Chapter 10
LUCA
I haven’t seen Giuliana in three days.
Not because she’s avoiding me (she’s locked in her suite, unable to leave without escort) but because I’m avoiding her, which is pathetic considering this is my house, my territory, my empire.
But every time I think about going to her room for our nightly dinners, my feet take me somewhere else. The gym. My office. Anywhere but the second floor where she’s trapped with the memory of what happened between us.
The whiskey in my glass catches the afternoon light streaming through my office windows, amber liquid that’s supposed to help me think clearly but only makes the contradictions sharper.
I’ve been drinking more lately. Not enough to impair my judgment, but enough to dull the edges of thoughts I don’t want to examine too closely.
Three days since I found her in my private office, staring at photographs of Marco like she had any right to see them.
Three days since she looked at me with those dark eyes full of empathy I don’t want and told me she understood grief.
Three days since I admitted—out loud, like a fucking idiot—that Marco’s death wasn’t her fault.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
I slam my open palm on my desk, barely registering the sting of pain. I can’t believe I said that.
I can’t fucking believe I let my guard down enough to speak the truth that’s been eating at me since the night I took her against the wall of her bedroom.
Because it isn’t her fault. Giuliana didn’t betray anyone, sell intelligence, or choose any part of this nightmare. She’s collateral damage in a war she never enlisted in, and I’m the one punishing her for crimes she didn’t commit.
But someone has to pay for Marco. Someone has to suffer the way I’ve suffered. And if not Antonio’s daughter, then who?
I was never able to trace down who the man who orchestrated it all.
The photograph on my desk—Marco at that barbecue, laughing with his whole face—seems to judge me.
I turn it face-down, but that doesn’t erase the image from my mind or the sound of Giuliana’s voice saying, “You looked so happy.”
I was happy. Before Marco died, before revenge consumed everything good in me, I was capable of happiness. Now I’m just…this. A man who destroys innocent women and calls it justice.
My office door opens without a knock, and Danny strides in with the kind of urgency that means trouble.
His eyes are hard and he’s carrying a tablet and a thick manila folder that suggests this briefing is going to take a while.
“We have a problem,” he announces, setting both items down on my desk. He eyes the glass in my hand but wisely says nothing. “Multiple problems, actually. Maria approached Giuliana this morning.”
I lean forward, my entire body going tense. “Maria the maid?”
“The same.” Danny retorts. “Turns out she’s been on Romano’s payroll for months.
She made contact with Giuliana, offered her two million dollars in untraceable cash and guaranteed safe passage to anywhere in the world.
In exchange for detailed information about your daily routines, security protocols, business meeting schedules, and personal vulnerabilities. ”
White-hot rage floods through me, instant and consuming. My hand clenches around the whiskey glass hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. “That traitorous bitch. Where is she?”
“Already taken care of,” Danny says flatly. “She’s in the basement being questioned.” He sits back in his chair and looks at me with an odd expression. “But that’s not the interesting part, and it’s not the biggest problem we’re facing.”
I force myself to take a breath and think past the fury. Romano had someone inside my house. Inside my inner circle.
Close enough to Giuliana to make an approach without raising immediate suspicion.
The security breach alone is catastrophic, but Danny’s tone suggests there’s more.
“What’s the interesting part?” I ask, my stomach roiling. I shouldn’t have had only whiskey for breakfast.
“Giuliana reported the approach immediately.” Danny pulls up footage on the tablet, and I watch as he cues it to this morning’s timestamp.
“Maria made the offer while changing her bedsheets. Giuliana listened to the whole pitch. Again,” he ticks them off his fingers, “she was offered two million dollars, a new identity, safe passage to any country she chooses, complete freedom from all of this. And the second Maria left the room, she called for me.”
If I wasn’t sitting down, I probably would have collapsed.
Two million dollars. Freedom.
The chance to escape and disappear into a new life where I’d never find her.
Any rational person in Giuliana’s position would at least consider that offer, even if they ultimately rejected it.
Most would take it without hesitation.
“You’re certain she reported it?” I hear myself ask.
“Watch,” Danny says. On screen, Maria enters Giuliana’s suite with fresh linens. Giuliana is sitting by the window, her posture suggesting she’s lost in thought, staring out at the grounds.
Maria begins changing the sheets, her movements casual, unthreatening. Then she leans in close as she smooths the duvet, her mouth moving with words the microphones don’t quite catch. The offer, I assume.
Giuliana’s body language shifts instantly.
Her spine goes rigid, her hands still in her lap.
I can see her face in profile as she turns slightly toward Maria, and her expression cycles through surprise and confusion before it goes blank.
For several long seconds, she doesn’t move or respond, just stares at Maria with an intensity that makes the woman shift nervously.
Then Giuliana nods once, her face still blank.
She says something—probably acknowledging that she heard the offer—and Maria visibly relaxes, clearly interpreting this as consideration rather than rejection.
The maid finishes with the bed, gathers the dirty linens, and leaves with what looks like a satisfied expression.
The moment the door closes, Giuliana’s composure cracks.
She presses both hands to her mouth, her shoulders shaking—whether from fear or something else, I can’t tell from this angle. Then she’s at the call button, pressing it urgently.
Danny fast-forwards slightly. “Thirty seconds from Maria’s exit to summoning security. She didn’t negotiate, ask for time to think about it, or even pretend to consider the offer once she was alone.”
“She played along until Maria left,” I observe, studying Giuliana’s controlled performance. “She made Maria think she was considering it.”
“Smart,” Danny agrees, looking at me expectantly. “If she’d refused outright, Maria might have gotten suspicious or reported back that the approach failed immediately. This way, Giuliana bought herself time to report it properly without alerting Romano’s people.”
I rewind the footage again, watching Giuliana’s face as Maria makes the offer.
That moment of rigid stillness, the careful neutrality.
She understood immediately what was happening and made the split-second choice to conceal her reaction until she was alone.
Not just integrity, then.
Strategic thinking under pressure.
Giuliana had her escape handed to her on a silver platter, and she threw it away. She chose captivity over freedom.
What the fuck?
“There’s more,” Danny continues, opening the manila folder, and I’m too stunned to be surprised there’s more. “The interrogation of Maria revealed some concerning intelligence about Romano’s broader operations. This wasn’t just an opportunistic attempt to flip your fiancée.”
He spreads documents across my desk. Surveillance photos, financial records, intercepted communications. I scan them quickly.
“Romano has been systematically recruiting mid-level operators from three rival families.” Danny points to a network diagram that shows the scope of infiltration.
“He’s not just building his own organization—he’s actively destabilizing ours and our competitors’.
The Benedetto clan has entered into a formal alliance with him, which gives Romano access to their entire money laundering network across the Midwest.”
Fuck. I study the financial records, noting the massive transfers and the sophisticated shell company structures. “How long has this alliance been active?”
“At least four months. Maybe longer.” Danny flips to another document.
“And there’s this—arms purchases. Serious hardware, Luca.
Not the usual handguns and hunting rifles.
We’re talking military-grade weapons, body armor, the kind of equipment you acquire when you’re preparing for open warfare rather than continued shadow boxing. ”
Fucking fuck. Romano isn’t playing defensive anymore.
He’s not satisfied with protecting his territory or making opportunistic moves against weakened rivals.
He’s positioning himself for a decisive strike against the Marchetti empire.
“While I’m distracted by wedding preparations and territorial negotiations with Viktor,” I murmur, hating myself for not seeing the bigger picture. “He’s been building toward this, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Danny confirms. “The approach through Maria wasn’t random or desperate. Look at this.”
He pulls out a separate file on Maria herself to show her financial records showing mounting credit card debt, a sick mother requiring expensive medical care, gambling losses that had put her underwater.
Every vulnerability is carefully documented.
“Romano knew exactly which staff member had access to Giuliana,” I say slowly, putting the pieces together.
“He understood Maria’s financial desperation.
He calculated that Giuliana might be susceptible to a similar offer because of her father’s betrayal—if Antonio sold out for money under pressure, maybe his daughter would too. ”