Page 118 of Accidental Alliance

All I see is Amos Russo’s faded blood staining the marble steps and Giovano slumped in that chair, bleeding out from the wound in his chest while refusing to give us anything of value to use against the only person who helped the last remaining piece of Amos escape.

The phone remains against my ear.

My father continues, his voice colder now. “Do not make this into something sentimental. Amos was shifting toward Bianchi long before his death. He would have fractured our routes and exposed half our infrastructure in the process were I to allow it to continue. Alessio acted rashly, yes, but the outcome was necessary.”

My grip on the phone tightens until the casing creaks.

“You let me believe she was involved.”

“You needed distance from her,” he argues. “She was a distraction. She had too much influence over you at the worst possible time. Alessio may have been wrong in some details, but he was right about one thing. She has always weakened you.”

I look through the glass doors. Inside, through the darkness of the room, I can make out the shape of Isabella in bed, still curled on her side, one hand resting near the space I left behind while she sleeps.

She weakened you.

No, it has only ever been the opposite. She has been the only thing in my life that has made me question whether strength built on obedience is something I truly wanted or something I should have broken away from long ago when she asked me to run away together.

“You realize what you’ve done, then?” I ask. “What this means? I can’t stand by you. I won’t.”

“Then you are a traitor,” he replies.

I lower the phone without answering and end the call.

Guilt and exhaustion crash over me in waves. The family I was raised to die for, the brother I once looked up to, the father who tried to build me into the perfect, obedient weapon… all of it has been built on lies I can no longer ignore.

I turn to go back inside.

Isabella sits up when I approach the bed, her chestnut hair falling over one shoulder, honey-gold eyes watching me with that fierce intensity that has always stripped me bare even while she’s still half-asleep. She reaches for me without question, beckoning me back into bed.

I set my phone down on the nightstand and slip in beside her, pulling her close to bury my face in her hair. I breathe her scent in deeply, letting it wash over me and stifle the waves of grief.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

The question is quiet, but it carries the weight of everything we have lost over the near decade we’ve been apart. I look at her, at the woman I walked away from and have regretted doing so ever since, at the only person who has ever made me want to be more than the weapon forged by my father’s hand.

“I am with you.” I cup her face with both hands. “I give you my word. I choose you. From this moment forward, my loyalty belongs to the family we created together. No one else.”

She searches my eyes for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she leans forward and presses her forehead to mine. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

For the first time since I walked away eight years ago, the weight on my chest feels lighter. I am no longer the underboss who sacrificed everything for the Conti name. I am the man who will burn it all down to protect what truly matters.

And I will never walk away from it again.

23

ELIO

Three days is all it takes for my family to come to the Bianchi stronghold.

I know before the first alarm finishes screaming that it is them. The sound cuts through the grounds with an ear-shattering screech, tearing everyone out of the tense, sleepless quiet Davide’s house has been holding onto for seventy-two hours.

Men start shouting in the hallway while boots thunder over polished floors. Radios crackle with commands half-drowned out by the chaos.

“North gate. Two vehicles—no, four. Movement near the eastern perimeter. Shots fired!”

The Bianchi stronghold sits on old land fortified over generations, but no house is perfect. Every syndicate has its flaws, every fortress has a seam.