Page 10

Fine.

I will give them a war that makes the bishop look like a rehearsal.

Tindari first. Let the capos see her alive, jeweled, speaking, and mine. Then Capri, where the water is a moat and the cliffs are a sniper's dream. In New York, Tony already has men at Danny's door, and I have a list of names that I have been saving like aged wine.

Iris thinks I am holding her because I am kind. I am holding her because if I let go right now, I will put a hole in the dining room wall, and she will hear the kind of quiet that comes after I stop being her husband and start being the thing the underworld prays I keep leashed.

I slide the burner phone into my trouser pocket and wrap one large hand around the back of Iris's neck. I slide my fingers into her thick red hair, applying just enough pressure to guide her forehead against my chest. She tenses for a fraction of a second, her hands gripping my shirt tighter, before she collapses against me, burying her face into the curve of my collarbone.

She hates me with every fiber of her being for stealing her life and hiding our marriage. But when the demons from her past come knocking, she knows there is only one predator in this world lethal enough to tear them apart.

Me.

"Let them come," I rumble into her hair, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the crown of her head. "They think they can step onto my island and breathe the same air as my Donna? They think Victor and a council of corrupted priests can take back what belongs to me?"

I lift her chin with my thumb, tilting her scarred face up to mine.

"I painted the house of God in red for you once, Iris," I say softly, my voice laced with a devotion that terrifies even me. "If those bastards come within ten miles of this coast, I will turn the Mediterranean into an open grave. No one touches you. No one even looks at you unless I give the order."

She shivers against my chest, her lips parting as she takes in a ragged breath. "You can't fight an entire war alone, Romeo. Victor has thousands of Bratva soldiers. And Gemma... you sent her right into Moscow.

"Gemma is not a victim, Kitten," I reply with a low smirk, leaning down to brush my lips over the bridge of her nose, right above the silk blindfold. "Gemma is a Messina hitwoman. She has survived three cartel wars and put more men in the dirt than half my capos combined. Victor thinks he took a hostage, but he locked himself in a cage with a black mamba. She will tear his network apart from the inside out."

I slide my arms down, scooping her up into my arms before she can register the movement. She lets out a startled yelp, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself.

"Enzo!" I bark toward the corridor.

The door to the private study swings open immediately. Enzo steps into the dining room, buttoning his suit jacket, his Glock already holstered beneath his arm.

"Boss," Enzo says, dipping his head in respect.

"Double the patrols on the coastal road," I command, striding past him toward the grand foyer with Iris held securely against my chest. "I want the Tindari hall ready by nightfall. The families will see their Donna tonight. We are not running. We are holding court."

Enzo's eyes widen slightly. "A full introduction tonight, Don? With the Scots circling the mainland?"

"Tindari has walls my grandfather bled for," I say, my tone brooking no argument. "If the Scots want a war, they can watch us toast it from the cliffs. Capri comes after the families bend the knee. Get Tony on the horn in New York. Tell him to double the security on Danny's hospital wing. If a single fly buzzes too close to the old man, I want bodies dropping in the street."

"Consider it done, boss." Enzo nods sharply, pulling his encrypted satellite unit from his pocket as he jogs toward the communications room.

I carry Iris up the wide marble staircase toward our suite. She doesn't fight me this time. She rests her head against my shoulder, her fingers absently tracing the heavy Messina crest embroidered on the pocket of my shirt.

"Why a party, Romeo?" she whispers, her voice small, lost in the vastness of the marble hall.

"Because they need to see you, Iris," I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. "Not a rumor. Not Danny O'Connor's broken daughter. My Donna. And because before this war begins, I am going to make sure you understand whose name you carry."

I take the stairs slower than I need to. I want her to feel the house around her, the stone, the portraits, and the fact that this place has survived sieges and still opens its doors for her.

"You think a party is vanity," I say against her hair. "It is a message. If I hide you, they think you are a weakness. If I put you in silk in a hall full of men who kill for a living, they understand you are the reason I will burn their shipping lanes. Tonight you will stand where I can see every door. You will wear my diamonds. You will hate me for it and you will do it anyway, because the alternative is me putting you on a plane to a hole in the map while I hunt without you, and we both know you would rather spit in my face than be left behind."

Her fingers twist in my shirt. She does not argue. That is how I know she heard Jamie. That is how I know she is already choosing the fire over the cage again.

She lets out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening on my shirt.

"You're insane," she mutters.

"Certifiable, cara mia," I agree with a wicked smile, kicking open our bedroom door. "Now let's get you dressed. The families are coming, and they are going to see who you are."

FOUR