He won’t do it. Not for a daughter. Not for me, and especially not after everything I’ve done.
"And one more thing." Alessandro's voice drops, turning darker and more personal. "We want Luca Moretti."
I feel dizzy, the blood rushing to my ears as the warehouse spins around me.
"No." The word bursts out of me before I can stop it, loud and desperate. "No, you can't?—"
"He coordinated the operation against us." Alessandro's tone is still calm and reasonable, like he's explaining something obvious to a child. "He's the one who planned the strikes, who led the teams, who killed our people. He walked into those locations and executed men who were just doing their jobs. And he's the one who ruined the marriage alliance by putting his hands on what belonged to me."
The possessiveness in his voice makes my skin crawl. "Luca will pay for that personally." Alessandro stands and begins pacing slowly around my chair like a predator circling prey. "We want him delivered to us, and we want him to understand exactly what happens when you disrespect the Marchesi family. We want him to suffer. We want him to beg. And we want you to know that it's happening because of you."
He stops directly in front of me, looking down, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne again, the same scent he wore during our engagement. It makes me want to vomit.
"Here's the deal, Giulia." He crouches down so we're eye level, his hands resting on his knees. "If your father agrees to our terms—all of them, including Luca—then you and your baby go home unharmed. You get to raise your child, live your life, and pretend this never happened. You'll be a widow, of course, but you're young and beautiful. You'll find someone else eventually." He pauses, letting the words sink in as he watches my face for any reaction. "But if he refuses..." He doesn't finish the sentence.
The implication hangs in the air between us. If my father refuses, I die. My baby dies. Everything ends here in this warehouse, in this cold, empty space that smells like rust and oil and fear.
"It wasn't Luca's fault." The words tumble out frantically, tripping over each other in my haste to get them out. "The marriage—it wasn't his fault it was ruined. It was mine. I'm the one who lied. I'm the one who deceived everyone."
Alessandro tilts his head, studying me with an amused curiosity on his face. "Go on."
"I created a fake identity," I continue, the words coming faster now, desperate to make him understand. "I went to that club. I seduced him. He didn't know who I was. He thought I was someone else entirely—a stranger, someone with no connection to this world. So if you want to blame someone, blame me. Not Luca. Me."
For a moment, there's silence. The soldiers around us have gone still, listening.
Then Alessandro laughs.
It's not a pleasant sound. It's cold and mocking, utterly devoid of humor, echoing off the metal walls and concrete floor. "You think admitting you were a whore is going to help?" He shakes his head, still laughing. "You think taking responsibility is going to change anything?"
"I'm telling you the truth?—"
"I don't care about the truth." His voice hardens and loses that veneer of civility. "This isn't about truth. This is about how this world works.”
He leans down, his face inches from mine. "Luca Moretti touched what belonged to me. He put his hands on my fiancée. He got her pregnant. He destroyed my family’s plans. And now he's going to pay for it."
The possessiveness in his voice is visceral and ugly, like I'm a car he owned that someone else crashed, property that was damaged.
"I was never yours," I snap. I'm surprised by the steadiness in my voice, the anger that's starting to cut through the fear. "I'm not property."
"Aren't you?" Alessandro straightens, his expression cold. "You were promised to me. Your father gave his word. We had an agreement, a contract. And then Luca took you anyway. So yes, Giulia, in every way that matters in this world, you were mine. And he stole you."
I feel like all the breath has been sucked out of me. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t even matter if my father gives up territory and money to get me back. This isn't about business, territory, or organizational politics.
This is personal.
Alessandro is humiliated. His ego has been shattered by the fact that I chose Luca over him, that I wanted Luca so desperately I was willing to lie and deceive and risk everything just to be with him. That I created an entire false identity, spent months sneaking around, and got pregnant, all because I couldn't stand the thought of marrying Alessandro instead. And now he's going to make us both suffer for it.
"You're going to kill him because your pride was hurt." My voice is shaking again. "Because I didn't want you."
“I’m going to kill him because watching you realize that you caused his death—that your lies and your selfishness got him killed—is going to be almost as satisfying as killing him myself."
He walks away, pulling out his phone, and I'm left sitting in the chair with a dozen armed men watching me like I'm an animal in a cage. Some of them have lost interest and gone back to their conversations or their phones. But others are still staring, and I can see the speculation in their eyes.
My hand finds my stomach again, pressing against the curve.I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault.
Alessandro's voice carries across the warehouse, sharp and angry, echoing off the metal walls. "I don't care what Dante says. These are the terms. Non-negotiable."
There’s a pause. I can hear the tinny sound of someone's voice on the other end of the line, but I can't make out the words.
