Chapter 19 – Cristofano
Melbourne – Dockside
The tang of saltwater is sharp enough to cut through the haze of my cigarette.
I lean against the hood of the Maserati, watching the cranes groan and sway as Ken’s crew unloads the latest shipment.
Steel containers drop to the dock with dull, echoing thuds.
Men shout to one another over the clang of chains.
Beside me, Matteo clears his throat. “Product’s clean. Distribution starts tonight.”
I nod once, eyes still on the dockworkers. “Handle it.”
I flick the cigarette into the water, watch the embers hiss out, and push off the car. Matteo falls into step, both of us moving toward the vehicle. He slides in on the passenger side while I take the wheel, the leather still holding the bite of the sun.
Halfway through buckling in, Matteo produces a manila file and sets it on my lap. “Thought you’d want to see this.”
I arch a brow. “What is it?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You told me to check about a Bianca.”
I stiffen. I almost forgot I asked him to dig into the name Serafina blurted out at the carnival.
“It turns out, Bianca is her daughter.”
The words land like a slap. My fingers are still on the file’s edge before I flip it open. A school portrait stares back at me: a girl in uniform, hair dark and wavy, eyes the exact green-gold I’ve seen in the mirror of another face. My chest goes tight.
Matteo leans back, lands another blow. “Also, your maid, she met with Marcello Vitale.” Matteo watches me too closely. “My tracker said she was good. Almost lost her, but he got her thanks to the GPS.”
I remember sliding that tiny tracking bead into her travel bag—barely the size of a lentil—while she went to get me water.
The name rips my attention from the photo. A slow heat builds in my gut. “Vitale,” I repeat, my voice sharp. “She’s a cop. What the hell is she doing with him?”
“This isn’t the time for petty jealousy,” Matteo says, his tone clipped. “They’re most likely after the Black Book. She’s a traitor—came here under the guise of an investigation, but her goal was to steal. She has a child, Don. Probably has a boyfriend. End this obsession and let me take her out.”
This wasn’t Vitale's first attempt at the Black Book, but I admit this was the most daring.
I stare at the picture again, at the girl’s eyes. The memory hits me unbidden—her voice asking, What if you had a daughter?
“I had a one-night stand with her,” I say slowly, my voice lower than before. “Seven years ago. Rome.”
Matteo’s head snaps toward me. He snatches the file, his eyes darting between the photo and my face. “Shit.”
We’re both quiet for a long moment, staring at the photo like it might give us more answers if we look hard enough. Matteo’s jaw works before he finally asks, “So…what do we do?”
I close the file slowly, the paper edges whispering under my fingers. “Vitale’s probably after the Black Book—like you said. But Serafina….” I let the weight of her real name sit between us. “I don’t know her goal yet.”
Matteo’s voice hardens. “Think about it. She came here to bust a ring that doesn’t even exist. And by now, she should’ve figured out the files she stole were fake. That means she’s here on Vitale’s orders. I’m sure of it.”
Her face flashes in my mind—green-gold eyes softening against me, the way her breath caught when my hands closed around her waist. That wasn’t an act. Couldn’t have been.
“I’m going to marry her,” I say.
Matteo jerks back. “You’ve lost it. You’re giving her direct access to the Black Book.”
I look down at the school photo again, my thumb brushing over the girl’s face. “She’s the mother of my child.”
Matteo snorts. “Or maybe she got knocked up by some guy who just happens to look like you.” But the way his gaze lingers on the picture tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am—that it’s likely she’s mine.
“I’ll marry her,” I repeat, my voice final. “Then we’ll sort everything out.”
He leans in, eyes sharp. “If she touches the Black Book, it’s my duty to kill her on the spot.”
“She won’t,” I say, holding his stare. “We just need to talk.”
He shakes his head, muttering, “You’re delusional.”
I laugh under my breath, not from humor but from the sudden, dizzying reality settling in my chest. “I have a daughter.”
****
The drive back from the docks is long enough for the winter light to start sinking behind the city, the streets dipping in gold and shadow.
Matteo sits beside me, one leg bouncing lightly, but he doesn’t say a word.
I can feel him watching me from the corner of his eye, waiting for me to break the silence.
I don’t. My mind is still on the photo of the little girl—Bianca—burned into my head like a brand.
By the time we roll through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the lamps along the drive have been lit, their glow skimming over the perfectly trimmed hedges. I step out before Matteo can come around to open the door, taking the long walk up to the main house.
My father’s quarters are quiet except for the soft murmur of voices. I pause in the doorway to see him half-sitting in bed, white hair slicked back, one thin hand wrapped around the nurse’s wrist as she leans close, smiling at whatever story he’s telling.
The moment she notices me, the smile vanishes from her face. I don’t say a word, just let my stare sit on her until she mutters an excuse and slips out.
“Must you always scare Elena off?” my father asks, a trace of amusement under the rasp in his voice.
I move closer, pulling up the chair beside his bed. “If I didn’t, you’d charm them into forgetting they’re on my payroll.”
He chuckles, a dry sound, but I catch the weariness in his eyes. I take his hand—still calloused despite the years—and for a moment, we’re just father and son. No empire. No blood.
“I’m marrying the maid,” I say. “I am serious, Father.”
The air stills. His storm-gray gaze sharpens, reading my face. “You ran the Bellarosa affairs since you were nineteen. Not once have you failed me. If this is truly what you want…I can’t stop you.”
There’s no anger in his tone, but the pause that follows is weighted. “Now,” he mutters, “I’ll have to offer apologies to the Morelli family.”
My mouth twitches into a smile. “That’s manageable.” I lean down and brush my lips over his knuckles, but he pulls his hand away with a scoff, snapping for his nurse.
“Out. I need my peace.”
I stand, but the smile lingers as I leave his room. The door shuts behind me, and the quiet hallway stretches ahead. My steps feel lighter than they should.
Fate had handed me Serafina once before, in Rome. Now it’s brought her back. I’ll tear down the lies she came here with, strip away whatever orders sent her into my home. And then—she’ll bring my daughter home.
We’ll be a family.
I’m halfway down the marble corridor when raised voices cut through the usual hush of the estate.
“…I said you can’t go in,” Matteo’s voice is iron.
“You will get out of my way, Matteo.” Alessandra’s reply is a whip crack, heels clicking like gunshots against the floor.
I step closer. She spots me over Matteo’s shoulder, shoves him hard enough to make him stagger, and closes the distance in a run. Her perfume hits before her arms do, looping around my neck.
“Cristo—”
I catch her wrists, peel her off me. “I just told my father I’m marrying another woman.”
Her painted mouth parts, then tightens. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Blue Moon is in a few weeks.”
I say nothing.
Her eyes narrow, searching my face, then widen. “It’s the maid, isn’t it?”
Her palm cracks across my cheek. The sting is sharp, the spit that follows sharper.
“You humiliate me—over her?!” she screams.
“My family will send their apologies to yours,” I say evenly.
“She isn’t good for you.” Her gaze hardens, voice pitched low but shaking. “She’s not missing you. She met with your enemy. Vitale. I have proof.”
I tilt my head. “And so what?”
Her mouth falls open, outrage flaring. “So what? Have you lost your mind?” She takes a step closer, chin high.
“How do you know that?”
Her perfectly shaped lips stay closed, but her eyes give her away.
I let a slow, cold smile pull at my mouth. “Because he’s your cousin, isn’t he?”
She flinches, just enough for me to catch it. “That doesn’t mean I’m on his side.”
“No?” My tone is razor-edged amusement. I step back, already done with this conversation. “Have a good day, Alessandra.”
Her manicured fingers grab my sleeve. “Cristo—”
“Matteo,” I say without looking at her, “see Signora Morelli out.”
She’s still calling my name when I turn my back, her voice echoing down the hall. Matteo’s eyes flick to mine over her shoulder, unreadable, before he guides her away.