Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dante
For a moment no one speaks.
The silence stretches, not hostile, but cautious. Measuring.
Valentina rests her hands lightly on the arms of the chair, her gaze moving slowly from Nico, to Dario, and finally settling on me.
She’s not intimidated.
If anything, she looks completely at ease. As if she was born for this. And truthfully, she was.
From the first moment I saw her sashaying down the street in the Heights, I’d been captivated.
And now that she’s mine?
I’m besotted.
“Before anyone says something they can’t easily take back,” she says calmly, “I should tell you that I’ve already spoken to Stefano.”
Of course she’s spoken to her family’s consigliere. I’d counted on it.
From what I know of him, he’s a careful man. Older than Giovanni. Known for patience. For thinking three moves ahead before speaking one word.
Nico has met her before, in Las Vegas, and he respects her. No doubt he, too, suspected she’d make the move.
“And I’ve been in communication with my brother.”
We all wait.
Valentina leans back slightly in the chair, crossing one leg neatly over the other.
“He’s furious,” she says finally. “As you’d expect.”
I nod.
“As you suspect, he believes the wreck was orchestrated by the Morettis.”
“Go on.”
“And he’s insistent the thug at the cathedral had nothing to do with our family. Before you challenge me, you’re assuming my brother would lie to me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m assuming,” Dario replies bluntly.
There’s no hostility in his voice. Just the brutal practicality that keeps our family alive.
She tilts her head slightly.
“You shouldn’t.”
The certainty in her voice quiets the room again.
Nico studies her for a long moment before speaking.
“You’re saying the Russos didn’t send the man Dante killed this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you believe that?”
Instead of answering Nico, she moves her eyes back to me. We’re the only ones in the room that know what’s happened between us today. The raw honesty, the way she reacted to me, screamed, shattered beneath me.
“I believe him.”
I hold her gaze and search it. Not for weakness, though. But for any hint of doubt.
I don’t find any.
She believes Giovani.
“What makes you confident?” Nico asks.
Good question. One I wish I’d thought of.
She turns to him, and there’s no hesitation in her answer. “Because if my brother had decided to violate the cathedral with a rescue attempt, he wouldn’t have just sent one man. He’d have sent a team of people.”
“Your brother was traveling with a convoy, Valentina,” Dario points out. “If they hadn’t been waylaid, there would have been a team to work with him.”
“Think about what you’re saying.” She doesn’t lose her patience or raise her voice. I see why Nico had been impressed by her. “What good is a single man when you have a trusted crew? And why did he act alone? Who gave him the authority?”
She pauses before going on. “For the sake of argument, let’s assume he was a Russo asset.”
Nico rolls his glass between his palms.
“You believe my brother or a capo would give the order for a lone man to take on the entire Russo family. In a cathedral?”
She makes that point a second time, and this time, it lands.
The church is a holy place and we respect its sanctity. As do the Russos.
Dario lets out a quiet breath through his nose.
We all look at each other.
It’s a fair point.
Valentina continues. “And why wouldn’t the convoy have continued on instead of diverting? Losing one car is hardly a catastrophe.”
To anyone not in a mafia family, her words would sound harsh, unfeeling. But as a strategist, she’s absolutely right.
If the Russos had been hellbent on snatching her back, they’d have continued on, despite losing a vehicle.
The three of us look at each other.
Dario downs his whiskey before slamming his glass on the top of the desk.
“And because there’s another truth you need to recognize. My family had nothing to do with Don Raffaele’s assassination.”
The words land in the room like a dropped blade.
Dario straightens in his chair.
Nico’s expression tightens slightly.
I say nothing.
“On the contrary, my father respected him and the agreed on the foundations of the Four Corners Alliance.”
Dario waves a hand. “Russos have been muscling in on our territory for months.”
He knows it as well as I do.
Capos report to me about the happenings. But Dario sees every single missing cent.
Valentina’s gaze flicks to him, steady and thoughtful rather than defensive.
“We are expanding,” she agrees plainly.
The honesty lands harder than any denial would have.
“South,” she continues. “Toward the corridor running through San Antonio and into the Gulf routes.”
Dario’s jaw tightens slightly, but she doesn’t give him time to interrupt.
“But the territory you’re referring to has never been cleanly divided.”
She folds her hands lightly together on the desk.
“For years it’s been…fluid. Some weeks your people move product through it. Other weeks ours do.”
Her gaze flicks between the three of us.
“That’s not aggression. That’s overlap.”
Dario lets out a short laugh that holds very little humor.
“Funny way to describe millions of dollars disappearing.”
She folds her arms. “Your losses didn’t begin when we expanded south.”
Now Nico leans forward slightly.
“They began when someone started squeezing both families along the transport routes.”
The room stills again.
Valentina glances briefly at the whiskey glass in front of me before looking back up.
“Which means whoever is behind this isn’t just provoking violence.”
She pauses.
“They’re trying to reshape the map.” She lets the silence hang before finishing. “Someone is trying to push our families into war.”
The same thought we’d been circling before she joined us.
“Or worse.”
Dario scoffs quietly. “Worse than a war between the Morettis and the Russos?”
Valentina doesn’t react to his tone.
“Yes.” Her voice is calm and analytical. “Because war between our families would weaken both of us.”
She glances toward the dark windows behind Nico, toward the stretch of land that feeds half our operations.
“And while we’re bleeding each other dry”—her gaze returns to me—“someone else steps in and takes the corridors we’ve spent decades building.”
The words settle in the room slowly.
North Texas. Houston. Maybe even infringing on the progress we’ve made with Alessia’s family along the Gulf ports.
Money routes. Transport routes. Influence routes.
If two empires start shooting at each other, those lines fracture overnight. And whoever controls the fracture controls everything that moves through it.
Valentina’s eyes sharpen slightly. “Someone benefits.”
Dario glances toward me.
Nico is still watching her carefully. Watching every mannerism. Evaluating each statement.
Valentina’s voice lowers slightly.
“The man at the cathedral was not sent by the Russos.” She pauses and deliberately looks at Nico, then Dario, then she stands so that she can take in the entire room at one time. Again, plainly, she states, “And we did not put out a hit on Don Raffaele.”
No one moves. No one reacts.
“I am now part of your family. For better. For worse.” She looks at me, repeating our vows. “Till death do we part.” When she speaks again, a faint challenge threads through her voice. “So the question, husband, is this. Is my word good enough for you?”
Fuck.
I’m the one who’s been convinced it was her family.
My brother and cousin look at each other.
Dario shifts slightly in his chair.
Nico’s expression is thoughtful in that quiet, dangerous way that means the consigliere’s mind is already working angles we haven’t even considered yet.
Because this is no longer just about intel.
It’s about trust.
About believing the enemy.
I lean back slowly in my chair.
Study her.
My wife.
The Russo princess.
The woman who walked into a room full of Moretti men and decided she belonged there.
Most people in her position would be terrified. But God help me, I respect the hell out of her.
I lift my glass and take a slow drink. The whiskey burns warm down my throat as I keep my eyes on her.
Then I set the glass down.
“If you’re wrong,” I say evenly, “if you’re lying…”
Valentina doesn’t flinch. Not even a little. “That’s a chance you will have to take.”
“Fuck.” Dario stands and strides to the sideboard and refills his glass before downing it in a single gulp. “Fuck.”
“Either we assassinated the head of your family and caused bloodshed in a cathedral, or we didn’t. And you either attempted to assassinate my brother this morning. Or you didn’t.”
A beat passes.
Either way, Valentina is caught in the crosshairs. And I put her there.
Goddamn it to hell.
Then Nico speaks quietly from the window.
“If what she says is true, then we have another enemy.”
Dario finishes the thought. “One that’s unseen.”
“If what I say is true, then the Russos also have an unseen enemy.”
My gaze never leaves my wife. “Whoever it is,” I say slowly, “is going to regret it.”
Outside the windows, the vineyard rows stretch dark into the Texas night.
Somewhere out there, someone thinks they’re clever enough to pit two empires against each other.
I crack my knuckles.
I hope he enjoys the feeling.
Because when we find him—
There won’t be anything left to bury.