Chapter 24 Cassio
Cassio
My face is buried in the soft silk of her black dress, right against her stomach. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, gripping me like I'm the only solid thing in a room full of ghosts. I can hear the erratic thump of her heartbeat matching my own.
A minute ago, I was ready to kill Dario Lombardi.
I was ready to draw my weapon, damn the consequences, and put a bullet between his eyes for daring to speak to my wife.
I spent two days pushing her away, freezing her out, trying to build a wall between us so she wouldn't become collateral damage in a war she didn't ask for.
And she just tore that wall down with her bare hands in front of the entire Commission.
"Get your son out of my house, Lombardi." My voice is muffled against her, but the grating edge of it cuts through the dead silence of the formal lounge. I lift my head, keeping my good arm locked around Noemi's waist. I glare at the sniveling piece of shit cowering near the decanters.
Dario looks like he’s about to vomit. His father, Don Lombardi, grabs him by the arm, his face flushed a deep, embarrassing magenta.
"This is an outrage," Lombardi stammers, looking toward Salvatore. "We came to pay respects, and she insults us—"
"She spoke the truth," Don Salvatore interrupts.
The Capo dei Capi doesn't raise his voice, but the weight of his words flattens Lombardi instantly.
Salvatore's dark eyes shift to Noemi, resting heavily on her defiant posture.
He isn't angry. He looks... impressed. "Your son crossed a line, Lombardi.
He propositioned a married woman. A Vellutini.
You should be thanking God that Cassio is currently injured, or your boy would be leaving this estate in a body bag. "
Dario flinches. Lombardi swallows hard, gripping his son’s elbow. "We are leaving."
They don't wait for an escort. The two of them scurry out of the double doors like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
I look at Orlando. My father-in-law is staring at his eldest daughter as if he’s never seen her before. She is standing between my legs, wearing my protection like armor and wielding my name like a weapon.
Orlando sets his scotch glass down on the mantelpiece. The clink of crystal against marble is sharp. "You've made your choice, Noemi," he says, his tone laced with a bitter sting.
"I didn't make a choice, Papa," she answers without missing a beat, her fingers still holding onto me. "I just accepted the reality you handed me. You should try it."
Orlando's jaw tightens. He doesn't look at me. He gives Salvatore a stiff nod and walks out of the lounge, his men falling in line behind him.
Salvatore is the last one left. The old boss stands up slowly, buttoning his suit jacket. He walks over to us, stopping a few feet away. I brace myself, my muscles bunching, prepared for a reprimand about my lack of control over the gathering.
Instead, Salvatore dips his chin in a rare, genuine nod of respect directed entirely at my wife. "You have a spine made of iron, Signora Vellutini. Keep him sharp. He's going to need it."
"I intend to," she replies.
Salvatore leaves. The heavy doors close behind him, and the metallic click of the latch echoes in the massive room. We are finally alone.
I exhale a harsh breath, my head falling back against the leather chair.
Noemi steps back, putting an inch of space between us, but I don't let go of her waist. I look up at her. Her dark eyes are blazing, her chest rising and falling beneath the black silk.
"You realize what you just did," I say roughly. "You painted a target on your own back. You told Dario you knew about the ambush. You humiliated him."
"He deserved worse," she fires back, crossing her arms over her chest. "He set you up. He fed the route to the Russians. He almost got us both killed, Cassio. I wasn't going to stand there and let him act like my fucking savior."
A dark, possessive pride swells in my chest, entirely eclipsing the jealousy that had been eating me alive for days. I wanted to protect her from this life. I wanted to keep her clean. But she doesn't want to be clean. She wants to be in the mud with me.
"I told you to stay out of it," I remind her, though there is no bite in my words.
"And I told you that we are a team," she counters, stepping back into my space.
She uncrosses her arms and rests her hands gently on my shoulders, mindful of the thick bandages hidden beneath my shirt.
"You don't get to push me away just because you're scared, Cassio.
You don't get to ice me out and play the martyr.
If the Bratva come for us, we face them together.
If Dario is a snake, we crush him together. "
I stare at her. The unapologetic fire in her soul is intoxicating.
"Help me up," I murmur.
She grabs my good arm, bracing her weight as I push myself out of the leather chair. A sharp hiss escapes my teeth as the torn muscle in my back protests, but I get my feet under me.
"Where are we going?" she asks, slipping her arm around my waist to steady me.
"To the study. You want to be my partner, Noemi? You want to be in the war?" I look down at her, a grim, serious edge settling over my features. "Then it's time you see exactly what we are fighting for."
We walk slowly down the west wing corridor. The estate is quiet, the guards outside my study snap to attention as we approach. Matteo is already inside, leaning over the massive mahogany desk, reviewing the security logs.
He looks up as we walk in, his eyes darting to Noemi. He doesn't question her presence. Not after what she did in the foyer during the ambush, and certainly not after the display in the lounge today. He just steps back, giving us the floor.
"Matteo, bring up the port schematics," I order, leaning my hip against the edge of the desk to take the weight off my legs.
Matteo taps a few keys on the laptop. A massive, high-resolution map of the San Marco Port projects onto the flat screen mounted on the wall. It’s a sprawling grid of shipping lanes, cargo bays, storage facilities, and deep-water docks.
Noemi stands beside me, her eyes tracking the complex web of red and blue lines dividing the territory.
"This isn't just a stretch of water," I tell her, my voice dropping to a low, gravelly pitch.
I point to the massive cargo terminals on the eastern edge.
"The Italian syndicate controls sixty percent of the imports coming into this city.
Weapons, narcotics, luxury goods, cash. But the port is expanding.
The city is dredging the channels to allow super-freighters in.
The volume of trade is about to triple."
Noemi frowns, studying the map. "And the Bratva want a piece of it."
"They don't want a piece," I correct, turning my head to look at her. "They want the whole fucking pie. Volkov is greedy. He knows that whoever controls the deep-water channels controls the eastern seaboard for the next fifty years. It's billions of dollars, Noemi. It’s untouchable wealth."
"So Dario sold you out to get a cut," she says, disgust lacing her tone. "He fed them the convoy route to eliminate you, thinking the Bratva would reward the Lombardi family with a prime spot on the docks."
"Dario is a short-sighted idiot," Matteo chimes in from the corner. "The Russians would have used him to break the Vellutini, and then they would have slaughtered the Lombardis a month later. There is no honor among thieves, and there is certainly no honor in the Bratva."
I wave Matteo off, signaling him to leave us. He nods, slipping out of the study and closing the heavy doors behind him.
I reach out, taking Noemi's hand, pulling her to stand in front of me between my parted knees.
"When my father ran this family, he settled for scraps," I tell her, my gaze dropping to our joined hands. "He wanted peace. He compromised with the Irish, he let the Russians operate in the slums, and he let Orlando dictate the borders. He was a diplomat."
I look up, meeting her dark eyes. "I am not a diplomat. I saw what peace got him. It got him a bullet in the back in a restaurant parking lot when I was nineteen."
Noemi’s breath hitches. She steps closer, her free hand coming up to rest on my chest, right over my furiously beating heart.
"I took over the Vellutini family, and I swore I would never be weak," I confess, laying the ugliest, darkest parts of my ambition bare before her.
"I burned the compromises to the ground.
I took back the territory. I became the monster they all whisper about because fear is the only currency that matters in this life. "
"You aren't a monster," she whispers fiercely.
"I am," I insist, a harsh, humorless smile touching my lips. "But I'm your monster. And I need you to understand why I fight so hard. Why I wouldn't just give up the docks to buy peace with Volkov."
I let go of her hand and reach up to cup her face, my thumb stroking the soft curve of her cheek.
"This war isn't just about pride, Noemi. It isn't just about showing up Orlando or putting Dario in his place. It’s about securing a future that no one can ever touch."
She searches my eyes, her own shining with unshed tears. "A future for the syndicate?"
"A future for us," I vow, the words ring heavy and true.
"I am building an empire that is bulletproof.
I want a legacy for the Vellutini name. I want to look at you, ten years from now, and know that not a single man in this world has the power to threaten you.
I want to build a fortress so high that the Bratva, the Irish, and the rest of the Italian Commission have to bow their heads just to look at our gates. "
A single tear slips down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away.
"You pushed me away because you thought my bloodline made me a liability," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.
"I pushed you away because I was a fucking coward," I correct her. "I was looking for an excuse to put distance between us because the thought of losing you paralyzed me. I thought if I treated you like an enemy, it wouldn't hurt when the bullets started flying. I was wrong."
I lean forward, resting my forehead against hers. "I am sorry, Noemi. I am so fucking sorry I shut you out."
"Don't do it again," she demands, her hands gripping the lapels of my black shirt. "I don't care how bad it gets. I don't care who betrays us. You don't get to handle it alone."
"Never again," I promise.
I capture her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, fueled by the bleeding honesty we just poured out onto the floor of my study.
She opens her mouth to me, her tongue sliding against mine, tasting like champagne and fierce devotion.
I wrap my good arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my thighs.
She kisses me back with a desperate hunger, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. The pain in my shoulder fades into the background, eclipsed entirely by the burning heat spreading through my veins.
When we finally break apart, we are both breathing heavy. Her lips are swollen, her dark eyes blown wide and glassy.
"We have work to do," I murmur, my thumb brushing her lower lip.
"We do," she agrees, a sharp, dangerous smile curving her mouth. My queen is back, ready to burn the world down with me. "Where do we start?"
I look back up at the illuminated map of the port on the wall. The red and blue lines. The billions of dollars in cargo. The territory that Dario Lombardi tried to steal from me.
"We start with the rat," I say, my voice dropping to a grim, calculating pitch. "Dario thinks he got away with it. He thinks Salvatore is going to protect him because there is no hard proof."
"Then we give them proof," Noemi says, her eyes following my gaze to the map. "He is greedy, Cassio. He tried to pull me off the terrace to save me, which means he's emotional. Emotional men make mistakes."
"Exactly," I grin, a vicious, predatory expression that matches the dark thrill in my blood. "We flush him out. We make him panic. And when he runs to his Russian handlers for help... we bury them all in the same grave."
Noemi doesn't flinch at the violence. She doesn't look away from the map. She stands beside me, her shoulder pressing against my chest, staring at the empire we are going to build together.