CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
conall
Sean’s voice over the phone was calm, as always. The man could announce the apocalypse and still sound like he was giving a weather update. “Cosimo showed up at the coffee shop. He spoke with Francesca.”
The words struck me like a blow to the chest, and I clutched the edge of my desk so tightly that the wood creaked. “What did he say?”
My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. Every nerve in my body was on edge.
“He was trying to provoke her,”
Sean replied. “He played it cool — even polite, but it was all about testing boundaries. He wanted to see how far he could push. She handled it well. She walked away before it escalated.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, my mind racing. Francesca had managed it well. She was fine. Sean was there. Nothing had happened. Yet my body didn’t seem to receive the message. My heart pounded in my chest, and sweat prickled at the nape of my neck.
“Is she still with you?”
I forced the words out, struggling to catch my breath.
“No,”
Sean said. “She’s in the penthouse with Theodosia, and Finn is outside the door.”
“Good.”
I ended the call abruptly, not trusting myself to say anything more.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the dark wood grain of my desk, my knuckles white from gripping the edge. She was fine. She was safe. Nothing had happened. I repeated those words in my head like a mantra, but they didn’t help. The image of Cosimo’s face flashed in my mind: his oily smile, his calculating gaze. He was testing boundaries, Sean had said. How long before he decided to cross us?
And what the ever-loving fuck did he have to say to my wife.
I pushed away from the desk and stood, pacing the length of my office—three steps to the window, pivot, and three steps back to the door. My mind churned with questions, each one more insidious than the last. Why hadn’t I gone with her to the coffee shop? I had sent Finn and Sean, but I should have gone myself. I clenched my fists, frustrated by my inability to control my emotions.
Control. That was the issue, wasn’t it? I couldn’t control this. I couldn’t predict how Francesca might become caught in the crossfire. The thought made my skin crawl, a physical itch I couldn’t scratch.
I grabbed my phone and opened the tracking app. The blinking dot showing Francesca’s location was in the penthouse. I exhaled a shaky breath. She was fine and safe. I checked the timestamp on the tracker to confirm that it had been updated recently, then checked again just to be sure.
The logical part of my brain told me I didn’t need to do this. Sean had said she was there. Finn was with her. However, the logical part of my brain wasn’t in charge right now. I refreshed the app again, watching the dot move incrementally from one room to the next. Only after refreshing it once more did I finally set the phone down, though my fingers still ached to pick it back up.
I returned to my desk but didn’t sit down. Instead, I straightened the scattered papers across the surface, aligning their edges perfectly. Then, I rearranged the pens in their holder, ensuring they all faced the same direction. These small, repetitive actions steadied my hands, but the unease lingered like a shadow at the edge of my thoughts.
Why was I reacting this way? We weren’t sure if Cosimo was a threat. Sean just said he’d spoken to her. Francesca was safe. I had made sure of it. So why couldn’t I shake this gnawing fear and the sense that something was slipping through my grasp? Francesca had begun to mean more to me than she should. And certainly not with the chaos her presence was stirring within me—chaos I couldn’t seem to put back in its box, no matter how hard I tried.
I pressed my palms flat against the desk, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. The answer was right there, lurking beneath the surface, and I despised it. I hated the vulnerability it represented.
This wasn’t just about Francesca being part of the plan or keeping her safe for the sake of appearances and alliances. This was about her. It was about the way she’d worked her way into my life and the carefully constructed walls I’d built around myself. The thought of her being in danger made my stomach churn in a way I didn’t fully understand and couldn’t control.
My phone buzzed.
Francesca: Could you come up to the penthouse? I need to discuss something important. Or I can come to you if you’re in the building.
Francesca: Sorry to bother you.
Me: I’m on my way.
Pushing back from the desk, my heart in my throat, I headed toward the penthouse. She was fine, I repeated to myself, but I couldn’t shake her message from my mind. She said it was important. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she was going to ask for a divorce. I wouldn’t let her go. She had to know that. I loved her. She was mine.
**
The elevator doors slid open to the penthouse, and I stepped inside. The soft sound of my shoes against the wooden floors echoed faintly in the stillness, amplifying the tension already coiling in my chest. Even the scent of burning candles couldn’t chase away the unease crawling beneath my skin.
Crossing the threshold into the spacious living room, I immediately spotted her. Francesca sat on the couch, her posture slumped and defeated. Theodosia leaned over, whispering to her, one hand resting gently on Francesca’s shoulder in what I could only interpret as a silent gesture of reassurance. Their heads turned in unison when I entered, yet Francesca’s expression—pale, her lips pressed into a tight line—halted me in my tracks. My chest constricted, the worst scenarios cycling through my mind like a reel I couldn’t stop.
I scanned her, my eyes moving in a practiced pattern—head to toe, left to right, top to bottom. No bruises. No cuts. Her sweater was intact, with no rips or bloodstains. Relief eased the tightness in my ribs, but it wasn’t enough to quell the unease slithering under my skin.
However, the tension radiating from her, along with the way her eyes flickered to mine and then away, as if she couldn’t bear to hold my gaze for too long, set my nerves on edge.
“Francesca?”
Her name escaped my lips, soft and hesitant, as if speaking it too loudly could break the delicate thread that kept her intact. She nodded too quickly and offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’m fine,”
she said, her voice unconvincing and cracking slightly on the last word. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, twisting and pulling at the fabric as if it could anchor her in place.
Theodosia’s sharp gaze flicked to mine, assessing. She popped a bubble of gum, the sharp snap echoing in the silence. The scent of artificial strawberry curled in the air, mingling with the candles. Another clash. Another thing out of place.
I closed the distance between us with careful, measured steps. Every instinct screamed at me to protect her and demand answers, but I swallowed my impatience, forcing myself to approach gently. “You’re back,”
I said, my voice soft and steady. “How was your coffee date with Cora?”
I chose to focus on the inconsequential topic of her coffee date rather than delving straight into the incident with Cosimo.
Her face softened slightly, and the tension in her features eased for a brief moment. “She’s amazing,”
Francesca said, her voice a bit brighter. “You were right. She and I will get along great. Maybe we can invite her and Maxim over for dinner.”
That eased something in me. She was thinking about the future. Planning. That was good. Stable. Predictable. Although double dating wasn’t something I had ever considered before. Next up would be game nights.
“Sure. Double dating. I never thought that would be in my future, but I like it,”
I teased, lowering myself onto the couch beside her. My hand found hers, our fingers intertwining. Her skin felt too cold, her grip too light. The faint tremor in her fingers sent another ripple of unease down my spine. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I asked again, my mind already anticipating the need to repeat it.
She nodded once more, but the motion was as unconvincing as before. “I’m fine,”
she insisted, though her voice wavered again. Her eyes darted to Theo, who gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her silent support steadfast.
I leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips—a test, a reassurance. Her breath hitched, and when I pulled back, the warmth in her gaze settled something in me.
I held her hand tightly, reluctant to let go. I couldn’t be sure if it was for her reassurance or my own. Theodosia settled into the nearby armchair and scrolled casually through her phone, her sharp gaze flicking toward us now and then. Today, she dressed as a blend of a gothic heroine and a Three Musketeer, wearing a flowing top with sleeves that draped over her hands, paired with tight brown leather pants. If she drew a sword, I wouldn’t be surprised.
As Francesca and I shifted, the leather creaked softly beneath us. I noticed her fingers trembling slightly as she twisted the hem of her sweater. My knee bounced once, a tell I couldn’t quite suppress, which I stilled immediately.
“What did you and Cora discuss?”
I asked, keeping my tone light. If she needed time to gather her thoughts, I would offer it.
“Nothing too deep,”
Francesca said, her voice growing quieter. “Just her love of zombies, photography, and family — the usual things.”
I nodded, a faint smile pulling at my lips. “She could use a friend.”
Francesca’s hand tightened slightly around mine, and I noticed hesitation in her eyes. Whatever was troubling her, it wasn’t about Cora. I had already known that. My sister radiated sunshine. While it wasn’t untrue that she could use a friend, that definitely wasn’t the issue on Francesca’s mind.
“Conall,”
she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s something you need to know.”
I straightened, my focus sharpening. Her fingers tightened around mine, now trembling. “Go on,”
I encouraged softly.
She glanced at Theodosia, who gave the slightest nod before putting her phone down to focus on us. Francesca swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she continued. “It’s about Cosimo. And Fausto.”
My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as her words settled over me. My jaw clenched, and I forced myself to remain still, though every nerve screamed for answers. “What about them?”
My voice was steady, but the tension lacing through it was unmistakable. My gut churned with anxiety. “Whatever it is, Francesca, you can trust me.”
She nodded and gulped before continuing, “Cosimo…”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to our intertwined hands. “His interest in me—he has been asking questions and pressing me for information for years.”
“About what?”
My voice dropped, and my patience wore thin. “What kind of information? That slimy bastard.”
Her words gradually seeped into my consciousness. Cosimo had been trying to extract information from her for years? My mind raced with possibilities.
“About Fausto,”
she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know something regarding the night he died.”
The room felt as if it were closing in on us. My pulse throbbed in my ears, drowning out the soft sound of Theodosia popping another bubble. “You were there,”
I said slowly, piecing together the connections. “The night Fausto was killed.”
Francesca nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but her shoulders squared. “I was there,”
she said. “And I’m the reason he’s dead.”
Her confession struck me like a freight train, leaving me reeling. My grip tightened on her hand as my mind raced. “Tell me everything,”
I said, my voice firm as I struggled to stay calm. No more secrets.”
The room was so silent that I could hear Francesca’s unsteady breathing. Her hand trembled, and I tightened my grip, anchoring her to me—or perhaps anchoring myself to her. The weight of her confession pressed heavily on my chest, but it wasn’t anger that I felt. It was something else, something darker and more dangerous. I suspected there was a reason why Fausto was dead, and I suddenly regretted that I couldn’t bring him back to life and kill him all over again.
“I need you to tell me every detail,”
I said, my voice calm and steady. “Leave nothing out.”
Francesca nodded slowly, her fingers clenched around mine. “I didn’t plan for any of it to happen,”
she began, her voice thick with emotion. “That night, I just wanted to escape for a while. I went dancing, and Fausto noticed me at the bar. It wasn’t a good choice, but I left the club with him. I didn’t know his name. If I had, I wouldn’t have gone.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm even as my fury brewed. Francesca’s voice trembled, but Theodosia intervened.
“He stopped the car in a shitty neighborhood,”
Theo said bluntly, her sharp gaze locking onto mine. “Tried to act like she owed him something. When she tried to tell him no, he got violent. He knew she was part of the Santelli famiglia. He’d trapped her on purpose.”
Francesca nodded, swallowing hard. “I had no other choice.”
My pulse roared in my ears, yet I remained silent, allowing her to continue. Her gaze flickered to Theo and then returned to me, and her lips trembled as she spoke.
“I didn’t think—I just reacted. There was a knife in my purse. I grabbed it and swung. I didn’t even realize I’d... hit him until he let go of me and fell back. There was so much blood.”
Her voice broke, and tears streamed down her face.
“And then what?”
I pressed, my voice sharper than intended. “What did you do next?”
“I called Theo,”
Francesca whispered, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was terrified.”
Theodosia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, popping another bubble. “She called me, and we handled it. It was that simple. I wasn’t about to let that scumbag ruin her life. So yes, we cleaned up the mess. We ditched the car, torched it, and made sure no one could trace it back to us. Fuck that guy.”
She practically spat the words at me.
I ran a hand through my hair as the weight of their words settled over me. My mind raced, connecting dots and forming questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answers to. “The Olivetos never suspected?”
Theo snorted. “They had their suspicions, sure, but without a body or weapon, they had nothing to go on. They attributed it to one of Fausto’s enemies taking him out. And trust me, that bastard had plenty. Cosimo was suspicious, though. He began digging and found someone who knew that Francesca had been at the same club as his brother. Cosimo asked her a couple of times about it, but we’d prepared for that. There was nothing to connect them, so it was deny, deny, deny.”
She grinned at me, and I thought it was a shame she wasn’t part of the mafia. If anyone was born for it, she was.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
I asked, my voice barely rising above a whisper as I cupped one of Francesca’s cheeks. “Your brothers? Me?”
She closed her eyes as fresh tears spilled over. “Because I was ashamed and scared. I didn’t want anyone to see me differently, and I didn’t want anyone to go to war with the Olivetos because of it.”
“Francesca,”
I said firmly, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore. Do you hear me? Whatever happens, we face it together. I mean, we. All our problems are faced together.”
I had no intention of excluding the others from this. If I were to take out Cosimo, I’d do it with the full weight of the Commission.
Theo cleared her throat, drawing our attention. “That’s sweet, but this is a serious problem.”
“What sort of problem?”
I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Cosimo sniffing around,”
Theo said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “If he connects the dots back to Francesca…”
“He won’t,”
I interrupted, my tone frosty and determined. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Cosimo’s many things, but he’s not stupid. What he’s been doing makes me think he’s acting in his own interests for one reason alone: to find his brother’s killer.”
She poked a finger in my direction. “That’s the only reason I agreed to tell you. If his entire play to get into your boy gang has been about his brother’s death… well…”
She let that linger for a moment. The implications were stunning.
“I don’t care how smart he is,”
I snapped. “If he comes for Francesca, I’ll handle him.
Francesca tightened her grip on my hand, her eyes wide with worry. “Conall, please. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
I kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger for a moment. “I’d walk through hell for you, Francesca. Never doubt that.”
Theo stood, brushing off imaginary dust from her pants. “Well, this has been fun, but I have things to do. If Cosimo is poking around, we need to stay ahead of him.”
She paused as she walked toward the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and Conall? Call me if we have another body to burn. I already stole the stuff to do it.”
She winked as she went.
That even drew a laugh from Francesca.
“God, she’s something,” I said.
“That she is. She’s a good friend. She’s my ride-or-die.