My hands shake as I clean Silvo’s wound. The bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving an angry red path across his skin. He winces when I apply the antiseptic, but doesn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to be gentler.
“Don’t be. I’ve had worse.” His voice is steady, but I can see the pain in his eyes—not just physical pain.
The house bustles with activity below us. After the ambush, both families agreed to consolidate forces at our estate after counting their losses and regrouping. The Morettis will arrive soon for an emergency council.
“Nine men,” Silvo murmurs, staring at nothing. “Nine families that won’t see their fathers, brothers, sons come home.”
I say nothing as I begin wrapping his shoulder in gauze. What could I possibly say to make this better?
The bedroom door swings open, and Isabella appears, tablet in hand. “Security teams are in position,” she reports, all business despite the late hour. “I’ve coordinated with Valeria on the Moretti protocols. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
From the hallway behind her, I hear Sophia’s laugh mixing with Federico’s voice. Shortly after, they appear in the doorway.
“Someone’s got to keep morale up around here,” Fed says, his rakish grin not quite reaching his eyes. Sophia stands close beside him, her hand brushing his.
“Fed,” Sophia chides, but there’s affection in her tone. “Now’s hardly the time for jokes.”
“On the contrary,” Fed counters, his smile faltering for just a moment. “After what we saw tonight? Now’s exactly the time.”
I notice how Sophia’s fingers intertwine with his, how she leans slightly into his space. Their connection seems to have deepened tonight. Fed’s usual charm is there, but beneath it, I see something raw. Sophia must see it too, because she squeezes his hand when she thinks no one’s looking.
“The Tartarovs knew exactly where we’d be,” Isabella says, redirecting us. “Every exit point, every sniper position.”
Silvo nods grimly as I finish securing his bandage. “We have a leak. Maybe in both families.”
The weight of his words settles over the room. Trust, already fragile between longtime enemies, now seems impossible.
“At least last night proved one thing,” I say, finishing with Silvo’s bandage. “The Tartarovs can’t drive us apart anymore. Not after you took a bullet for Nico.”
Fed flops into the armchair by the window. “Nothing brings enemies together like a common enemy trying to kill them both.”
“Very philosophical, brother,” Silvo says dryly.
“I have my moments.” Fed winks at Sophia, who rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile.
Isabella checks her watch. “The Morettis will be here any minute. I need to arrange refreshments.” She heads for the door.
“Need help?” Sophia offers.
“I’ve got it. You stay and take care of these hotheads.” Isabella waves her hand dismissively and disappears down the hallway.
When her footsteps fade, I perch on the edge of the bed beside Silvo. The idea that’s been forming in my mind since the charity gala suddenly feels urgent.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start, my voice low. “About strengthening the alliance between our families.”
“We’re working on it,” Silvo says, reaching for his shirt. “Last night was a disaster, but?—”
“No, I mean something more permanent.” I take a deep breath. “Something like what we have.”
Fed raises an eyebrow. “An arranged marriage? Between who?”
“Isabella and Maximo.”
The room goes silent. Then Silvo laughs—a short, sharp sound.
“You’re crazy.” He shakes his head. “They hate each other.”
