Chapter 14
Dante
T he party had ended hours ago, but the tension in my shoulders hadn’t eased. My brothers were already waiting when I arrived at the private lounge of our estate. The room was dimly lit, the heavy scent of cigar smoke curling through the air, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey. Luca sat sprawled in one of the leather chairs, his boots propped up on the glass coffee table, while Rafe leaned against the bar, swirling a glass of bourbon like it held the answers to the universe.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Rafe drawled, his sharp grin flashing as I stepped inside. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
I ignored him, shrugging out of my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. The party earlier had been a slow burn of aggravation, and now, with the party behind us, I doubted my brothers’ company would do much to help. Still, there were matters to discuss—business, family, and the growing storm brewing on the horizon.
“Pour me one,” I said, nodding toward the bar as I loosened my tie. I sank into the chair across from Luca, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Rafe slid a glass across the polished surface of the bar before sauntering over, his movements as lazy as they were calculated. “You look like hell,” he said, dropping into the chair beside Luca. “Rough day? ”
I took a slow sip of the whiskey, the burn grounding me. “You could say that.”
Luca smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Let me guess. Ricci drama?”
I didn’t respond immediately, my gaze fixed on the amber liquid in my glass. The events of the day replayed in my mind—Emilia’s defiance, her vulnerability, the way she’d looked at me like I was both her savior and her executioner. It was maddening, the effect she had on me. Dangerous.
“You could say that too,” I said finally, my tone clipped.
Luca exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression thoughtful. “What’s the plan, then? With the Riccis, I mean. You think they’re involved in the money issue?”
My jaw clenched. The missing funds had been a thorn in my side for weeks, a problem that refused to resolve itself no matter how many loose ends I tied off. .
“I’m close,” I said, my tone curt. “The forensic accountant will be looking into it. It’s only a matter of time.”
“And when you find out who’s behind it?” Rafe asked, though the glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.
My lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. “They’ll wish they’d never been born.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of my words settling over us like a shroud. Luca nodded, his expression grim, while Rafe raised his glass in a mock toast.
“Here’s to justice,” Rafe said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Conti style.”
Later that night, I stood on the balcony of my penthouse, the city sprawling out before me in a sea of lights. The whiskey in my hand was untouched, the glass sweating in the humid air. I’d come here to clear my head, to think. But all I could see was her.
Emilia Ricci.
She was a wildfire, unpredictable and consuming. And like a fool, I was drawn to her, despite the danger, despite the consequences. I didn’t want to care about her, didn’t want to feel this...pull. But it was there, undeniable and unrelenting.
I took a slow sip of my whiskey, the burn doing little to dull the ache in my chest. I’d built my life on control, on discipline. But with Emilia, control felt like a distant memory, slipping through my fingers like sand.
The sound of my phone buzzing on the table behind me pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, setting the glass down as I picked up the device. The name on the screen made my jaw tighten.
Valentina Moretti.
I hesitated for a moment before answering, my voice cold and detached. “What is it?”
Her voice was smooth, practiced, but there was an edge of tension beneath the surface. “We need to talk.”
My grip on the phone tightened, my mind already racing. Valentina was a ghost from my past, a reminder of choices made and bridges burned. Her reappearance now, in the midst of everything else, was unwelcome at best.
“Make it quick,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
There was a pause on the other end, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “It’s about the Russians.”
My blood ran cold, the weight of her words settling over me like a storm cloud. The Russians. Of course. Because if there was one thing my life needed right now, it was another complication.
“What about them?” My voice was sharp, the edge of irritation cutting through the tension in the air. I didn’t have time for cryptic warnings, least of all from Valentina Moretti.
She hesitated, and for a brief moment, I thought she might hang up. But Valentina wasn’t the type to back down, not when she thought she had something worth saying.
“There’s a rumor,” she began, her tone carefully measured. “That the Russians have been...boasting about a recent score. Twenty million, to be exact. And they’re saying it came from the Italians.”
I stilled, my grip on the phone tightening as the pieces began to fall into place. Twenty million. The missing money. I’d suspected an inside job, someone within our ranks skimming off the top. But if the Russians were involved, this was more than just theft. This was a declaration.
“Who’s their source?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.
“That’s the thing,” Valentina replied. “No one knows. They’re keeping it quiet, but word’s been spreading in certain circles. I thought you’d want to know.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, the weight of her words sinking in. If the Russians had their hands on that money, it wasn’t just about the loss—it was about the message it sent. That they could take from us and get away with it. That they could undermine our power, our control.
“Why tell me this?” I asked, my tone skeptical. Valentina wasn’t exactly known for her altruism. If she was reaching out, it was because she wanted something in return.
“Because I can help you,” she said simply, her voice smooth and confident. “My family has connections in banking, as you well know. If the money’s been moved through legitimate channels, I can trace it. But I need something from you in return.”
Of course she did. “What do you want, Valentina?”
She hesitated for a moment, and I could almost picture her on the other end of the line, weighing her words carefully, calculating the exact tone and phrasing to manipulate me. It was the Moretti way—every sentence a strategy, every pause a feint. “Maybe you should reconsider the offer my father gave you.”
I clenched my jaw, the familiar frustration bubbling up. “An engagement to a woman in love with a bratva bastardo?”
“Dante,” she said sharply, but there was a flicker of something else in her voice—guilt, maybe, or shame. It was hard to tell .
“I’ll be in touch,” I said curtly, ending the call before she could respond.
I set the phone down on the desk, my mind already calculating the next move. The Russians were now a problem I couldn’t ignore, a threat that loomed larger with each passing day. And now, with Valentina back in the picture, the stakes were even higher.
The Morettis were a family that thrived in the shadows, their wealth and power built on a foundation of secrecy and control. They didn’t deal with blood and violence directly—that was beneath them. Instead, they manipulated the flow of money, laundering billions through some of the most prestigious banks in the world. With their spotless reputation in the public eye, they were untouchable, a dynasty of untarnished elegance. But behind closed doors, they were as ruthless as any street-level thug.
Valentina’s father, Alessandro Moretti, was the architect of their empire, a man who had turned illicit transactions into an art form. He didn’t just clean dirty money—he polished it until it gleamed, feeding it back into the global economy through investments, real estate, and carefully crafted financial networks. He was the man the Cosa Nostra turned to when they wanted their sins erased from the books, and the man who made the impossible look effortless.
I’d worked with him before—hell, our families had been in bed together for decades—but I didn’t trust him. And I trusted Valentina even less. She had inherited her father’s talent for manipulation, her every word a careful balance of charm and threat. She’d spent her youth in boarding schools and luxury penthouses, her life paved with privilege and ambition. But she wasn’t just a spoiled princess. She was smart. Dangerous. And she wanted something from me.
Her mention of the engagement offer wasn’t casual. It was a reminder that Alessandro Moretti wanted me tied to his family, wanted to cement our alliance in blood and vows. But even if I hadn’t known about her affair with the Russian, I wouldn’t have agreed. Marriage wasn’t in the cards for me—not to Valentina, and not to anyone else.
Yet, as much as I hated her games, I couldn’t deny she was useful. If anyone could trace the missing money through legitimate channels, it was the Morettis. Their global network of banks and financial institutions was second to none, a web so vast and untouchable that even governments struggled to keep up. If the funds had passed through any of their systems, Valentina could find them.
But at what cost?
As my thoughts turned to strategy, to alliances and betrayals, one name lingered in the back of my mind, a whisper I couldn’t silence.
Emilia.
She was a complication I didn’t need and couldn’t afford. But she was also mine.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.