Page 38 of Accidental Alliance

My hands tighten in my lap so hard, my nails bite into my palms.

There it is, the bargain I knew had to be waiting beneath all that courtesy. It isn’t a threat, not yet, but an open invitation for a further negotiation. A door cracked just wide enough to see whether I will step through it willingly or be forced to be dragged through.

Even if I wanted to, even if I allowed that buried reckless part of me to rise up and uncurl after years of being in the dark, Matteo’s safety instantly drags me back down to reality with brutal force.

There is no version of this where I step back into a world I once inhabited and somehow keep my son untouched by it.

The underworld does not tolerate innocence for long. It notices softness the way sharks notice blood in the water.

It identifies vulnerabilities, catalogues them, then decides whether to exploit them now or save them for leverage later.

Children are never just children there. They are heirs, pressure points, future pawns and insurance policies. That is always how the machine works.

It grinds and consumes all who come before it. Even if I tried to keep Matteo hidden, it would not matter for long. Sooner or later, someone would look too closely, some enemy would ask the right questions, and my son would stop being the sweet seven-year-old who still believes in magic tricks and Santa Claus and become what that world would make of him.

Useful.

I would sooner die than let that happen.

“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice sounds distant even to me, as though the answer comes from some colder, steadier version of myself. “But no.”

Davide nods slowly. And then he does something I do not expect—he accepts it.

At least on the surface.

He does not lean forward and remind me what men in his position are capable of when denied. Nor do his eyes drift meaningfully toward the window where Matteo is still outside playing. He simply sits with the refusal and absorbs it.

For a moment, I am almost surprised he is not threatening me.

Most Dons in his position would. Cornered badly enough to seek outside help, someone like him would not walk into a room like this without at least one knife hidden behind their back.

If he truly is desperate enough to come here, to track me down after eight years and ask for the one thing I swore I would never give anyone again, then it must be bad.

Bad enough to override pride and risk spooking me.

That thought settles uncomfortably in my chest.

Davide’s gaze lowers briefly to his clasped hands before lifting back to mine. “I will be in town for a few more days. Please think things over until then. I will leave my contact information for you. If I don’t hear from you within a few days, I will take your no as your final answer.”

All I can do is nod before standing.

He doesn’t stay any longer after that. He and his men file out of my house without a fight, leaving just as quietly as they’d come. I watch them climb into their cars from my front porch, my arms wrapped around my body tightly in a self-soothing motion.

The black SUVs glide away down the cul-de-sac like an omen. The street returns to their peaceful rhythm once they disappear around the corner. I step back inside after watching the road for another few minutes, making sure they don’t circle back around again.

As soon as I lock the door, I lean against it. To my surprise, guilt seeps into the cracks of my resolve like saltwater into an open wound.

What would my father have wanted?

Would Amos Russo call me a coward for turning my back on an old friend like Davide? Or would he demand I run faster, burn every bridge that could lead violence back to my son?

My mind becomes a battlefield of contradictions. Loyalty versus survival, duty versus motherhood.

Beneath it all lies a single, aching truth. I wish my father were still alive. He would see the angles I cannot yet see. He would know the path forward buried beneath my fear.

But he is gone, shot down eight years ago in a betrayal that shattered everything and that I still have no answers for.

Matteo’s voice floats from down the hallway, innocent and bright. “Mom? Is it time for school yet?”