Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty Two
Caterina
The door closes behind Adrian, and the lock slides into place.
For one second, I cannot move.
I just stand there, staring at the steel door, my lips still tingling from his kiss and my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Come back.
I ordered him to come back.
As if orders can stop bullets. As if I can command the world to be fair because I spoke firmly.
Behind me, one of the girls lets out a small, broken sound.
That is what snaps me back.
Not the fact that the man I love just walked out into my house alone while people with guns search for us.
A child crying.
I turn.
Charlotte is pressed against Lucia’s side, face buried in her mother’s dress. Sofia is standing stiffly beside Nick, trying so hard to be brave that it makes my throat ache. Gabriel is fussing now, his little face scrunched, one tiny fist waving near Lucia’s collarbone.
Cristiano is awake in Teresa’s arms, not crying yet, but close. Emma is blinking around the room, her lower lip pushed out in confusion.
The children.
It always comes back to the children.
“Okay,” I say, and my voice sounds strange to my own ears. Too calm. Too thin. “Everybody breathe.”
Vito gives me a look that says he is not in the mood for breathing exercises.
Neither am I.
But the girls are watching us now, and I know what they need to see.
Not panic.
Not helplessness.
Adults.
Lucia lowers herself to the floor with Gabriel still in her arms and pulls Charlotte closer. “It’s all right, baby,” she whispers. “We’re going to stay here for a little while.”
Charlotte’s voice is muffled. “Why?”
“Because Adrian says this is the safest room,” Nick answers before Lucia has to.
That seems to help a little.
Sofia looks at me. “Is someone bad outside?”
The question makes the room go quiet for a second.
Everyone in this room knows about danger and enemies. Growing up a Conti, it comes with the territory. But the kids, they don’t know about it yet. They’re too young.
Too young to learn? I hoped so, but I guess not.
“Yes,” I say.
Lucia’s eyes snap to mine, but I keep my gaze on Sofia.
“There are people outside who shouldn’t be here,” I continue. “But Adrian built this room to keep us safe, and your dad and Uncle Vito and Uncle Nico are right here.”
“And Aunt Cat,” Charlotte says weakly from Lucia’s dress.
My chest tightens.
“Yes,” I say. “And Aunt Cat.”
Sofia nods once, solemn and pale.
I do not know if that was the right answer.
It was the only one I had.
Vito is already at the cabinet Adrian pointed out, opening the rear compartment with the code he gave. The small room fills with the metallic sound of weapons being lifted from cases. Nico moves beside him, his jaw tight, eyes cold.
Nick stays near Lucia, but his attention is on the door, on the black monitors, on the phones in everyone’s hands.
Teresa has her phone pressed to her ear. “Nothing,” she says, pulling it away. “Still no service.”
“Jammer,” Nick says.
Of course.
Because whoever planned this did not come here hoping. They came prepared.
My stomach turns.
I look at the monitors again, black and useless. A minute ago, I saw bodies on my lawn. Adrian’s people. Nick’s security. Intruders in my garden. Someone moving near the rear patio. Someone down near the garage.
Now nothing.
Just black screens and our reflections, pale and distorted in the glass.
Vito checks the weapon in his hands with quick, practiced motions. Nico does the same.
I hate that they know how.
I am grateful that they know how.
“Caterina,” Lucia says softly.
I turn.
She is looking at me in a way that makes something inside me brace.
“You should sit down.”
“No.”
Vito snorts softly. “Good luck.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Teresa says. “But none of us are, so keep going.”
That actually helps.
I move to the desk and pick up the spare radio Adrian mentioned. Dead, of course. I flip the switch anyway, adjust the channel, try again.
Static.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Nothing.
I set it down harder than I mean to.
Erica flinches.
I immediately regret it. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
Emma starts fussing then, a soft, unhappy whine as Nico moves back to Erica’s side. He wraps his arm around both of them, murmuring into Erica’s hair.
The room is too small.
Too many people. Too much fear. Too much breathing. Too much knowledge of what might be happening above us.
And Adrian is out there.
Alone.
No. Not alone. His people are out there.
Some alive. Some hurt. Some may be dead.
My throat tightens.
I cannot think about that.
If I think about that, I will see Andrew at the front drive, the woman firing near the rear patio, the body by the gate, the bodies near the roses.
I will see Adrian walking into the dark.
I will scream.
So I do not think about it.
I pick up my phone and try again.
No service.
I try an emergency call.
Nothing.
Nick is doing the same. Lucia watches him with a steady, brittle calm that I recognize because it is the same expression I have been wearing for years whenever I refuse to fall apart until I am alone.
Vito comes to stand near the door, weapon held low but ready. Nico takes the other side, positioned so that anyone forcing entry would have to face both of them.
They look like brothers there.
Not in the ordinary way, not in matching features or shared history, though there is plenty of both.
In violence. In purpose.
In the way they are willing to die in front of a door because their families are behind it.
I swallow hard.
“Papà is going to lose his mind,” I say.
It comes out before I can stop it.
For some reason, that is the thing my brain chooses to say.
Lucia lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “That is one way to put it.”
“If we get through to him,” Vito says, “we tell him the house is breached, communications are jammed, and we’re in a safe room.”
“When,” Teresa says sharply. “When we get through.”
Vito looks at her, then his face softens just slightly. “When.”
I take a breath, then another.
“And no one tells him about Adrian and me.”
Every face turns toward me.
The timing is insane.
I know that.
We are locked in a bunker while armed intruders move through my house, and I have apparently decided this is the moment to discuss my romantic life.
But if Papà is coming here with reinforcements, if we are all alive at the end of this, if Adrian walks back through that door, this is going to become an issue fast. And I need to trust my siblings not to make it worse.
“I know it’s a shock to everyone,” I continue, my voice stiff because this is mortifying and I hate it, “but Papà cannot find out tonight. Not like this.”
Vito snorts.
He actually snorts.
I look at him. “Excuse me?”
Erica gives me a look from her chair.
A very pointed look.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
Nico glances at Vito, then back at me. “Cat.”
“What?”
Teresa presses her lips together like she is fighting a smile at the worst possible moment.
That makes me turn on her. “You too?”
“I said nothing.”
“You are saying it with your face. Which, for a psychologist, is a terrible poker face.”
Nick clears his throat, which is absolutely unnecessary because he should not be involved in this conversation at all.
Lucia finally says, “As if no one here knew.”
I stare at her, incredulous.
The room is still dark. The monitors are still black. My house is still under attack.
And somehow, my older sister has found time to be smug.
“What?” I demand.
Lucia snorts now. “Girl, I knew from the moment I walked into the house and saw you two in the same room.”
My mouth falls open. “That is impossible.”
“It is not.”
“We haven’t told anyone.”
Vito gives me a dry look. “So you think.”
Heat floods my face. “How could you know?”
Nico raises his brows. “He watches you like there are threats all around, and you’re the only thing in a room worth saving.”
My heart stops for a second.
Then starts beating again too fast.
“That’s his job,” I say weakly.
Teresa looks at me. “Don’t be dense, Cat.”
I glare at her because she is the most surprising traitor in the room.
Lucia adjusts Gabriel against her shoulder, still pale, still scared, but now wearing the expression of an older sister whose job it is to tease her younger sister over a boy.
“You look at him, too,” she says. “Constantly.”
“I do not.”
Vito snorts again.
I point at him. “Stop doing that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did with your nose.”
Sofia, despite everything, giggles once.
The sound is tiny and brief, but with it, everything in the room changes.
Charlotte lifts her head from Lucia’s side, confused but calmer.
Nick glances at the girls, then at me, and I realize what just happened.
For ten seconds, the fear loosened.
Fine.
If my humiliation is useful, I will endure it.
Still, I lift my chin. “Regardless of what any of you think you know, Papà does not know.”
“Are we sure about that?” Nico asks.
I turn slowly.
He holds up one hand. “Just asking.”
“He does not know,” I say firmly, because the alternative is too horrifying to consider.
Vito is smirking. “He probably figured it out before you did.”
“Shut up!” I say, in true sister fashion.
Lucia’s mouth curves faintly. “Well, if he doesn’t, he will the second he sees Adrian’s face when you’re in the room.”
My stomach flips.
I hate that.
I love that.
I hate that I love that.
“I am serious,” I say. “If Papà finds out tonight, those people out there will be the least of our worries.”
Vito’s expression shifts back to grim. “She’s right.”
The brief lightness vanishes.
Just like that, the room plunges again.
I turn back to the dead monitors.
“Does anyone hear anything?” I ask.
We all go still.
For a moment, there is only breathing. Cristiano’s soft little noise. Gabriel fussing against Lucia. Charlotte whispering something to Sofia.
Then—
A muffled thud overhead.
Everyone freezes.
Vito’s weapon comes up.
Nico’s too.
Nick moves his body in front of Lucia and the children. No training needed to be a husband, father, and protector.
My skin goes cold at another heavy sound above us.
They are in the house.
Adrian, please be all right. Come back to me. I love you.
Lucia whispers, “Girls, look at me.”
Sofia and Charlotte turn toward her.
“Remember what Daddy said,” Lucia says softly. “Quiet game.”
Sofia nods, her little face too serious.
Charlotte nods too, tears slipping down her cheeks without sound.
I will never forgive these people for that.
Never.
The thought shoots through me. Not in fear or panic. In rage.
They brought this to my home. To my table. To children who wanted yellow roses and fancy macaroni.
Something calm settles inside me.
Maybe that is what Papà feels. Maybe that is what Vito feels. Maybe this is the part of our blood I have tried so hard to dress in silk, and financial reports, and legitimate businesses.
But it is there.
It is mine.
And suddenly I want names.
Not guesses. Not shell companies. Not arrows in my notebook.
Names.
I want to know who did this.
There is another sound above us. Louder this time.
A hard impact, a muffled grunt. Something falls.
The children flinch.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Was that him?” I whisper.
No one answers. No one can.
Vito and Nico stand locked on the door, weapons ready, faces carved from stone.
Then Vito curses. Lucia flinches, probably on behalf of the kids.
“Fuck this. I’ve had enough,” he says viciously.
Teresa’s head snaps toward him. “Vito.”
“No,” he says, already reaching for the lock. “He is out there alone.”
Nico shifts with him, jaw tight. “He shouldn’t be.”
“He said to stay here,” Erica says, fear in her voice.
“He’s out there, injured,” Vito says, impatience pumping off him, “and we’re sitting in here, waiting. For what? And what happens if he doesn’t make it?”
Now it’s my turn to flinch.
“Sorry, Cat,” he spits out, “but it’s true. Then what? Then we’re sitting ducks in here, waiting for someone to come take us all out. No. No fucking way.”
“Vito,” Teresa says calmly.
“Look,” he says, “if you think I’m just going to stay here, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do, all right? Something went wrong in that big psychologist brain up there, babe, becau—”
“Vito,” she says again, drowning him out.
He shuts up, braced, angry. She wraps her arms around him and kisses him, long enough for the girls to say “yuck!”
Teresa pulls back with a smile. “I know. I’m actually surprised it took this long.”
Vito stares at her, breathing hard. “Then why are you stopping me?”
“I’m not stopping you,” she says softly. “I’m reminding you what you have to come back to.”
His face changes, and he presses his forehead to hers.
A rare moment of public softness from Vito.
Nico turns to Erica, and for a second, the hard, furious line of him falters.
Erica is still seated with Emma clutched against her, one hand curved protectively around her belly. Her eyes are bright with fear, but she does not ask him to stay. I can see that it costs her. I can see the words sitting behind her teeth.
Please don’t go.
Instead, she holds Emma tighter and says, “You come back too.”
Nico crosses to her in two strides, crouches in front of her, and cups the back of her head with one hand. He kisses her hard and fast, then presses his mouth to Emma’s dark hair.
“I will,” he says.
Erica catches his wrist before he can stand. “Nico.”
He looks at her.
Her voice shakes. “You better.”
Something almost like a smile cuts through his anger, brief and sharp. “Yes, ma’am.”
Nick is already standing near Lucia with one of the pistols from the case in his hand, his body positioned between his wife, his children, and the door. He looks calm but ready.
Vito pulls his personal weapon from beneath his jacket and holds it out to me.
I stare at it for one beat too long.
“Take it,” he says.
I know how to shoot, but being given a gun by Vito is something I never expected to happen.
I take it.
The weight is cold and familiar in my hand.
Across the room, Lucia lifts her chin. “Nico.”
He turns toward her.
“Give me yours.”
Nico hesitates.
It is only half a second, but Lucia sees it.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m a Conti too. And before you were, even.”
Nico’s mouth tightens. Then he pulls his gun and hands it to her grip-first.
“Lock it behind us,” Vito says.
I nod.
He and Nico move through the door together, weapons ready, shoulders squared, disappearing into the dark after Adrian.
The door closes.
The lock slides into place.
And the rest of us are left inside the bunker, armed, waiting, and listening.