That could mean they're being quiet. Professional. Doing their jobs.
Or it could mean they're already dead.
I step back from the door. My heart is pounding now. That familiar rhythm of panic that I've been trying to suppress since the attack at my apartment.
Think, Marina. Think.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dante
Alejandro settles into his chair like a man with all the time in the world. His guards flank the room—six of them, all armed, all watching me with the dead eyes of professionals.
"Now," Alejandro says, "I'm going to tell you a story."
I don't move. Don't react. My phone sits heavy in my pocket, counting down the minutes until my next check-in.
"When the story ends," Alejandro continues, "and after I show you proof that every word is true, you'll have two options." He holds up two fingers. "Either you do what I ask. Or you refuse, and my men kill you now."
Simple. Clean. The kind of ultimatum I've delivered a hundred times.
I nod once. "I'm listening."
Alejandro leans back. The warehouse lights cast shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his eyes. He looks tired. Not the exhaustion of a man running an operation—something older. Heavier.
"Giuseppe Sartori," he begins, "worked with my father when they were both young men. This was before either of them built their empires. Before the families. Before the blood."
I keep my expression neutral.
"My mother worked in one of Giuseppe's companies," Alejandro says. "A textile factory. She was beautiful. Young. Alone."
Something cold settles in my stomach.
"One night, she stayed late to finish an order. Giuseppe found her there." Alejandro's voice doesn't change. Flat. Controlled. "He raped her."
The word hangs in the air between us.
"Nine months later, I was born."
I don't move. Don't breathe.
"My mother never told anyone," Alejandro continues. "Not my father—the man who raised me. Not her family. Not the police. She buried it. Pretended I was legitimate. Pretended the man who violated her didn't exist."
My mind races. Giuseppe. The Don who saved me. The patriarch who built the Sartori empire. The man I trusted for twenty years.
A rapist.
"I grew up working by my father's side," Alejandro says. "The man I believed was my father. I learned the business. Proved myself. Became useful."
He pauses. His eyes find mine.
"One of my first jobs was to enter a house in the middle of the night. Kill the entire family. Father. Mother." He tilts his head slightly. "Two sons."
The cold in my stomach turns to ice.
"It was supposed to be clean," Alejandro says. "Professional. No witnesses. No survivors."
I can't feel my hands.
