Chapter 30 Beatrice
BEATRICE
It’s been a few weeks since the bombing, and I have barely left my bed.
My health has taken a turn. I’m tired all the time, though I can’t tell if it’s stress or some sickness lurking on the horizon.
“Socialite Beatrice Davacalli flops without even debuting her first ever collection.”
The headlines are everywhere—my failed fashion week debut, how much of a disappointment I am. I sip my tea and sink deeper into the porch chair.
The wind whips across my face as dark clouds roll in.
Giacomo. The fashion house. The fear that has left me paralyzed.
It all feels like it’s crashing down, and I’m barely treading water. The waves feel far too high.
“It’s all going to be okay in time,” I whisper to myself. I’ve faced storms before—bigger ones—and I survived.
The porch door opens behind me, but I don’t turn. I don’t need to. The scent of pine hits me before his tall frame enters my periphery.
“You need to stop hovering, my boy.” I lower my cup but keep my gaze on the lake. “Between you and your father, you’re making me feel like a ticking bomb.”
“I just worry,” my son says, taking the chair beside me. “Looks like rain’s coming.”
Right on cue, thunder cracks through the sky, shaking the earth beneath us.
“I love the rain.”
He hums softly. “You always have. Is that why you’re out here? To watch it?”
I turn to him. His eyes gleam like ice crystals. “That, and I needed to escape Emily. She’s been force-feeding me soups and meals on your father’s orders. Apparently I’m not eating enough to his liking.”
His lips pull into a thin flat line. “You aren’t, Mama.”
My brows knit. “I am. I had toast this morning.”
“And after that? Did you eat your lunch?”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out—because he’s right. I didn’t eat a damn thing after that single slice of toast.
So instead, I pivot.
“You’ve been doing well with your training, I hear.”
“Mama.”
“Daniele.” I mimic his pointed tone. “Don’t look at me like that. I am the parent here. I’m not some delicate egg that’s going to crack if you breathe too hard.”
“And I’m the son trying to protect his mother,” he counters, giving me the same look Matteo gives when he’s worried. “You’ve been through a lot lately—not to mention the issues with your fashion line. It’s understandable if you’re feeling a little bit… fragile right now.”
Fragile. That word hits me like a slap.
I’ve spent my entire life fighting that label—my father’s gaze, Giacomo’s control, society’s expectation that I wilt. Fragile is the one thing I refuse to be.
“I’m fine, baby.” I reach out, wanting to smooth the fear from his face. No matter how tall he gets, how broad his shoulders become, he will always be my baby. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”
“I hate when you and Papa treat me like I’m a child who can’t see what’s happening,” he fires back. “You’re both trying to keep me out of this, but as your son, I’m already part of it.”
I shake my head gently. “This is not your fight, Danny. Your father and I have been tangled in this long before you were born.”
“Mama, respectfully,” he says, voice low, steady, manlike in a way that breaks my heart, “as a Davacalli, your wars become mine. I’m in this whether I want to be or not. And I want to put a bullet in Giacomo’s head just as much as Papa does.”
My stomach twists. I hate the sound of that name in my son’s mouth. I hate what it does to him.
“No,” I say firmly. “I will not have you dragged into this war. Leave Giacomo to your father and me.”
His frown deepens, jaw tightening with a resolve that is so painfully Matteo it steals my breath.
“Mamma, I love you. But you don’t understand what this looks like for me. That man tried to bomb you. He hurt Uncle Valerio. He hurt you. That demands a response. And now that father’s enemies see me as the next head, I can’t appear weak.”
He leans forward, eyes burning.
“What kind of capo would I be if I let what happened to you go unanswered? You’re my mother. Your safety is my responsibility. If I let this slide, our enemies will think I’m soft. They’ll test me. They’ll test us.”
The pride and horror twist together inside me. He sounds just like Matteo, right down to the way he makes vengeance sound like duty.
I swallow hard.
Because even though my instinct is to protect him from all this darkness—I know he’s right.
I know the code.
His last name is Davacalli. And whether I like it or not, this world—its violence, its loyalty, its brutal inheritance—belongs to him too.
He is his father’s son. Never more than in this moment.
“Staring is weird, Mama.” He turns, a smile tugging at his lips.
I shake my head. “I’m just looking at my baby. Can’t a mother do that anymore?”
“Of course you can, but you’re like… really staring.”
He mocks me, but the smile on his face melts me. “But you and Papa did make a handsome boy, if I do say so myself.”
A small pang hits my chest—quiet, subtle—but I push it aside.
“You’ve grown so much, amore mio. You’re almost a man now.”
He smirks. “I think I’ve been one for a while. You’ve just refused to see it.”
I laugh softly. “I know. But you’ll always be my little boy. The one who hated shoes and used to fall asleep on the kitchen floor. The one who had a massive obsession with a certain Italian girl.”
“Mom,” he groans. “I said she looked nice once, and now you’re ready to marry me off.”
I laugh again. “Maria Faravelli has grown into a beautiful young lady. I think she’d be perfect for you. We know the family, and you won’t have to worry about a horrible mother-in-law. You love Marta—and so do I.”
“Of course you’d want me to date your best friend’s daughter. But I’m in no rush. And honestly, I don’t even know if I want to get married. It all seems so… tedious and boring.”
I sip my tea. “Do your father and I look bored? Marriage can be a wonderful adventure all on its own. You just need to find the right person to take life on with.”
He nods slowly. “But you and Papa chose each other. It wasn’t a forced arrangement. You got to pick. But for me, it feels like I need to make some kind of strategic decision.”
All the half-truths I’ve told him over the years settle over me like a shadow. Yes—we chose each other.
“And you can decide, my boy,” I say gently. “You don’t have to choose someone we like. The woman you marry should be someone you love, someone you care for. Love is wonderful, but friendship—that foundation—that’s what lasts.”
He nods. “And what if I choose someone you hate?”
I lift a shoulder. “Then I’ll have to learn to love her—for your sake. Most of the time, we don’t get to choose who we love. It just… happens. Out of nowhere. Like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking all the wind out of you.”
Much like Matteo and me, all those years ago on the rooftop. Who knew that would be our beginning?
He chuckles softly, then the sound fades. His gaze lingers on me, searching.
“You’ve been different lately,” he says. “Like something’s on your mind.”
I look away. Just for a moment.
“I just want to be sure I’ve said the things that matter,” I say quietly. “In case one day, I don’t get the chance.”
His brow creases. “Don’t say that.”
I reach for his hand, cover it with mine. “Life happens, my love. One minute someone is there and the next they aren’t. It’s fast and quick, much like when your grandmother died.”
I don’t think about my mother often, but when I do, it always puts a pit in my stomach. She was getting better one day and the next she was gone… just like that.
He watches me, silent. Truthfully, I have been thinking about life a lot lately and how fickle it can be. This world that we have chosen to live in can take it all away in the blink of an eye.
“I want to make sure you carry the right things forward.” I squeeze his fingers once. Grounding. Certain.
“You know how much Matteo loves you,” I say. “He always has.”
He nods without hesitation. “Yeah. Of course.”
I study him—so much of me in him. The way his eyes light when he’s excited. The crease in his brow when he’s deep in thought.
My beautiful boy, my heart in human form.
I want to tell him everything. The whole sacred, ugly truth. But I cannot risk curiosity leading him to Giacomo—not when that man could twist the sun into darkness.
So instead, I lower my voice.
“Sometimes life gives us pieces we never expected,” I whisper. “Little mysteries we carry without understanding. But you… you were always the best part of my story. From the moment I held you, I knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.”
His brows draw together, just slightly—
“What do you mean?”
“You are the one thing I would choose over and over again,” I tell him, voice thickening. “If I had to relive every hardship just to have you again, I would do it without hesitation.”
He swallows once. “I love you, Mama,” he says softly—just like he did as a boy.
My throat tightens, and my heart aches with it.
“I love you more.”
We hold onto each other’s hands tightly. After a while, my son gets up and heads for the door. But he pauses when it opens—and out walks Valerio.
“Uncle Valerio, what are you doing here? Does my father need me?” Daniele shifts instantly, posture straightening, tone sharpened.
Valerio pats his back. “No, my boy. I’m here to see your mother. But I have to say—you just sounded and looked exactly like your father. It was a little scary. Uncanny, even.”
Daniele chuckles. “Well, I am his blood. What do you expect?”
“Oh God,” I place my mug down. “Not you too, Valerio. I swear you’re all treating me like I’m made of glass. I don’t need to be checked on 24/7. I’m in my own home; what could possibly get through the fortress my husband built?”
“She’s a little cranky lately,” my son whispers loudly—intentionally—“so mind her claws.”
“You’re not funny, Danny.” I grab a decorative pillow and throw it at him.
He dodges it easily, blows me a kiss, and leaves with a dramatic laugh.
Valerio stands at the doorway, shifting his weight, hands in his pockets. That’s when I notice the stitches on his brow are gone.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes. You’ve been missing in action for a few weeks.” It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the bombing.
He doesn’t show much emotion—he never does—but there’s a tiny wince in his eyes.
“I had some matters I needed to attend to.”
I don’t question it. I know him well enough to understand that guilt has been eating him alive.
“You don’t look like shit today,” I tease, trying to cut through the tension he walked in with. “Did my husband send you to babysit me too?”
He lets out a low huff and shakes his head. “I’m not here to babysit you. I’m actually here to—”
“If you say apologize, I will beat you with a stick.” I fix him with a pointed stare. “I told you—you don’t owe anyone an apology here.”
Valerio crosses to the chair Daniele just vacated and sits. “I know,” he says quietly. “But I can’t help the guilt sitting in my chest, Beatrice. I’m a soldier, and I live on orders. I was meant to protect you, and I didn’t. Not once.”
“You didn’t fail,” I say, reaching over and placing my hand over his. “I’m alive because you didn’t hesitate. If you hadn’t thrown yourself over me, that glass would’ve cut deep. I don’t want you to keep blaming yourself for this.”
He shakes his head, though he doesn’t pull his hand from mine. “There’s a part of me that always will. It’s a mark I have to carry. You’ve come far too close to danger on my watch.” His voice drops, low and rough. “You’re… too important to be held so carelessly.”
“Valerio, you and I both know you’ve never held me carelessly,” I tell him softly.
“If anything, you hold me tighter than my son and husband do. Your job is to serve and protect—and you do that every single day. Don’t let that man make you doubt yourself.
You did everything right. So stop moping and go back to your normal brooding self. ”
A quiet chuckle escapes him, warm and brief. His fingers tighten around mine. “Brooding self?”
“Yeah. Your default setting.”
His lips tug into a slow smile. “Default? Really?”
I nod without hesitation.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. I’ll bring back my brooding self—for you, ma’am.”
“Good.” I turn back toward the storm.
For a moment, silence settles between us. The wind howls; the sky grieves.
Then his voice cuts through softly. “As much as I said I didn’t come to babysit you… I did come to see how you’re doing. With everything. So tell me, principessa—how are you?”
It feels like a weighted question. I want to lie. I want to pretend.
“I’m fine,” I manage—but the words splinter on the way out.
“Beatrice…”
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to say. If I’m anything other than fine, then—”
My throat closes. My eyes burn. The tight grip I’ve kept on myself starts slipping, slipping—
Breathe… breathe…
But I can’t.
And Valerio sees it. He always does. Nothing gets past this man when it comes to me. He sees the fracture before it even forms.
“I—” And then the band snaps.
I break.
Valerio rises and pulls me to my feet, drawing me into his arms. I try to blink the tears back, but they come anyway—one streak, then another, until I’m sobbing into his chest while the wind lashes around us, the thunder roaring overhead.
I don’t know how long we stay like that before I finally pull away and wipe the wetness from my face.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says gently.
I nod weakly. “But the truth is… I’m supposed to handle it. I’m the wife of the most powerful mafia boss on the coast, and I haven’t left my bed in weeks—too scared to face the world.”
He takes my arms firmly, forcing my eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. So if you need to shatter—shatter.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t. Not when my son and husband are at risk.”
“They can handle themselves,” he says quietly.
I know they can. And that is exactly why I’m terrified. Neither side will relent. Neither man will bend. They will go to the edge of death before surrendering, and I cannot stomach the thought of losing either of them.
But instead of telling him that, I simply nod. I let him believe the version that will ease him—just as I did with Daniele and Matteo.
Because one thing is certain: I will do whatever it takes to protect my family.
Even if it costs me my life.
I pray it never comes to that. But if fate demands it… I already know my answer.