like a physical blow. “If we accuse the Morettis of having a leak?—”
“The truce collapses,” Fed finishes. “We’re back to killing each other while Tartarov picks us apart.”
“But if we don’t tell them about this attack...” I trail off, imagining the scenario.
Silvo nods, his jaw tight. “Nico hears through the grapevine that we got hit and didn’t inform him immediately. He thinks we’re keeping secrets, doubting the alliance.”
“Or worse,” I add, my mind racing ahead, “Tartarov hits one of their operations next, and the Morettis thinkwedid it to retaliate for this.”
Fed looks between us. “So what’s the play? We can’t keep this quiet, but we also can’t point fingers without proof of where the leak is.”
Silvo runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “We need to tell Nico about this attack before rumors spread. But we need to do it carefully—present it as an issue we’re solving together, not an accusation.”
“Agreed,” I say. “The leak could be anywhere. One of our guys, one of theirs, or someone neither family has identified yet as compromised.”
While Fed makes the call to Marco, I pull up my own phone, scrolling to a conversation I’ve kept hidden from Silvo. My heartpounds as I make a split-second decision. Valeria’s last message from this morning stares back at me.
