Chapter Thirteen – Vieri
Her face is a mess.
Bruised, swollen, lips split and leaking dried red into the corner of her mouth. She’s hunched at the edge of the couch, twiddling with the torn hem of her skirt like a child waiting to be scolded, muttering something under her breath I can’t catch. Probably prayers. Probably begging whatever god she thinks is listening to take her somewhere—anywhere—far from me.
I blink, slow. My eyes sting like fire’s still licking the edges. Bleach is a bitch to the face, especially when you weren’t expecting it. My skin feels raw, tight around the sockets. It’s eased off some, but the ache behind my brows hasn’t. The welt from that goddamn mantle still pulses across my back, a dull throb radiating down my spine like my body’s trying to remind me what a fucking idiot I am.
I’m shirtless, crouched at the armrest while Enzo hovers behind me, fingers cool against the bruised skin.
“It’s bad,” he mutters. “Deep bruise. Might swell worse by morning, but at least it’s not open. Lucky bastard. Should get something on it though.”
Then, he pauses.
“Is this some kind of lovers’ squabble or what?”
“Shut up,” I grunt, rolling my shoulders, ignoring the way it makes the pain spike.
I push off the couch and stand. The fabric of my shirt sticks for a moment when I yank it off the armrest where I tossed it, and I slide it on slowly, each button a chore against skin that’s throbbing with heat.
My gaze flicks back to her.
The girl.
She hasn’t moved. Eyes wide, skin pale as ash, like she’s afraid even to breathe wrong. She’s clutching that ruined skirt like it’s a lifeline, and there’s this faint tremor in her arms—like her body hasn’t caught up with the fact that she’s still alive. I look at her long enough to see the bruises down her collarbone now that the blouse is torn halfway open. Red patches. Purple shadows. I didn’t realize how hard she’d hit the floor.
I didn’t realize how much I hurt her.
My fingers still on the last button, and for a second, I just watch her. Try to figure out how to clean this mess up.
I was going to shoot her. Right there in the room. Quick. Quiet. Easier on everyone. She didn’t know anything—Mother J’s son probably croaked out the word “diamonds” before collapsing. She was just some innocent café girl with cinnamon-sweet skin and big, glassy eyes that couldn’t lie if they tried.
But then she asked to pee.
I thought nothing of it.
She’s cleverer than I gave her credit for. Doesn’t look it, not with that mess of auburn curls knotted and dangling over her eyes, and that innocent shake in her voice like she’s on the verge of tears.
But she has been fighting since the very minute she got here. There are grown men who would resign to their fate in this situation.
The mantle was tipping. I saw it. I could’ve watched it crush her and ended this whole situation in one clean hit.
But the second I saw that wood start to drop, my body moved to protect hers like it was wired into my bones.
I curse under my breath, scrubbing a hand down my face.
Her curls still smell faintly of flour and cinnamon. I remember it from when I held her under the weight of that mantle, her body soft and trembling under mine.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I should’ve let her die.
And yet here I am—shirt sticking to blood and bruises, pride half-scorched from a goddamn bottle of bleach—and she’s still breathing.
Enzo clears his throat beside me. “Am I interrupting… whatever this is?”
I swing my glare toward him. “Don’t start.”
Before I can tear into him properly, the door swings open like a storm behind us.
Riccardo stomps in, eyes blazing, face red. “Bellandi’s here. That bastard really had the fucking guts to show his face and I swear I’m gonna kill him.”
He’s already pulling a piece from his belt when I hear the girl gasp. Riccardo’s eyes snap to her.
“And why the hell is she here?” His head tilts, narrowing in on me. “What happened to your face?”
I ignore him. “Where are Alfio and Omero?” I ask.
Enzo shrugs. “Milan. Some clean-up work for that insurance broker who owed us. They’ll be back tomorrow.”
I nod. Then look at Riccardo. “Put the gun away. And don’t say or do anything stupid. Let him in.”
Riccardo clicks his tongue but slides the gun back into his waistband. “Whatever,” he mutters.
I turn to Enzo. “Get me handcuffs.”
Enzo blinks like I just said something insane. “Handcuffs?”
“Just get them.”
He raises both brows, gives a low whistle, but leaves the room.
The girl looks up when I approach. Her eyes go wide again. She leans slightly away like she thinks distance might save her. It won’t.
I take her wrist—her skin’s warm, soft, and trembling. She doesn’t fight, but she looks like she’s holding back a scream. I cuff her, metal clinking around her bones, then fasten the other end to my own wrist and I slid the key into my pocket.
She lets out the tiniest, broken sound.
Enzo steps back in, whistling louder now. “Shit. Should I order a cake too, or is this not that kind of ceremony?”
I shoot him a look that shuts him up, and my focus returns to her.
She’s staring at the cuff between us like it’s a death sentence. She bit Bugatti’s arm. Slammed a maid into the floor. Damn near escaped the entire estate. She’s not harmless. She’s not some sweet, trembling thing. I will figure out what the hell to do with her after I handle Bellandi.
Riccardo returns, swinging the door open like he owns the place. Behind him walks Bellandi.
He’s aged, but not much. Fifty-five, still tall, still sharp-eyed. His gold signet ring flashes when he lifts his hand.
“There’s my favorite nephew,” Bellandi says, all teeth and charm.
*****
Riccardo makes a show of tossing his gun on the table with a clatter that draws everyone’s attention. He leans back in his seat beside Enzo, arms crossed, sneer carved across his face as he fixes his eyes on Bellandi.
I sit at the head of the table, straight-backed, one arm resting on the surface, the other cuffed to the girl beside me. She shifts every now and then, barely breathing. I don’t need to look to know how tense she is—I can feel it through the chain. Every twitch of her wrist, every tremble in her fingers, it all moves through the link and brushes against me.
Bellandi’s seated in the center with a glass of water in his hand. His smile never fades. He’s been wearing it since he walked in.
“I came the moment I heard you were out of jail,” he says, tone warm, but sharp underneath. “The families have missed you. It was a tough time after your father died.”
Riccardo mutters something dark under his breath. I don’t catch it, but I shoot him a look that says shut up. He shrugs and looks away.
I turn back to Bellandi, voice flat. “Thank you for coming. I’ll take over from my father. They don’t need to worry.”
Bellandi’s lips spread wider. “Of course. Your father did a beautiful job heading the three families of Melbourne. For over six decades, we’ve stood out in Italy as a powerhouse. I trust you to carry on his legacy…”
He pauses—too long. I already see it coming.
“…but.”
And there it is.
Bellandi is a snake, always has been. Knows how to hide the venom behind a compliment.
“But,” he continues, swirling the glass like it holds secrets, “you’re young. The families fear you might not live up to—”
“Bullshit,” Riccardo snaps, slamming a hand on the table so hard the glasses rattle. The girl beside me jerks.
Enzo grabs Riccardo’s arm, whispering harshly. “Not now.”
I lift a hand, controlling the storm before it starts. “It’s fine.”
Then I look at Bellandi and speak calmly. “I understand their fears. I’ll reassure them through my actions. They have nothing to worry about.”
Bellandi inclines his head, the smile sharpening. “I trust you completely. You’re just like your father, bless his memory.”
My jaw ticks.
That’s a comparison I don’t deserve. Or want.
I keep my voice even. “That’s a comparison I’m unsure I’ve earned.”
Bellandi chuckles. “In three days, there’ll be a dinner. Nothing formal, just a gathering of the families. Bring your brothers. They’d love to see you all. And hopefully they’ll see that jail hasn’t made you… weak.”
His words curl like smoke—too light to grip, too thick to ignore. Enzo rolls his eyes. Riccardo hisses again under his breath.
“I’d love it,” I reply.
Bellandi sets his glass down and adds, “Also, it’s time you think about marriage. A decent girl, someone with poise. Start a family. It’ll solidify your place. The mafia is, after all, about family. I know a few lovely girls—”
I stand, the motion slow. The chain between my wrist and the girl’s jerks taut. She stumbles as she rises with me, startled, catching herself on the edge of the table.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say smoothly. “Enzo, see him out safely.”
Bellandi stands and offers his hand. I take it, firm but brief.
“Good man,” he says, patting my shoulder like I’m still twelve.
Enzo falls in behind him as they exit the room, their footsteps fading into the corridor.
Riccardo leans forward, eyes flicking to the doorway. “You should’ve let me blow his fucking brains out.”
I reach for the bottle of water in front of me and pour calmly into a glass. “And have the other families think we’re at war with our own blood?”
Riccardo shrugs. “Would’ve been worth it.”
Enzo steps back into the room, rubbing his neck. I watch him for a few seconds, then push my chair.
“Which one of you fools did it?” I ask, voice low, but it carries.
Enzo blinks. “Did what?”
I kick the leg of the table. It shudders under the force, plates rattling. The girl flinches beside me, eyes squeezed shut like she’s expecting a bullet to fly.
“Which one of you brought Bellandi down here?” I say again.
Enzo shifts uncomfortably, mumbling under his breath, “I told you guys he’d be furious.”
Riccardo answers. “We thought you’d handle Bellandi once you got out of jail. But you haven’t. And I couldn’t sit still.”
Enzo sighs. “He convinced us to make some inquiries about Bellandi.”
There it is.
I grit my teeth, mind spinning as everything clicks into place. Of course. That’s why Bellandi showed up all smiles and veiled threats. My brothers had poked the hornet’s nest and Bellandi didn’t come to warn me—he came to make his first strike.
He’s probably been poisoning the other families for months, maybe longer.
I wanted to move slow. Get the diamonds back first. Use that capital to buy loyalty, pressure dissenters, rebuild quietly. But now—now the game’s changed. My brothers jumped the gun, and Bellandi isn’t going to sit still while I play catch-up. And I still haven’t found my fucking diamonds.
“Why didn’t any of you idiots tell me about this?” I snap.
Enzo meets my gaze, a rare softness in his voice. “’Cause you’ve been gone, Vieri. For the past few days, you’re like air.”
I pause, that one hitting deeper than I’d like to admit.
He’s not wrong.
I’ve been off chasing the girl and my diamonds. I’ve been distracted.
“Look, we’re sorry,” Enzo adds. “It was dumb.”
“I’m not sorry,” Riccardo grumbles, leaning back with arms folded.
Enzo ignores him and asks, “What do we do now? Bellandi’s probably already spinning stories to the families. And I doubt he’s saying nice things.”
“I say we do a takeover,” Riccardo cuts in. “We have the men. We have the numbers. Set an example with Bellandi. Wipe out anyone who gets in our way.”
Enzo groans. “Always your answer.”
I stay quiet for a second, then sit up straighter.
“Prepare for the dinner. Both of you,” I say.
They blink at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Send word to Alfio and Omero. Let them know we’ve got a dinner party to attend.”
Riccardo’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re serious?”
My mind’s already ten steps ahead.
He’s not wrong—we have the muscle. We could hit Bellandi now. Blood would spill. Territory would shift. But if the other families in Italy got involved? We’d be buried. Fast.
They trusted my father. They don’t know me. Not really. Bellandi’s their bridge, their comfort. He’s the brother they grew up with, second after my father. Who could blame them for choosing him?
Violence isn’t the answer. Not now. That would feed into the narrative he’s already painting—that I’m reckless, unfit, dangerous.
No.
We win by showing them the opposite. That we’re not just violent men—we’re strategic. We’re the future. I’ll beat Bellandi at his own game.
I repeat, quieter this time, “Prepare.”
Riccardo lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “At least I get to bring a hot date.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I cut in, sharp. “Only I bring a woman.”
Enzo raises an eyebrow, gaze shifting to the girl still cuffed to me. “You serious? Her?”
Riccardo barks out a laugh. “He’s lost it. Completely gone.”
I don’t even blink. Just watch them as Riccardo slaps Enzo on the back, linking their arms.
“Let’s go smoke some weed, brother.”
Enzo shakes his head, chuckling. “I’ll go meditate, but thanks.”
They walk out, still laughing. The door clicks shut behind them.
I glance to my side—and freeze.
Blood is dripping from the girl’s nose. A slow, dark red trail down her lip.
I unlock the cuffs with a sharp click. Her wrist drops limply to her lap, red and swollen from the pressure. I hand her a folded paper towel, and she presses it to her nose with both hands—shaky, trembling things like she isn’t sure if she’s bleeding or crying.
She doesn’t say thank you. I watch her closely.
The moment Bellandi told me to bring a woman to the dinner, a plan started forming. If the mafia wanted trust, I’d give them the illusion. They wanted a leader with roots, with family, with faith. Fine. I’d be that. I’d wear the mask.
And she—this girl with her swollen lips and dirt-streaked face—would play the part.
She’s curvy, full-bodied. Big chest, wide hips. That rosary still dangles around her wrist. Catholic. Probably raised in it. The families would eat that up. The mafia worship tradition. The more devout, the more they trust you to sin righteously.
She dabs her nose again, eyes full of water but holding back. That’s something.
“You okay?” I ask, softening my voice, feigning concern.
Her lashes flutter. “Please,” she says, voice cracking, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused. Just… let me go.”
Goddamn it. That voice. I force the irritation down and nod slowly.
“I’m sorry too. For everything—Lune…?”
She looks up, startled. “Lunetta.”
I nod. “Right. Lunetta. This has been one big misunderstanding. I know you’re confused, scared. But this isn’t what you think.”
I can tell she doesn’t buy it. She’s not stupid. But desperation makes people want to believe lies.
“Your Nonna, the nice old lady—Carmela, right? She must be worried.” I soften my tone even more. “I’ll take you back to her.”
Her eyes fill with a dangerous kind of hope. One that makes my stomach churn.
“But you’ve got to help me first. Then I promise, I’ll return you.”
I’m not giving her back. But that hope? It’s leverage. And leverage can be very useful.
She swallows. Her lip quivers, but she doesn’t cry. Not fully.
“I just need you for a couple of days,” I murmur. “To do a few things. Then this will all be over. Okay?”
She nods faintly. And just like that, I’ve got her.
I stand. “Good. Come with me.”
I lead her out of the sitting room, ignoring the stares from the guards in the hall. This part of the house is mine alone. The most secure wing—walls reinforced, doors that only I have the codes for. My brothers wouldn’t get past the first lock unless I wanted them to. I can’t trust her with less secure rooms, I can monitor her when she is here.
She walks beside me. No fight left.
When we reach the door, I push it open and step aside. Her eyes widen. She steps in slowly, looking around like she’s wandered into a dream.
“You’ll sleep here,” I say. “Well—mine and yours.”
She turns crimson.
“I—I can’t—”
“You agreed to a deal, didn’t you?” I arch a brow.
“What’s… what’s the deal?” she whispers.
“Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for a few days. In front of my brothers and in situations when I ask you to.”
She looks down at her feet, jaw tight.
“We share the room?” she asks softly.
“Yes. And you’ll do as I say. You’ll be safe if you do.”
Her eyes dart to the bed again, and her face burns deeper red. I chuckle, unable to help it.
“I’ll sleep in the inner chambers,” I say, gesturing to the door tucked beside the bookshelf. “You don’t have to worry.”
She looks so damn red, I can’t resist leaning in a little.
“I’ll never take what you don’t offer,” I say, voice low. “But I’ll make you want to give it.”
She shivers. I feel it in the air between us. Her innocence practically radiates, but there’s something else there too.
I step back.
“I’ll call a new maid. The other one probably won’t want to see you again. Don’t attack this one—she’ll help you clean up and eat something. Then you rest.”
She nods, quiet.
“When do I go home?” she asks.
“When our deal is finished.”
I walk to the door, but pause before opening it.
“I’ll forgive you for the games you played,” I say without turning. “But if you try it again… you’ll never see anything outside this house again.”
She nods.
“Good girl.”
Then I leave.