Page 9 of The New Godfather

She tries to speak—her lips part, trembling violently, those green eyes widening with shock—but no sound comes out at first. Just a tiny, broken exhale that slices straight through me and confirms everything. My blood turns to ice.

“He hurt you?” I ask again, softer this time, but the fury is still vibrating through every syllable, making my jaw ache from how hard I’m clenching it. I’m already turning, shoulders coiling like a predator about to strike, ready to storm that study door and drag Mario out by his fucking neck.

But she snaps out of her terror suddenly, and lunges after me, her small hand catching my forearm. But I’m like a freight train. The momentum is a done deal. I don’t stop. I can’t. In a flash, she jumps in front of the door. The girl can move fast; I’ll give her that. She flattens herself against the heavy oak panel, and her hands slam over mine where my fingers are already closing around the brass knob. We both freeze.

Completely.

Our eyes lock.

The world tilts on its axis.

Her fingers are cool against my skin, trembling slightly, but they don’t let go. The shock of contact with her sends a jolt straight through me—hot, electric, impossible to ignore. Her breath catches audibly, and her chest rises and falls with every quick inhale. For those suspended seconds there’s nothing else. No Mario. No funeral. No empire waiting to swallow us both.

Just her green eyes on mine, enormous, and vulnerable, and so fucking beautiful it hurts to even look at. My thoughts of revenge scatter like leaves in a storm. All I can feel is the heat radiating from her body inches from mine, the faint scent of her perfume, the rapid flutter of her pulse where her skin meets mine.

“Don’t,” she whispers, voice shaky but urgent, barely above a breath. “He didn’t do anything. I’m just…It’s just a horrible time in general. It’ll be worse for me if you provoke him.”

I stare at her almost in amazement. The red rimmed, begging eyes; her flushed cheeks, her quivering bottom lip. And my heart clenches so painfully I can’t draw a full breath. I’ve never seen real emotion on her face before. Not grief. Not fear. Not joy. Nothing. She’s always been a statue carved from ice. And now it’s all here—raw, real, messy.

A sick part of me wonders if this means she did love her husband.

The thought slices deep, sharper than any knife I’ve ever wielded. I try to compose myself, jaw locked so tight my teeth ache, but inside I feel a surge of relief that Mario didn’t touch her, followed by a strange and unbearable sadness. Disappointment as I have never known fills my soul. As if something precious I’ve wanted for years just slipped through my fingers forever. Suddenly, everything feels worthless. I have killed and fought and endured for nothing…

“Everyone dies,” I say finally, forcing the words out like they don’t taste like ash in my mouth. “There’s no need to feel too sad. You’ll be fine.”

I step back, ready to leave her to whatever private grief she may feel, my chest aching in a way I don’t want to name. But her hand shoots out again—fast, desperate—grabbing my forearm. My heart jumps—hard—like it’s trying to punch straight through my ribs and fall into her other open palm.

“Don’t go, please. I… I need your help,” she says.

The words hang between us, soft but desperate, trembling on the air like they might shatter if I breathe wrong.

I turn fully then, staring down at her—really looking—and a wave of pure, staggering relief crashes through me so strong it almost buckles my knees. She’s coming to me. Not to any of the other circling vultures. Not to her father. Not to Mario. To me.

After all these years of watching her from the shadows, pretending I didn’t want her with every ragged breath has paid off. She’s finally reaching for me.

And I’ll burn the whole fucking world down before I let her go.

Chapter Nine

VIOLA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvKPCv3Okmc

-la bella vita-

I can’t believe I asked him for help, but the second I say the words, a key turns in a rusted lock I didn’t even know was there, and a strange, fragile peace settles over me.

For the very first time in years.

I’m standing in a nest of vipers now, and my heart knows this is the right way. The only way. No more circling the edges of panic like a trapped animal, no more weighing one monster against another in my head, calculating which set of jaws will hurt less when they close. Just this one quiet, terrifying step forward into the unknown.

Maybe he’ll refuse me. Everyone else has already come crawling with their version of “help”. The lawyer with his Tribeca penthouse, Mario with his sickening promise of protection in exchange for ownership. But Ricci… something in the way he was ready to storm that study door—because he genuinely thought Mario had hurt me—has cracked open a tiny, dangerous hope inside my chest. Maybe he doesn’t see me like the others do, a piece of meat to be enjoyed with wine. Maybe there’s a chance he’s different.

Maybe.

Maybe the only person in this whole rotten, blood-soaked world I can trust—or even ask—for protection is the newly crowned Godfather himself.

“Can we… can we talk?” My voice comes out smaller than I intend, shaky at the edges like it’s been waiting for permission to break. “Privately?”