Chapter Thirty-six
Lorenzo
“Should we go inside?” Dante asks.
This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. Months of planning, positioning, tightening the net.
I glance at the camera feed on my phone for the tenth time.
“You go first,” I tell him. “Start without me. I’ll be there.”
He raises a brow. “You’re not bailing on me, are you?”
I force my jaw to unclench. Dante is family.
“I said I’ll be there,” I reply evenly.
He studies me for a second, then nods and heads toward the entrance.
I don’t move.
My attention is still glued to the screen.
Andres told me Ian has been following Serena the past few days while I was away. She was protected, always, but that doesn’t make it better. I know the difference between safety and comfort. And I don’t want her living like prey.
I didn’t lock her in the house. I won’t. She deserves sunlight, friends, coffee shops, laughter. A life that doesn’t feel like a cage.
But when I saw the footage of her stepping outside to approach Ian, my vision went red. I almost scrapped everything and flew straight back to New York to take her and the twins somewhere no one could ever find us.
Almost.
Then I forced myself to think beyond fear.
We can’t run forever. I won’t build a future for my children on hiding. And most importantly, I won’t let Serena live like the world owns her movements.
Still. . . seeing Ian let himself be seen?
That’s not accidental. That’s a message.
Was he baiting her? Trying to lure her out? Testing security? Measuring response time?
I replay the footage again.
Twelfth time.
A headache pulses behind my eyes.
Then Andres sends me another file.
And everything shifts.
The video opens on a rundown bar. A hole in the wall that smells like cheap alcohol and bad decisions. The kind of place where no one looks twice at criminals meeting in corners.
Ian walks in.
And sits down across from someone I never expected.
Aurora.
Luciano’s daughter.
What. The. Fuck.
Aurora has been feeding us information for months. Accurate information. Enough to help dismantle her own father’s power from the inside. Her deal was simple. Freedom. No forced marriage once Dante takes control.
It made sense. A trapped woman choosing survival.
But this?
I zoom in on the footage.
From a distance, they look like a couple. Casual. Comfortable. Close enough to blend in.
But up close, it’s wrong.
They aren’t touching.
Their bodies lean in, but not toward each other, toward the table. Toward whatever sits between them. Their lips move fast, controlled. No smiles. No softness.
This isn’t romance. This is business. Aurora slides something across the table, slow and deliberate, her fingers lingering for a moment before she lets it go.
Ian doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his jacket and pushes an envelope toward her in return.
Thick. Heavy. Money. The kind of payment that turns quiet conversations into binding agreements.
My jaw tightens as the realization settles in.
Whatever this is, it isn’t affection. It’s a transaction.
Why the hell does Luciano’s daughter need cash under the table when she’s sitting on family wealth?
Unless it’s not about money. Unless it’s payment. For information. For access. For betrayal. The thought cuts through my mind, sharp and immediate. My brain starts assembling the pieces, fast and brutal, running through every possibility like a blade through paper. Aurora playing both sides.
Two enemies who should have no reason to meet. Unless Serena is the reason. The thought lands heavy and immediate, sliding into place with a sickening kind of clarity. My grip tightens around the phone until the edges bite into my palm. This isn’t coincidence.
And if Ian and Aurora are working together, then everything we thought we knew about the board just changed.
Andres’ name flashes across my screen.
I answer immediately.
“I need to go in five,” I say, checking the time again. They’re already waiting. Men like that don’t appreciate delays.
“Won’t take long,” Andres replies. I can hear keyboard clicks in the background, the low hum of surveillance feeds. “Do you think she works for the Organization too?”
It makes too much sense.
“Luciano worked for them,” I say, my voice low, controlled only by habit. “It wouldn’t be surprising if she did too.”
“How accurate was the information she gave us?”
“All of it,” I answer immediately. “Every tip, every location, every shipment. She helped us bury her father.”
That’s what bothers me.
“That’s what doesn’t make sense,” Andres mutters.
But then it hits me. “She doesn’t trust us.”
A beat of silence. “Obviously,” he says.
I check my watch again. Time’s bleeding out.
“No,” I clarify. “She doesn’t trust that we’ll honor the terms long-term. She’s terrified of marriage. Dante won’t force her into one, but eventually? Politics, alliances, pressure, it’s inevitable. Our deal only protects her temporarily.”
“Which means she’s building a backup plan,” Andres says, catching up fast. “If we fail her, she needs someone else who can make her disappear.”
My jaw tightens.
“And Ian fits that role perfectly,” I finish. “Someone outside our structure. Someone with his own agenda.”
“Someone who’d trade protection for Serena,” Andres adds.
I don’t answer right away.
Because we both know he’s right.
“I’ll handle the rest,” Andres says. His tone shifts, sharper, colder. Operational. “You’re already late for that meeting. Go.”
I trust him. Completely. If anything ever happens to me, my woman and my children will be safer with Andres than with blood relatives.
“Good luck,” he adds.
I end the call.
Good fucking luck.
I pocket the phone, straighten my jacket, and head toward the entrance where Dante disappeared minutes ago.
I slide my phone into my pocket and switch it to do not disturb.
Except it never truly is.
Andres built a private override for one person only. Serena. If she calls, it cuts through everything. If I miss it, alerts go straight to Andres and Lev. One of us answers. Always. No delays. No excuses.
It is the only vulnerability I allow myself.
I adjust my cuffs, smooth the front of my jacket, and push the door open.
The atmosphere inside the room tightens instantly. Conversations stop mid breath. Glasses pause halfway to lips. They have been waiting and the irritation is obvious.
Good.
Let them feel small.
Tonight is not about courtesy. It is not about tradition. It is not about alliances.
Tonight is about Luciano.
He sits at the head of the table like a king who still believes the crown is his. Dante to his right, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. Paolo on his left, pretending calm but watching everything. Alessio sits farther down, quiet, calculating.
And then I see the fifth chair.
Occupied.
Nicolas.
My father’s old driver.
For half a second, my brain refuses to process it. Nicolas never sat at tables like this. He opened doors. Drove routes. Stayed invisible.
What the fuck is he doing here?
“Lorenzo,” Luciano says warmly, like we are old friends sharing wine instead of men circling each other’s throats. “Thank you for joining us.”
I do not answer. My gaze shifts to Dante.
He does not meet my eyes.
Which means this was deliberate.
Moretti blood runs on secrets and contingencies. If Nicolas is here, he is a piece on the board. I just have not been told his role yet.
Fine.
I will adapt.
Luciano thinks this meeting is about wedding terms. Conditions. Formalities. A performance of power disguised as family business.
What he does not understand is that we are not negotiating a marriage.
We are arranging his exit.
I take my seat slowly, deliberately, claiming space without speaking. Silence is power when used correctly.
Luciano swirls the whiskey in his glass like this is a celebration dinner instead of a reckoning.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair with the confidence of a man who thinks the future is still his, “shall we begin discussing the terms of the marriage?”
Marriage.
He still believes this is about Aurora.
Good.
Dante does not smile. “This meeting is not about a marriage.”
Luciano chuckles, dismissive. “Then what exactly did I rush over here for?”
I stay silent.
This was always Dante’s stage. My work happened long before tonight.
Dante folds his hands on the table. “This meeting is about betrayal.”
There it is.
The word lands exactly where it should. Heavy. Final.
Luciano’s smile fades a fraction. “Careful with accusations like that.”
“I am,” Dante replies. “You betrayed Cosa Nostra.”
Paolo straightens. Alessio’s eyes sharpen. Good. They’re listening the way I needed them to.
Luciano scoffs. “You throw big words. Show me proof.”
Dante slides the folder forward.
Every page in that file passed through my hands first. Some truths. Some enhancements. All believable.
Paolo opens it. Alessio leans in. Luciano hesitates before touching it.
“You skimmed from shared operations,” Dante says evenly. “Laundered outside funds through our casinos without council approval.”
Luciano shakes his head too quickly. “Impossible.”
He hasn’t read the numbers yet. That comes next.
Paolo flips pages faster. “These are transfer logs.”
Alessio mutters, “Offshore channels. . . linked back to your men.”
Luciano finally looks down.
I watch his expression shift in stages. Denial. Calculation. Recognition.
He doesn’t know which parts are real.
That is the point.
“This is fabricated,” he says, but his voice is already thinner.
Dante leans back slightly. “You used our establishments to clean private money. Without shares. Without permission.”
Paolo’s jaw tightens. “You stole from us.”
That word hits harder than betrayal ever could.
I meet Luciano’s eyes for the first time.
“Your own blood gave us the trails,” I say quietly.
Understanding dawns.
“Aurora,” he breathes.
Yes.
And no.
She gave enough truth to build the lie around.