Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALESSANDRO
The heavy, saline stench of stagnant seawater and rotting timber hangs thick over the western docks. Out here, on the rugged edge of the city’s industrial shipping district, the midnight air feels weighed down by a freezing fog rolling off the dark Atlantic.
Giant, rusted cranes tower over the shoreline like skeletal giants, their shadows stretching long and distorted across the concrete beneath the flickering, yellow glare of high-mast security lights.
This is the underbelly of the Gallo empire. The quiet, heavily guarded warehouses lining Pier 47 handle the type of cargo that never shows up on an official customs manifest.
I walk slowly along the edge of the shipping container labyrinth, my shoes crunching against grit and loose gravel. My hands are buried deep inside the pockets of my long black overcoat, my collar turned up against the biting wind.
Beside me, Valerio is in his element. He moves from group to group, checking in with the heavily armed sentries stationed at the perimeter gates, reviewing the digital shipping manifests on a tablet, and barking commands to the dockworkers operating the forklifts.
Massive wooden crates are being unloaded from a nondescript freighter, the heavy machinery groaning under the weight of automated tracking equipment and high-grade munitions.
"The manifest from the Palermo shipment is cleared," Valerio says, falling into step beside me as we approach Warehouse B. “If we secure the main harbor routes by Tuesday, we’ll cut logistics in half."
I don't answer him. I don't even nod.
I just keep my eyes fixed on the black, churning water below the pier, watching the white sea foam lap violently against the barnacle-encrusted concrete pillars.
Valerio stalls for a second, his boots cutting short on the gravel. He exchanges a long, pointed look with Marco, one of our senior captains standing by the warehouse entrance. Marco adjusts his holster, his brow furrowing as he glances at me, then back to Valerio.
The silence stretching between us is unnatural. Normally, during a high-stakes logistics sweep like this, I’m tearing through the details, identifying security blind spots, and preparing the tactical protocols. Tonight, I’m a ghost in my own territory.
"Alessandro?" Valerio tries again, his voice more cautious as he steps closer. "Did you hear me?"
I pull a hand from my pocket, my fingers trailing absentmindedly along the cold, rusted edge of a shipping container. My palm still feels warm. My mind is entirely trapped three miles away, buried in the dark, incense-heavy shadows of a cathedral back row.
I can still taste the sweet, sinful flavor of her on my tongue. I can still feel the frantic, desperate way her tight walls clamped down around my fingers. She would suffocate my cock, and fuck I’m hard just thinking about it.
"Alessandro," Valerio says, his tone tight with a mix of frustration and growing concern. "The men are noticing. You’ve been out of it since we left the city center."
I stop walking. I turn my head slowly, my dark eyes cutting through the fog to fix Valerio with a look so cold it makes his jaw instantly tighten.
"The cargo is moving," I rumble, my voice a low, gravelly warning that cuts through the whistling wind. "The perimeter is secure. Focus on your job, Valerio, and leave my mind to me."
Valerio doesn’t flinch at my tone. He’s been by my side too long to be easily spooked by a dark look. With a brief flick of his wrist, he sends Marco off to supervise the loading docks, leaving just the two of us standing in the freezing fog. He looks back at me, eyes full of genuine concern.
"What is it?" he asks quietly, shielding his tablet from the wind. "You’ve been completely out of it for a week now. Ever since Belvedere Manor."
I release a deep breath, the mist curling into the dark air before dissipating over the churning water. "I think Luca is onto something. I’m just not sure what exactly."
Valerio frowns, tapping a few keys on his screen. "After you ruined that party the other day, our scouts report that Luca hasn't been seen anywhere near Kuznetsov's territory. He’s gone completely radio silent on the Russian front."
But that doesn't sit right with me. A snake like Luca doesn't just curl up and play dead after losing a deal; he slithers into a deeper, darker hole to strike from a different angle.
"That's exactly what bothers me," I rumble, my jaw tightening. "The man is planning something big. And with the syndicate elders overall disliking me right now, navigating the council is getting more difficult by the day."
Okay, so maybe I have a hand in why those haughty bastards dislike me. I don’t suck up to them, and I certainly don’t kiss their hairy old balls like Luca does, which is precisely why they prefer his cowardly diplomacy over my methods.
But I’ve never been one to bow my head or beg for a seat at a table I belong at. They will see my power, and they will respect me because they have no other choice. Anything else isn’t my fucking business.
Plus, they’re still furious about what I did to Pietro. The sniveling bastard is alive and recovering, regretfully, but he’s been walking around the offices with a massive, heavy cast on his arm since his discharge from the hospital.
He’s gone out of his way to completely avoid me, which is the only positive outcome of that mess.
Valerio watches me, processing the weight of the political storm brewing against us. He shifts his weight, his eyes scanning the quiet perimeter before dropping his voice even lower.
"Alessandro," he says carefully. "May I suggest something?"
I hum, giving him a brief, curt nod to indicate he has the floor.
Valerio shifts his weight, slipping the tablet into his jacket pocket.
"Take Sienna to dinner with the elders. Introduce her to them properly before the wedding.
Let them see her at your side. Right now, they view you as a liability, as someone who acts entirely on impulse.
Showing up with her on your arm, playing the part of a happy lover, will make you seem less unhinged and more serious.
That is exactly what they want from a Don. "
He isn't wrong. To the council, dropping my original arrangement, choosing another bride out of nowhere, and aggressively moving the wedding date up seemed unstable, like the erratic tantrums of a warlord rather than the strategic plays of a future ruler.
I stare out at the dark water for a long beat, calculating the angles, before giving a firm nod. "It's not a bad idea."
"I'll reach out to the council elders tonight and coordinate the dinner," Valerio says, pulling his phone out to log the task. "When would you like to have it?"
I cut a sharp glare in his direction, irritation flaring in my chest. "The wedding is in fucking three days. It has to be tomorrow night, or there’s not point.”
"Tomorrow it is," he mutters, unfazed by my temper, his fingers flying across the screen.
I rub the back of my neck, aware that I'm in an incredibly foul mood. And it isn't just because of the political circus with the elders. It's because I went completely out of my way to ambush Sienna at that cathedral today simply because I couldn’t take the distance anymore.
After she slammed my car door last week, I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t see her or give her the satisfaction of my presence until she walked down the aisle. But I caved today.
And fuck, it was delicious.
It took every ounce of discipline and restraint in my body not to bend her over that wooden pew and fuck her right there. The girl is entirely too perfect for me. Made for me in every twisted way possible. So fiercely beautiful, even when she's hating me.
"I will go and set up the venue and the security protocol then," Valerio’s voice breaks through my dark musings, dragging me back to the cold docks.
He looks at me intently. "Please brief Sienna about them before tomorrow night. You know how those old traditionalists are. They’ll look for any excuse to pick her apart. "
"I'll handle her," I rumble.
With a final nod, Valerio turns and walks back toward the warmth of Warehouse B, leaving me alone with the whistling wind.