Finding my father, Carlo Costa, lying in the freezing rain. His blood washing away into the storm drains. Identifying his cold, rigid body on a metal table at the county morgue the next morning.
My mind has been a war room ever since that night. There has been no quiet. No peace. Just maps, shipping routes, body counts. I have spent two decades hunting the Bellantis, dismantling their empire piece by piece, turning myself into a weapon of pure retaliation.
But looking at Clara Reeves right now. Standing in the middle of this penthouse. The noise in my head simply stops.
The silence is deafening.
"So you bought the debt." She practically whispers it. "You took the shipping logs and you paid off his debt to save his life."
"I took the logs." I stop two feet in front of her. The urge to touch her is a physical ache in my knuckles. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my slacks. "I didn't do it to save his life. I did it because those logs give me the exact coordinates ofthe Bellanti armories. Your father is currently on a private jet to South America, courtesy of my bank account. He surrendered his debt to the Costa family."
"And the collateral." Her throat swallows hard.
"And the collateral." My gaze drops to her lips. Plump. Pink. Fucking perfect. "You."
"I am a third-grade teacher." She squares her shoulders. The sassy spark roars back to life. God, I love it. "I grade spelling tests. I make construction paper turkeys. I don't belong in a mafia war."
"You don't." I agree instantly. "Which is why you are staying in this penthouse. The Il Corvo restaurant downstairs is neutral ground, but this floor belongs entirely to me. Private elevator. Biometric locks. Bulletproof glass. Soundproof walls. The Bellantis don't even know this place exists."
She scoffs. A bitter, sharp sound. "So I'm a prisoner."
"You're protected."
"Same thing." She spins around on her heel. She marches straight past me toward the heavy steel doors of the private elevator.
I don't chase her. I don't need to. I just turn my head and watch the sway of her hips.
She reaches the elevator bank. She slams her hand against the call button. The red light above the panel remains dark. She hits it again. Faster. Harder. Frustration rolls off her shoulders. She searches the wall for a keypad, finding only a sleek black square of glass.
"Thumbprint scanner." I call out to her across the massive living room. "Retinal scan for the override. Only my biometrics open those doors. You can hit that button until your hand bleeds. The car isn't coming up."
She drops her hand. She rests her forehead against the cool steel of the elevator door.
Turi warned me about this.
Just this morning.
Turi sat at the head of the long oak table in the basement war room of the Costa compound. The trusted elder. Carlo's best friend. He raised me. He raised Dante, Nico, Dominic, all of us.
Turi's silver hair caught the glow of the surveillance monitors as he read the file on Arthur Reeves. He rubbed his weathered face with a tired hand.
Leave the Reeves girl out of it, Matteo.Turi had looked at me with those ancient, heavy eyes.Take the logs. Let the Bellantis have the father. Let the girl run. Do not bring innocent blood into this house.
I had nodded. I had fully intended to listen to him. Turi is the moral spine of our violent existence.
Then I saw the surveillance photos of Clara.
I saw her smiling outside her elementary school. I saw her buying coffee. I saw the curve of her waist and the fierce, determined way she walked through the city.
The decision was biological. Chemical. Instantaneous.
I bought the debt three hours later. I brought her here. I claimed her. Turi would call it madness. Turi would say I amcompromising the war effort for a woman I don't even know. Turi is absolutely right. I do not care.
Clara turns around slowly. The fight hasn't left her eyes. It's just regrouping. Recalculating.
"I have a life." She walks slowly back into the living space. She keeps a wide berth around my massive frame. Smart girl. "I have a job. I have a cat. I have a lease."
"Your rent is paid for the next six months." I list the logistics flatly. "Your cat, Pistachio, is currently eating premium salmon at my brother Dante's apartment. Dante has severe anger issues but he likes animals. Pistachio is fine. Your school principal received an email stating you are taking an immediate sabbatical for family emergencies."
