“Do they?” I challenge. “Or do they remind you of us? The way we were at first?”
Sophia sits up straighter. “Carmela might be onto something. I’ve seen how they look at each other when they think no one’s watching.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Silvo says firmly. “Isabella would never agree to it.”
“We didn’t exactly agree to our arrangement either,” I remind him, touching his uninjured shoulder. “But look at us now.”
Fed drums his fingers on the armrest. “Maximo is a loose cannon and a complete asshole. I don’t want him anywhere near my sister.”
Silvo shrugs. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. But Isabella’s too stubborn to admit she feels anything for that Moretti punk.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why the fuck would you even consider Isabella marrying that piece of shit?” Fed asks.
Silvo’s jaw clenches. “Because Carmela has a good point. There’s no better alliance than uniting our families through marriage.” He tilts his head. “Alternatively we could always have you marry Valeria.”
Fed pales and shakes his head. “No thank you. I’m not marrying a Moretti.”
“I’m not saying it would happen right away,” I press. “I’m saying we plant the seed. They’re already drawn to each other—anyone with eyes can see that. The way she flushed when he grabbed her wrist at the gala? The way he watches her when she enters a room? It’s already happening whether we acknowledge it or not.”
Sophia nods. “The tension between them is practically visible.”
“An alliance sealed with blood,” Silvo muses, wincing as he pulls his shirt over his bandaged shoulder. “Our fathers might actually consider it, especially after tonight’s bloodbath.”
I feel a surge of hope. Maybe something good could come from all this horror. “It would unify our families permanently, just like us.”
The door swings open, and Isabella reappears, her expression tense. “They’re here. The Morettis just pulled up—Nico, Maximo, and Valeria. Dad’s in the study waiting.”
My pulse quickens. Antonio rarely attends tactical meetings—meaning the stakes have escalated beyond what I even imagined. I touch Silvo’s arm. “This is perfect timing. With Antonio here, we could?—”
“Not now, Carmela,” Silvo cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s focus on the immediate threat first.”
I bite my lip, frustrated. With both families under one roof, Antonio present, and emotions raw from shared loss, the timing couldn’t be more perfect for proposing to bind our familiestogether. But I see the determination in Silvo’s eyes and the exhaustion lining his face.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he promises, squeezing my hand.
I nod, swallowing my disappointment. “Later.”
As we follow Isabella downstairs, I can’t help feeling we’re missing a crucial opportunity. But I’ve learned when to push and when to trust my husband’s judgment. After last night, with nine men dead and a traitor in our midst, I’ll follow his lead.
42
SILVO
Three weeks of silence from Tartarov feels worse than daily gunfire. I pace my office, checking surveillance feeds for the tenth time today. Nine good men gone, and what? The Russians vanished like smoke.
“Anything?” Carmela asks from the doorway, her face drawn with the same tension we’ve all been carrying.
“Nothing.” I slam my palm against the desk. “It’s the waiting that kills you.”
She crosses to me, resting her head against my chest. My shoulder’s almost healed, but the memory of that night at the docks haunts me—how close I came to leaving her a widow. How close Nico came to death beside me.
“The meeting starts in twenty minutes,” she reminds me.
I nod, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s get this over with.”
The conference room feels smaller with both families squeezed around the table. Nico sits opposite me, dark circles under his eyes matching mine. Tartarov’s silence has been harder on our businesses than his attacks—shipments delayed, territories undermanned, everyone jumping at shadows.
“We can’t keep operating like this,” Fed says, spreading maps across the table. “We’re bleeding money maintaining double security details.”
