Another pause, longer this time. When Valeria speaks again, her voice is steady but urgent. “I’ll talk to my father. He needs to hear this directly from you and Silvo.”
Silvo leans closer to the phone. “This is Silvo De Luca. Can you get us the meeting?”
“I’ll make it happen,” Valeria promises. “Where and when?”
I look at Silvo, who mouths “The boathouse.”
“The neutral property on the river,” I tell her. “In two hours. Just your father, Maximo, you, and whoever else he trusts completely. We can’t risk this information getting to whoever’s feeding Tartarov.”
“Understood. We’ll be there.” Valeria hesitates. “Carmela? Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
“We’re in this together now,” I say softly. “All of us.”
The line goes dead. I look up at Silvo, Isabella, and Fed, the weight of what we’re about to do settling over us all.
Isabella squeezes my shoulder. “That took guts. Admitting to Silvo about Valeria, then using that connection to potentially save the alliance.”
“It was the right call,” Silvo says firmly. He pulls me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “You see things the rest of us miss, Carmela. Connections, possibilities. It’s why you’re so valuable to this family—to me.”
Fed grins, some of his usual lightness returning. “Plus, having a secret backchannel to the Morettis is pretty badass. Very spy novel.”
“This isn’t a game, Fed,” I say, but I can’t help the small smile.
“I know.” His expression sobers. “But if this works—if we can identify the leak and plug it before Tartarov tears apart the alliance—we might actually have a shot at lasting peace.”
Silvo releases me, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with mine. “Let’s get ready. We have two hours to prepare a presentation that convinces Nico we’re not trying to blame him while also making it clear we have a serious security problem.”
As we gather the evidence and prepare for the meeting, I catch Silvo watching me with something like pride in his eyes.
For the first time since being forced into this marriage, I don’t feel like an outsider trying to survive in his world. I feel like exactly what he called me—a De Luca by choice, not just by name.
38
SILVO
The boathouse stands dark against the moonlit river as we pull up, our headlights cutting through the mist. I kill the engine and check my watch. Ten minutes early.
“You’re sure about this?” I ask Carmela, studying her profile in the dim light.
She nods, determination hardening her features. “If there’s a leak, we need to find it before Tartarov uses it to destroy everything we’ve built.”
Pride wells up in my chest. A week ago, she was attending her first gala with the Morettis. Now she’s attending emergency strategy sessions like she’s been in this life for years.
“Stay close to me,” I tell her, tucking my gun into my waistband. “If anything feels off?—”
“We leave,” she finishes. “I know.”
Headlights appear on the winding road behind us. The Morettis.
“Here we go,” I mutter, stepping out of the car.
Two black SUVs pull up alongside us. Nico emerges from the first vehicle, his face grim in the darkness. Maximo flanks him,and for once, he’s not wearing his usual smirk. Behind them, Valeria slides out, her expression worried.
Nico’s gaze finds Carmela immediately. “Mrs. De Luca. Your message through Valeria suggested urgency.”
“We were hit this afternoon,” I say without preamble. “Atlantic City shipment. Three men wounded, cargo stolen.”
Nico’s jaw tightens. “Tartarov?”
