15. Gianna
GIANNA
T he light changes in the afternoon—less gold, more amber.
It slips across the floor of the south wing suite in long, warm bands, flickering where it hits the tall windows.
I sit at the edge of the chaise with a tea cup cooling in my hand, watching the girls chase each other between the couch and the low table stacked with puzzles and picture books.
They’ve taken to the estate better than I expected.
Children, it turns out, adapt faster than adults do, especially when the hallways are wide and there’s always a new corner to explore.
They’re quieter today, though, maybe sensing the shift that followed the wedding, or maybe just tired from so much newness.
I’m still dressed for the day, but I haven’t done much with myself.
A soft cream blouse and slacks, hair tied low at the nape.
It’s not that I’m trying to look polished, but I can’t look too relaxed either.
Halfway through brushing Arietta’s curls into something that might pass for neat, there’s a knock at the door.
Not the tentative kind the staff usually give when they’re bringing in tea or laundry, but brisk and purposeful.
I glance at the clock.
Dante won’t be back from the strategy meeting with Luca and Marco for at least another hour.
I open the door to find one of the estate’s senior servants—an older woman with an immaculate uniform and a face like pressed linen.
"Signora Salvatore," she says, with the same respectful formality she always uses now. "You have a visitor. He’s waiting for you in the east salon."
My stomach tightens.
No one visits unannounced here.
And certainly not without clearing it through one of the brothers.
"Who is it?"
"He said he’s your brother, signora. Signor Rafa Rossi."
I nod stiffly and thank her, murmuring for the girls to stay inside and keep the balcony doors shut.
Arietta pouts but obeys, curling beside her sister with a picture book and a mass of colored pencils.
The east salon is a sun-drenched chamber lined with tasteful paintings and marble busts that look like they’ve never been touched.
I find Rafa by the window, hands in his pockets, gaze sweeping over the neatly manicured grounds.
He turns when he hears me.
"Nice place," he says, nodding toward the garden. "I wasn’t sure they’d actually let me in."
I don’t smile.
"They didn’t. They let me in, which means you're welcome by extension."
His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t challenge it.
That’s the unspoken agreement between us—we both lie when it suits us.
"You look good," he says after a beat. "Settled."
"I’m surviving," I answer, arms crossed. "What is this, Rafa?"
He spreads his hands.
"Just wanted to check on you. It’s been a week. The city’s talking. Thought I’d hear from you by now."
"The city talks every time someone sneezes in the wrong direction," I say. "You didn’t come here for small talk. What’s going on?"
He walks toward the nearest chair but doesn’t sit.
His eyes don’t leave mine.
"I came because I needed to see it for myself. You. The girls. This place. I pushed for this, Gianna. If anything goes wrong here, it’s on me."
I tilt my head.
"You think something’s going to go wrong?"
"I think there’s a lot more happening behind the Salvatore smiles than you’ve been told," he says. "And I want to make sure you’re not being kept in the dark."
"I’m not a spy," I say flatly. "Not for you. Not for anyone. You made it clear this marriage was the safest route. So, I took it. That’s the end of it."
"For now," he agrees. "But you’re not stupid, Gianna. I know you’ve noticed it. The city’s too quiet in the wrong places.
Some of the old names have gone quiet altogether.
One of our runners got stopped two days ago—said the checkpoint was manned by Salvatore men, but they weren’t wearing Salvatore pins. "
I become still. "You think there’s unrest."
"I know there is. And it’s not just the streets.
There are cracks showing in their own foundation.
You think Luca didn’t notice half his northern routes are being rerouted through allies he hasn’t vetted?
You think Marco isn’t suspicious that the ones who’ve been with them longest are the ones dragging their feet the most lately? "
My blood runs colder with each word. But I keep my face calm. "You’re assuming I’ve been brought into the fold."
"You’re wearing the ring," he says simply. "They brought you into something."
I lower my voice.
"The only thing I’ve been brought into is this house. I don’t sit in on their meetings. I don’t overhear strategy sessions. Dante shields me from it."
"And do you think that’s going to last?" Rafa’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it now. "You’ve married into a family that lives and dies by information. You’re not just Dante’s wife. You’re a Rossi. That name still matters, Gianna. Whether they say it or not."
I press my fingers to my temples.
"You need to be careful what you’re asking, Rafa."
"I’m not asking anything." He backs off, palms raised. "I’m only saying this—be smart. Watch how they move. Don’t let their charm convince you this place is unshakable. And if you start to feel like the ground’s moving under your feet, I need you to tell me."
I meet his gaze for a long time.
There’s no threat in it.
No hint of violence or fear.
Just that grim determination I’ve seen before, the one he wears like armor when things are beginning to go wrong.
The worst part is, I'm afraid he’s right.
"I’ll think about it," I say quietly.
He accepts that. "Good. That’s all I came for."
He walks toward the door, pauses, and looks over his shoulder.
"You’re doing better than I thought, Gianna. I mean that. You’ve always had the sharpest instincts in the family."
I don’t respond.
Because there’s nothing I can say that won’t sound like a lie.
After he leaves, I stand there for a long time, hands at my sides, wondering what Rafa saw in this room that I haven’t.
Wondering how deep the cracks run—and whether I’m standing on one.
I find myself lingering by the glass-paneled doors that open into the private courtyard, where the twins’ laughter floats up in bursts.
The sky is beginning to shift—still too blue to be called dusk, but no longer bright.
A breeze stirs through the ivy that climbs the stone archways, and somewhere in the near distance, a gardener hums as he prunes back the hedges near the fountain.
Dante has returned from whatever he was doing since last night, and now kneels on the grass, a mess of curls clinging to his forehead and dirt streaked across one knee of his trousers.
Arietta has his hand caught in hers, clearly explaining the complicated rules of a game she just invented, while Alessia sits beside them, utterly absorbed in a drawing she’s making on a slate they’d found earlier.
Dante listens, really listens, and then laughs at something I can’t hear.
His shoulders shake.
His mouth curves into an expression that is unguarded and honest.
The way he lifts his eyes to the girls now is different.
He looks at them as if they belong to him, not in the possessive way mafia men mean when they say something is theirs, but in the way a man who never expected anything good in his life might look at the only two good things he’s ever been given.
I didn’t expect this from him, or the ease with which they took to him, either.
There was some distance at first, some hesitant smiles, but each day chipped away at it.
The way he knelt beside them at meals, pointing to the wrong forks and making up stories about how spaghetti should be eaten with a sword.
The way he insisted on learning the names of every stuffed animal they brought from the Rossi estate.
How he sat on the floor of their suite, assembling a bookshelf he claimed he could build faster than any professional, only to curse half an hour in and enlist the twins to hold the instructions.
They love him already.
I can see it in how they lean into his touch, how they ask for him when they wake.
And maybe what terrifies me most is how easily I let it happen.
We’re moving into routine now.
Their uniforms are laid out for school—navy cardigans with pressed white collars, little shoes polished to a shine. Monday is only a breath away.
I’ve already called the school to finalize their enrollment, confirming every detail with an exactness that would make any administrator proud.
A Salvatore driver will take them.
The school is private, quiet, tucked just past the old quarter of the city.
My life is finally beginning to make sense in a way I'd never dared hope for.
And even then, even now, I worry this is nothing but a house of cards.
They are all here now.
Under one roof.
Safe.
But how long will that last?