Chapter 30
T he morning sun filters through the curtains as I check my watch for the third time. Four-fifteen. I slip my Glock into its holster and secure it against my side, the weight familiar and reassuring.
Melania sits on the edge of the bed, already dressed in the clothes Ginerva brought her yesterday.
"Ready?" I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my gut.
She nods, standing up with that perfect grace that speaks of years of etiquette training. "As I'll ever be."
I lead her through the corridors of the Feretti mansion. The house is quiet this early, most of the staff not yet stirring. We make our way to Damiano's office, where a sliver of light beneath the door tells me he's already inside.
I knock twice before entering. Damiano sits behind his desk, his appearance uncharacteristically disheveled. Dark circles shadow his eyes and his usually immaculate hair shows signs of restless fingers running through it repeatedly.
"You look like shit," I say bluntly, closing the door behind Melania.
Damiano's mouth quirks in a humorless smile. "Good morning to you too."
"Couldn't sleep?" I move toward the desk while Melania hangs back slightly, her presence quiet but attentive.
"No." Damiano rubs a hand over his face, the gold of his wedding band catching the light. "First time Zoe and I have been apart. Feels wrong."
I understand immediately. For all his ruthlessness in business, Damiano's attachment to his wife runs bone-deep. The man who once swore he'd never marry now can't sleep without Zoe beside him.
"Lucrezia giving you trouble too?" I ask, knowing his sister's temper.
" Merda , yes." He sighs heavily. "Called me every name in the book when she realized I'd sent them to Italy for protection, not an art appreciation vacation. Sofia's the only one not cursing my existence right now."
His gaze shifts to a framed photo on his desk—his daughter Sofia, with Zoe's smile and his dark eyes. The tenderness in his expression is subtle but unmistakable.
"Miss her?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Every fucking minute." He straightens, his moment of vulnerability passing as he refocuses on the task at hand. "The team's ready. Noah and Matteo are already in position at the gym."
I nod, feeling Melania step closer to my side. Her fingers brush against mine briefly—a small gesture seeking reassurance. I take her hand, squeezing once before releasing it.
The door swings open without a knock and Enzo strides in like he owns the place. He's carrying a small black case that I recognize immediately.
"Morning, assholes," he says, his voice too loud for this hour. His eyes slide to Melania with a smirk. " Principessa ."
Enzo sets the case on Damiano's desk. "Had to double-check the equipment. Can't have you getting shot because the wire failed."
He flips open the case, revealing a small microphone and transmitter. State-of-the-art, practically invisible once properly placed.
"Strip," Enzo commands with a grin that's all teeth.
I glare at him but shrug out of my jacket and lift my shirt. Melania watches, her amber eyes tracking my movements.
Enzo works quickly, his fingers surprisingly deft as he attaches the microphone to my chest and secures the transmitter at my waist.
"Testing," he mutters into his phone. After a pause, he nods. "Noah says it's coming through clear."
"And Matteo?" Damiano asks.
"Already in position. They've got eyes on the gym entrance." Enzo finishes securing the wire. "Remember, they stay in the car unless you signal. We don't want to spook Leonardo with a show of force."
I straighten my shirt, adjusting it to ensure nothing shows.
"Noah will be on the east entrance, Matteo covering the west," Enzo explains. "But they only move in on your signal or if they hear something that indicates you're in immediate danger."
Damiano stands, crossing to the window. "Keep it simple. Get Leonardo alone, let Melania talk to him, assess whether he's willing to help. If he's not, walk away."
I nod, checking my watch again. "We need to move. I want to be in position before Leonardo arrives."
Melania steps forward, her composure perfect despite the rigidity in her shoulders. "Leonardo will listen to me. I know he will."
I hope she's right. Everything hinges on this meeting—not just our case against Antonio and Raymond, but Melania's safety too. If Leonardo betrays us, the consequences will be devastating.
I slip into the gym with embarrassing ease. The kid at the front desk—barely old enough to shave—doesn't even look up from his phone when I approach. I slide five hundred-dollar bills across the counter, more than enough for his silence and temporary blindness.
"I'm waiting for a friend," I say. "Need some privacy in the weight room."
His eyes pop at the cash. No hesitation, no questions—just greedy fingers snatching the bills. "Weight room's all yours, man. I'm on break for the next hour."
I move through the space, cataloging exits and blind spots from habit. The place reeks of money—gleaming machines arranged in perfect rows, polished hardwood floors, walls of mirrors reflecting the dawn light filtering through high windows.
The locker room sits right where Melania described it—a private entrance for elite members who can't bear to change with the common folk. Perfect for our needs.
I shed my jacket, revealing the fitted black T-shirt beneath. The wire pokes my skin but I resist the urge to adjust it. Instead I move to a bench press and load plates onto the bar. Might as well look the part while I wait.
The weight feels good as I push through a set, muscles burning with familiar strain. I keep my eyes on the door, counting reps while tracking the minutes. If Melania's intel is correct, he'll walk through that door in exactly twelve minutes.
The microphone at my chest catches my controlled breathing, transmitting it to Noah and Matteo waiting outside.
I finish another set and sit up, wiping sweat from my brow. Leonardo Lombardi. Antonio's golden boy and heir apparent. The man Melania believes still has a conscience despite years of his father's grooming.
I'm not convinced. Men like us—raised in this life—we learn to compartmentalize. To separate the blood on our hands from the love in our hearts. Leonardo might love his sister but that doesn't mean he'll betray his father.
The sound of the door opening pulls me from my thoughts. Leonardo is punctual—military school discipline that never quite left him.
I don't look up immediately, continuing my reps with measured movements.
I watch Leonardo freeze mid-step when he spots me. Recognition flashes across his face—first confusion, then white-hot rage. His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Good morning, Leonardo," I say, keeping my voice casual as I set the weights back on the rack.
He's across the room in four strides, moving with the panther grace of someone who knows how to fight. His designer workout clothes don't disguise his coiled strength. Not the soft, pampered heir some might expect—this is a man who's been trained to kill.
"You fucking piece of shit," he snarls, already dropping into a fighting stance.
I stay seated on the bench, making no move toward the gun holstered at my back. If I draw now this conversation ends before it begins.
"I'm here on behalf of Melania," I say, the name cutting through his rage like a blade.
Leonardo freezes, fist pulled back and ready to connect with my jaw. Something shifts in his eyes—the fury doesn't disappear but it's tempered by something else. Concern. Fear.
"What did you say?"
"Your sister. She's alive and safe." I maintain eye contact, letting him search my face for lies. "She asked me to speak with you."
The stiffness in his shoulders doesn't ease but his fist lowers slightly. "If you've hurt her?—"
"I haven't." I cut him off. "She's under my protection."
"What the fuck does that mean—your protection?" Leonardo spits, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I rise from the bench, tired of looking up at him. The movement puts us eye to eye, sizing each other up like wolves from rival packs.
"It means exactly what I said." I keep my voice low, aware of the wire against my skin. "And I don't have the entire day to spend explaining it to you."
Leonardo's eyes narrow, that calculating Lombardi intelligence firing up behind them. He's looking for traps, for angles—for the lie. "Where is she?"
"Safe. And away from your father and that piece of shit Raymond." I watch his reaction carefully. "Melania wants to talk to you. I'm here to make sure she can do that without anyone else hearing."
His jaw works back and forth, grinding teeth. The mention of Raymond triggers something—a flash of disgust he can't quite hide.
"Why should I trust you? You're Damiano Feretti's dog."
The insult slides off me. I've been called worse.
"You shouldn't trust me," I answer honestly. "But you should trust your sister."
I reach into my pocket slowly, telegraphing the movement to avoid startling him. His body tenses anyway, ready to strike. I pull out a burner phone.
"She's waiting for your call."
Leonardo stares at the phone like it might bite him. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"You don't. But ask yourself this—if I wanted you dead, would we be having this conversation?"
His eyes flick to the empty gym, the silence around us. He knows I'm right. If this were a hit, he'd already be bleeding out on the polished floor.
Leonardo takes the phone, his fingers brushing mine with reluctance. "If anything happens to her?—"
"You'll kill me. Get in line." I step back, giving him space.
Leonardo stares at the phone, hesitation written in every line of his body. His thumb hovers over the screen, not quite committing.
"I need to see her," he says finally, eyes hard with distrust. "Not just hear her voice."
This wasn't part of the plan but I understand his caution. In our world voice recordings can be easily faked.
"Fine." I take the phone back.
Leonardo watches me like a hawk, tracking every movement of my fingers.
The line connects after two rings. "Report." Damiano's voice comes through, crisp and authoritative.
"Change of plans," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Leonardo wants visual confirmation."
There's a brief pause. I can picture Damiano's face—the slight narrowing of his eyes as he recalculates.
But it's Melania's voice that answers, surprising me. "Alessio? Is everything okay?"
My chest tightens at the sound of her voice. I fight to keep my expression neutral with Leonardo's eyes boring into me.
"Your brother wants FaceTime," I explain. "He needs to see you."
"Put it on speaker," Leonardo demands, stepping closer. I comply, holding the phone between us.
"Leo?" Melania's voice fills the space between us and I watch a crack appear in Leonardo's carefully controlled expression.
"Mel." Just one syllable but it carries a weight of relief. "I need to see you. Now."
"Of course," she says immediately.
Seconds later, the phone vibrates with an incoming video call.
I answer and hold it up, angling the screen toward Leonardo while keeping myself partially out of frame.
Melania's face appears and the change in Leonardo is immediate. His shoulders drop and the murderous strain leaks out of him as he takes in his sister's appearance.
"Thank God," he breathes, reaching for the phone. I let him take it, stepping back to give him the illusion of privacy while still monitoring every word.
"Leo." Melania's smile is watery but genuine. "I'm okay, I promise."
"Where are you? What happened?" The questions tumble out of him, his composure cracking further with each one.
"It's... complicated," she says. "But I'm safe. Safer than I was with Papa and Raymond."
Leonardo's eyes flick to me, then back to the screen. "You trust him?" He doesn't need to specify who he means.
Melania's answer comes without hesitation. "Yes. With my life."