"Well then, Amara. Any guest Alessio brings through these doors gets fed before she gets questioned."
He reaches out and takes my hand, his grip warm and steady. For a second, a lump forms in my throat. I haven’t been welcomed like this in a long time. Not since Curtis was alive.
"Thank you," I say, my voice a little rough.
"Come, come," Turi says, ushering us further into the foyer. "Everyone is in the dining room. Let’s get you fed before the boys eat everything."
As we walk through the house, I’m struck by how... normal it feels. There are family photos on the walls, rugs on the floors, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware echoing down the hall. It’s not the cold, clinical fortress I expected. It’s a home.
But as I glance at Alessio, I see the way his eyes are constantly moving, the way he’s cataloging every exit, every person we pass. He’s not at home. He’s on guard.
And as we reach the doorway to the dining room, I see why.
There are at least a dozen people sitting around a long oak table, all of them looking up as we enter. The brothers. The cousins. The wives. They are the Costas, the family that has ruled Chicago for decades. And they are all staring at me.
"Finally!" a man at the head of the table bellows. He has the same Costa eyes as Alessio, but his are harder, his presence more commanding. Dominic, the Don. "Alessio, sit down before I give your portion to Enzo."
Alessio doesn't move. He just keeps his hand on my back, his thumb rubbing small, possessive circles through the fabric of my shirt.
"Dominic," Alessio says, his voice carrying through the room and silencing the chatter. "This is Amara Osei. She’s under my protection."
The room goes dead silent. The names "Osei" and "protection" carry a weight here that even I can feel. Dominic narrows his eyes, his gaze moving from Alessio to me and back again.
"Under your protection?" Dominic asks, his voice dangerously low. "Since when do you take on projects, Alessio?"
"Since she found a piece of Vane’s trail none of us had," Alessio says.
The silence deepens. I feel the shift in the room, the way the tension ramps until it’s a physical pressure against my skin. These men don't just know who I am. They know why I’m here.
"Well then," Dominic says, his face breaking into a slow, sharp-edged grin. "I suppose we should find her a chair. We have a lot to talk about."
Alessio leads me to the table, pulling out a chair for me right next to his. As I sit down, I feel the eyes of every person in the room on me. Some look curious. Some look suspicious. But Turi, sitting across from me, just winks.
I look at the food on my plate, the rich smells of garlic and tomato sauce filling my senses. I’m hungry, but my stomach is in knots. I’m in the heart of the beast, sitting with men every federal file warned me never to trust.
And yet, as Alessio sits down next to me, his thigh brushing against mine, I don’t feel like a victim. I don’t feel like prey.
I feel like a partner.
"Eat," Alessio whispers, his hand finding mine under the table.
He doesn't let go. His fingers lace with mine, his grip firm and grounding. He’s not just holding my hand. He’s telling me that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere.
And after ten years, I take a bite.
The dinner is a blur of voices and laughter, a chaos of family dynamics that I can’t even begin to untangle. I listen as they argue about sports, about business, about whose turn it is to walk the perimeter before dawn. It’s a strange, surreal experience, sitting in the middle of a family dinner that feels one wrong word away from becoming a war council.
But through it all, my focus keeps drifting back to Alessio. He doesn't say much. He just eats, his eyes occasionally scanning the room, his hand never leaving mine. He’s the anchor in thisstorm, the quiet force that keeps everything from spinning out of control.
After dinner the crowd thins. The women take the children up, but the brothers don’t reach for cigars—Dominic sends two to sweep the perimeter and puts one of them on tracing the SUV, and only then does the house exhale. Turi stays to clear the table.
"We debrief her in the study first," Alessio says, standing and drawing me up with him. "Then I’ll show her where she sleeps."
"Don't stay up too late," Turi says with a grin. "We have a big day tomorrow."
Alessio doesn't respond. He just leads me out of the dining room and up the grand staircase. The second floor is quieter, the hallways lined with doors and thick carpeting. We walk to the very end of the hall, to a door that looks heavier than the others.
He opens it and leads me inside.
