When Leo finally looks up at me, he asks, “You’ve verified all of this?”
“As much as I can,” I answer honestly. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “I don’t have definitive proof yet. Not enough to make a move without blowing everything wide open. But the timelines line up. The shell accounts Giovanni references do exist. I’ve traced some of them back to that period already, and if what he’s claiming is true…” I pause, my jaw tightening suddenly. “Oncewe get our hands on the other side of those transactions, we’ll have the truth. Or enough of it to find out if the mole is actually who I think it is.”
Silence stretches between us for a long beat. The sea crashes below the cliffside, indifferent to the fractures quietly forming inside my family unit. It’s ironic, really, how beautiful the world is just outside this small pocket.
Romano speaks again. “You think it’s Enzo who called for the hit.”
I nod once.
I don’twantit to be true. I would give almost anything to dismiss Giovanni’s writings as the paranoia of an old man unraveling under pressure and seeing leads where there are none. It would certainly be easier to deal with than whatever is to come withthis. But the more I’ve read the ledger, the more the information inside it refuses to be ignored.
Patterns repeat, as they always do with history. Decisions make sense in hindsight that never did before, and the quiet—Enzo’s especially since the Bellanti attack—gnaws at me in a way I can’t explain away. He’s offered nothing but menial advice and bare-minimum support since last night, none of the outrage or urgency like I’ve come to expect from him, and even stranger… no hunger for retaliation.
Normally, I would interpret that as restraint, him respecting me and putting trust in my leadership to guide our family in the direction I’ve been taught to. Now, though, it feels pointedly distanced, a trap designed to watch me fail.
If their plan is to set up the stage to watch me crumble under the weight until I hand over what’s left of the Cosenza name becauseI can no longer carry it, then there will be nothing stopping them from seeing that come to fruition, past loyalties be damned.
“If anything feels off, any conversation that doesn’t sit right or order that doesn’t make sense, note it and come to me. Once we gather enough information, I’ll have a formal meeting with my father’s old circle.”
“What happens if there’s another attack? We can’t wait around if they’re planning on trying to take you out again,” Leo says.
My gaze hardens. “Then we’ll deal with it the way the four of us always do.”
They nod in unison.
There is no protest, only grim understanding. They know what this family is built on and how easily it can collapse if the rot goes unchecked. All of us are willing to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.
“This stays between us,” I say. “Until I decide otherwise.”
Romano inclines his head. “Always.”
Bianchi mirrors the gesture. “You have our loyalty.”
Leo meets my eyes last. There’s something unspoken reflecting back at me—concern, maybe, or a warning I haven’t quite deciphered yet—but he nods all the same. “Of course.”
As they disperse, each heading off to carry out my quiet command, I remain where I am staring out at the water as the sun climbs higher along the horizon. If there is a traitor in my house, I will find them. When I do, I won’t hesitate.
There will be no mercy this time around.
14
ELENA
A week passes before I see Dante again.
I’m not sure how I feel anymore. Shock from the attack lingers, yes, as well as the fear that curls quietly in the back of my mind every night when I lie down with Luca to go to sleep. But beneath it all is something much heavier.
Sadness, I realize after a few days.
It’s bone-deep and exhausting. I don’t want to do this with him anymore—this constant state of opposition, bracing myself for his sharp words and disdain each time he lays his eyes on me. I’m tired of being at odds… of watching his jaw tighten every time my voice shifts the wrong way and I say something that sets him off all over again.
I miss the days when we could simplyexisttogether. When our conversations didn’t feel like a battlefield and silence didn’t feel like the punishment for a battle lost.
We used to talk.Reallytalk. Long nights where words came easily and laughter followed close behind. Even later, whenthings were complicated with my engagement to Matteo, we could still sit together and share space that felt close to sacred. Even if those moments felt stolen, they were still ours. Now every interaction feels loaded, anger always coiled beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to strike.
It’s unbearable how familiar the pattern has become. We inch forward cautiously as two people testing ice we already know is dangerously thin. A look softens, a voice gentles, and for one solitary moment, it almost feels like we might find our way back to a place resembling peace.
Then one argument spirals with one badly timed truth and it soon sends us tumbling backward, farther apart than before.
