Page 37 of The New Godfather

Everything inside me goes still for half a second. Then the words sink in, heavy as lead in my gut. Mario. That slimy, greedy piece of shit had been near her again. My fingers tighten around the phone until the edges bite into my palm. Annoyed doesn’t even come close. Something darker coils low and tight in my chest. It is a hot and possessive rage, the kind I have never experienced before.

I end the call, and I stand in the middle of the warehouse, phone still gripped tight, jaw locked hard. I need more information. I can’t leave it like this.

I dial the servant who’s always been closest to Viola — the quiet older woman who moves like a shadow through that house and sees everything without ever saying much. She picks up on the first ring.

“Don Santori.” Her voice is polite and respectful, but I hear the hesitation and caution underneath.

“What happened?” I ask, straight to the point.

She pauses. “I’m not sure, Don Santori. I just heard that there was an argument of some kind at the stables. She left right after that. I’m sorry, but that is all I know.”

An argument. Mario doesn’t do arguments. My free hand curls into a fist at my side. I have to get the truth from Viola directly. No more second-hand stories. No more filtered versions. I need to see her face when she tells me exactly what transpired.

I want to leave immediately, but the next meeting is an important one. I rarely leave early, but midway through the meeting, I lose interest completely. All the voices blur into background noise. I hear numbers, routes, concerns about the police chief, but none of it sticks. My mind is already back at the penthouse. Wondering what the hell went down at those stables. Wondering if Mario put his hands on her. Wondering if I need to kill the bastard and how much of a blowback that will cause.

Unable to take it a minute longer, I stand abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. The room falls silent.

“Let’s continue at the lounge later tonight,” I say, my voice flat, leaving no room for questions. “I have something to handle.”

They say nothing. They know better. A couple of them exchange quick glances, but no one speaks. I grab my jacket off the back of the chair and walk out without looking back.

Outside, the late afternoon light is starting to fade, the sky is turning the shade of purple-gray that always hangs over the industrial district. I slide behind the wheel of my own car instead of waiting for the driver. The engine growls to life under my hands. I try to stay calm on the drive back so I don’t walk in too wired to make any sense, but my hands stay tight on the wheel the whole way, knuckles pale.

In the private elevator on the way up I pull out my phone again and check the CCTV feed from the penthouse. There she is.

Viola is seated on the couch, just staring out at the view of Manhattan. Not moving. Just sitting there, perfectly still, like the weight of the entire day is pressing down on her slim shoulders. The t-shirt she’s wearing looks too big on her, and her blonde hair falls loose around her face. She looks small against the huge windows and the glittering skyline behind her. Vulnerable in a way that makes something fierce and protective twist hard inside my chest.

She looks so delicate and lost for a second, I wonder if I should just leave her alone. Give her the space she clearly asked for this morning. Let her have the quiet she needs after whatever the fuck happened at that house.

But the elevator doors open with a soft ding, and I slip the phone back into my pocket and step into the penthouse.

The sliding doors are open and the low, constant hum of the city far below. Distant traffic and the faint wail of a siren somewhere, drifts into the apartment. I wait for a second in the foyer, listening, trying to read the hushed atmosphere the way I read a room full of dangerous men.

I don’t call out her name. Not yet.

Chapter Thirty-Four

VIOLA

Ipress my fingers gently over the spot through the sleeve of my t-shirt where Mario grabbed me and feel the heat of the forming bruise. It’s a brand I never asked for.

I close my eyes for a second and force the memory of his furious, pain-filled eyes away. I’m never going back there. Never. That chapter is finished. The gates, the cold marble halls, the way the house always smelled of cigar smoke and suspicion — all of it belongs to the past now. I’m safe here. I’m free. I’ll never have to look at Mario’s face again.

I stare out at the Manhattan skyline, the lights glittering like scattered diamonds against the darkening sky. The view is beautiful, almost unreal, and for a moment it feels like the only thing anchoring me. This place is surprisingly warm in a way that Salvatore’s grand estate never was. The leather beneath me is soft, the blanket I pulled over my body smells faintly of cedar and something clean. It reminds me of Ricci. I let myself breathe into it, trying to push the stables out of my mind completely.

Then the elevator pings.

And the sound slices through the quiet like a knife. My heart lurches hard against my ribs. I sit up straight, every muscle locking tight. For one terrifying second, a crazy thought fills my head. Mario must have followed me. He’s found out where I live, and he’s here. I’m already calculating — the kitchen knife, the phone, how fast I can reach the panic button Ricci showed me this morning. My breath comes short and shallow.

Then I realize it can’t be Mario, but purely on instinct, I sprint to my feet, the blanket sliding to the floor. My pulse is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears. My eyes stay fixed on the elevator doors like they might explode open any second. The doors slide open with a soft whoosh.

Of course, it’s not Mario.

It’s Ricci.

He steps into the foyer, tall and broad in a dark suit. His whiskey-gold eyes find me immediately, and the relief hits me so hard it knocks the strength right out of my legs. My knees actually buckle. I fall back on the couch, a shaky breath rushing out of me. The panic drains away so fast it leaves me dizzy, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours and can finally let go.

He sees it all. The fall, the tremble I can’t hide. His expression changes in an instant. Concern darkens his gaze, his jaw tightening with something fierce and protective.