Forty-two
Ciro
With Jim’s team closing in around us, I guide Chiara and her mother toward the car, my hand at her back, not pushing—directing.
Patrizia slows at the door, her gaze cutting past me to the drive. “My car?” Her hand tightening around Chiara’s.
“It stays.” I open the rear door before she can step away. “Jim’s team will drive it back.”
Her eyes flick to Jim and then back to me, measuring.
“We’ll follow you,” Jim says from behind me, one hand lifting toward the second vehicle as his team changes position along the curb.
I hold the door open, forcing the decision into the space between us.
Then she moves.
Chiara doesn’t look at me as she slides in beside her mother, her fingers already laced through hers, grip tight enough to show even in the dim light.
I close the door on that, the sound controlled, contained.
No one speaks as the cars pull away. The gate is a few turns before we get to the front gate of the Colony.
“They’re not just going to let us in,” Chiara says.
“They know me,” Patrizia sits forward prepared to give us the access we all need.
The guard stays inside the booth as we roll up, his shoulder pressed to the window frame.
His eyes go straight to Jim, and one hand lifts off the frame in a half-wave that never turns into a stop. The barrier starts to lift before I reach for the window.
The SUV behind us follows without stopping. “Gates confirmed. Cameras are live on their side. We’re patching into the feed.”
The gate closes behind us, and the street opens up like it’s meant to breathe.
Wide lots. Clean lines. Grass cut tight enough to look artificial. The houses sit back with some space between them, nothing crowding, nothing pressing.
From here, it reads as private and controlled.
Patrizia’s hand is still wrapped around Chiara’s. “They keep it quiet.”
The driver eases the car forward as the road curves along the edge of the peninsula.
Chiara leans slightly toward the window, but she doesn’t let go of her mother.
We pull up to a large sweeping driveway in front of a contemporary white stucco and glass home.
Patrizia steps out before Jim’s man can open her door.
She keeps hold of Chiara’s hand as she turns toward the house, chin lifting toward the cameras tucked beneath the roofline. The entry lights come on before she reaches the path.
“Inside,” she says, drawing Chiara with her as she crosses the stone walkway.
I follow two steps behind, scanning the green lawn, the neighboring setbacks, the clean line of beach visible between the houses.
Patrizia doesn’t look back.
At the door, she keys in a code with her free hand, and then presses her thumb to the panel beneath it. The lock releases with a soft mechanical click.
Patrizia pushes the door open and steps into the entry as if she never left it.
I pause at the threshold, watching the camera above the door tilt a fraction toward me.
Patrizia notices without turning. “It records everyone.” She releases Chiara’s hand only long enough to disable the interior alarm. “Even people I invited.”
“Good.” I step inside, closing the door behind us. “Then it knows we’re here.”
No staff meets us or appears from the hall or the kitchen. The house is silent.
Patrizia crosses into the main room and sets a set of keys into a shallow bowl with a precise drop. “They come in twice a week,” she says, gesturing toward the empty kitchen with a flick of her fingers. “Cleaning. Laundry. No one stays.”
Chiara steps into the center of the room, her gaze catching on the ocean beyond the glass. “You live like this?” she asks, one hand lifting toward the window but stopping short of touching it. “Completely… open?”
Patrizia turns, leaning her hip against the counter and folding her arms. “I live where I can see what’s coming.” She tips her chin toward the water. “Not where I wait for it to find me.”
“That’s not what this is.” I shift my stance so I can see both the hallway and the exterior line. “Visibility cuts both ways.”
“It always has.” She pushes off the counter and walks toward a panel near the wall. She taps it once, and the screens shift, camera feeds blooming across the surface without hesitation. “I just stopped pretending otherwise. We have a state of the art security system.”
She opens a control panel, which brings up all the camera angles.
“You knew I was at the front gate,” Chiara says, turning sharply, her hand dropping as she steps back. “And you wouldn’t let me in.”
Patrizia’s hand stills on the panel for a fraction and then moves again. “You weren’t supposed to know I was alive. I was staying somewhere your father couldn’t reach me.”
“You left me with him,” Chiara pushes. “You decided I was safer there.”
“I decided he wouldn’t look for me if you were still in that house,” Patrizia cuts in, turning now, her hand dropping from the panel. “You’re his blood. He adored you. I didn’t think he’d do anything to hurt you.”
Chiara stares at her, something breaking through the control she’s been holding. “So I was the decoy,” her voice drops. “That was your plan.”
Patrizia holds her gaze, not softening it. “You were the reason he stayed where he was. And I stayed alive long enough to make this matter.”
“You didn’t come back,” Chiara steps closer. “You didn’t even try to find me after you knew he signed my life away for a business alliance.”
“I didn’t come back because I couldn’t protect you if I did,” Patrizia says, her voice steady but tighter now. “The only person who knew I was alive was my mother, and she helped me leave.”
“You’re saying this like leaving was the only option.” Chiara shakes her head. “Like you didn’t choose it.”
“I chose to survive.” Patrizia meets her gaze without flinching. “And I chose the version where you had a chance. If we’d both gone on the run, he would have never stopped looking for us. This way we both could live.”
I step in before Chiara can answer, my hand coming up to the edge of the panel, not touching it but close enough to take it if I need to. “They know you’re alive, and they know where you live.” I keep my eyes on the feeds instead of either of them. “You’re now at risk.”
“I’ve been at risk for nearly two decades.” Patrizia reaches past my hand and taps the screen to bring up the front gate. “And I don’t think Enzo is going to come for me.”
“How can you be so sure?” I block part of the panel without looking like I’m doing it. “If it isn’t them, it will be your family.”
“I’ve been waiting for this day since I left.” She slides the feed back to the street with a controlled swipe. “That doesn’t change because you brought him closer.”
Chiara looks between us. “So what about your husband? Does he know?”
“Absolutely.” She tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “He’s known since almost the beginning, but it’s also why we live here behind the gates of the Malibu Colony. And he knew you were at the gate this afternoon trying to get to me.”
“My brother is only trying to protect his legacy with her stepson. Palo has already returned to Chicago.”
“How do you know that?” Jim asks.
“In the world I grew up in, women are second-class citizens. The men talk in front of us. They don’t think we understand or care about anything other than shopping and designer clothes.
But we listen and we share.” Patrizia walks past us, heading toward the hallway without slowing.
“You can leave if you want.” She pushes a door open and checks the room inside with a quick glance. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chiara turns, following her a step and then stopping when Patrizia doesn’t. “What if they won’t back off?” Her hand lifts and falls again when she doesn’t get a response.
Patrizia returns to the main room and stops just inside it. “My lawyer has information that would sink your father with the O’Malley’s and have the FBI crawling so far up his backside, he won’t do anything. I don’t need to hide from him any longer.”
Chiara exhales, her shoulders pulling tight as she looks at her mother. “You don’t even want to go somewhere safe. Just for a few days.”
“This is safe.” Her gaze moves past Chiara to the windows. “Because it’s mine. Now, what would you like to drink? Chiara, I have your favorite Italian sodas you like.”
If Chiara is surprised, she doesn’t show it. “That would be nice.”
While Patrizia busies herself, Chiara steps out onto the patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and I follow her.
She looks at me then, something breaking under the surface of it. “You can’t force us to leave.”
I don’t answer her directly. I move to the window instead as dread washes through me.
“No.” I look out across the ocean, and I can’t see anything but water. “I’m not forcing anything.”
“You knew.” Her fingers tightening around the cold metal of the railing, the sound of it faint against the glass.
I keep my hand braced on the frame, angled so I can see both her and the reflection behind her. “I did.”
“And you didn’t tell me.” She steps away from the railing, closing the distance, her hand dropping to her side like she’s choosing not to hold onto anything.
“I didn’t.” I don’t move to meet her.
Her mouth tightens. She looks at me. “That wasn’t protection. You made that decision for me.”
I push off the door frame. “I knew it was a trap.”
Her inhale catches slightly. “That’s the part you don’t get. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
The ocean reflects across the glass behind her, cutting through the space between us.
“So what now?” She grips the railing. “Are you going to ask me to leave with you?”
I freeze in place. I want her to come with me, but she’s just found her mother. I can’t do that to her.
Her big blue eyes stare up at me searching.
“I’m not dragging you out of here,” I say, my voice even. “Not after this.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Her hand lifts, as if she might touch me, and then stops short. “I asked if you wanted me to.”
I look at her, not moving. “I want you alive.”
Her jaw tightens, her hand dropping between us. “That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I answer. “You’ve been clear that you don’t want me making decisions for you.”
She studies me for a long second, something shifting behind her eyes. “You’re going to let me make this call?”
“I’m not taking it from you.”
“Even if I get it wrong?”
“Especially then.”
She holds my gaze and then nods once, small, controlled.
“Okay.” She turns away, her fingers dragging once along the glass as she steps back toward the house. “Then I’m staying.”
I nod, though it feels like everything inside me is coming apart while I stand in front of her.
I want her to choose me, not because I protected her when she needed it, but because what’s between us is real enough to become something lasting.
Because somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I fell in love with her.
And saying it now, when she’s trying to stay, would only turn it into pressure.
Manipulation. Something selfish instead of true.
I nod again, immediate, no pause. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” Her arms tightening across her body. “No argument? No… anything?”
“You made a choice.” I adjust my stance. “I’m not changing it.”
She turns to the ocean and watches the waves.
I need to leave. Get away from her before I say something that I can never come back from. I turn and leave, heading to the front door.
Patrizia’s footsteps follow me before I reach it. “You’re leaving already?”
“I have a flight in two hours.” I reach for the handle and then pause with my hand on it. “Take care of your daughter. She’s something special, and I’m glad I got to know her.”
I take a step and then stop to glance back. Chiara is standing with her mother, watching.
“Be careful,” I say.
The gravel shifts under my shoes as I cross the drive. The SUV door opens before I reach it, one of Jim’s men stepping back without a word as I slide in.
“Santa Monica Airport?” he asks, his hand on the door.
“Yes.” I pull the seatbelt across my chest and lock it into place.
He closes the door, the sound contained, efficient.
I don’t look back again.