Chapter 4
T he walls of the panic room press in around me, a stark reminder of the violence we escaped. Two hours trapped in this box, and every minute stretches like an eternity. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, ignoring how the fabric of my dress bunches uncomfortably beneath it.
I watch Daniel standing rigid by the door, exactly as he has since we got here. His broad shoulders block most of the entrance, like he expects someone to burst through at any moment. The gun never leaves his hand.
"They'll be okay," I say, more to convince myself than anything. "Damiano and Enzo, they'll handle it. And Zoe and Sienna—they have protection too."
Daniel nods once, eyes still fixed on the door. "Your brothers know what they're doing."
I focus on steadying my breathing, fighting against the panic that threatens to rise again. I won't fall apart. Not now. Not in front of him. Not again.
My gaze drifts around our prison. The small cot with its thin mattress, the basic supplies, the first aid kit Daniel used to clean my cut. Everything practical, nothing comfortable.
Just like the man standing guard.
"You've been standing this entire time," I point out. "You can sit down. The bed is right there."
His posture doesn't change. "I'm fine."
"You don't have to stay by the door. It's jammed shut, remember?" I try for a light tone, but it falls flat in the heavy air between us.
"Protocol," he answers, that single word shutting down any argument.
I sigh, studying him while he pretends not to notice. Daniel Hayes, a wall of muscle and discipline who's shadowed me for months yet remains a complete mystery. His face reveals nothing. Not fatigue, not worry, not fear. Just the same intense focus he always carries.
He's been my security detail since... since my life changed. Watching, protecting, always there but never really present. I know nothing about him beyond his name and his job.
"At least take a break," I try again. "There's plenty of room."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I'm good where I am."
The unspoken message is clear—he doesn't want to be near me. I shouldn't care. He's staff, not a friend. But after months of his constant presence, his deliberate distance stings in ways I hadn't expected.
"Do you ever get tired of standing guard?"
For a moment, I think he won't answer. Then he glances at me, his expression softening slightly.
"It's my job."
"That's not what I asked."
His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the door. "No. I don't get tired of it."
It's the longest exchange we've had in weeks. Usually, our interactions consist of him telling me where we're going and me nodding in response. Sometimes I forget he has a voice beyond clipped instructions and security updates.
I've tried to read him before. To understand what goes on behind those steady eyes. But Daniel Hayes might as well be carved from the same concrete as these walls. I've never met anyone harder to figure out.
"How much longer do you think we'll be here?" I ask, needing to fill the silence.
Before Daniel could answer, a shrill ring cuts through the tension. He moves swiftly to the wall where an old-fashioned phone is mounted.
Daniel snatches the receiver, his posture instantly changing. "Hayes." His voice is clipped, professional. "Yes, sir." A pause. "Understood. She's unharmed except for a minor facial laceration." Another pause. "Door mechanism damaged in the firefight. We're secure but locked in."
I sit up straighter, heart racing. It has to be one of my brothers.
"Understood, sir." Daniel glances at me. "She's right here." He extends the phone toward me. "Your brother."
I practically leap from the cot, taking the receiver with trembling fingers. "Damiano?"
"Lucrezia." His voice washes over me like a wave of relief. My oldest brother, always in control. "You're safe?"
"Yes. Daniel got me to the panic room." I press the phone tighter to my ear. "What happened? Is everyone okay? Enzo? Sienna? Zoe?"
"Everything is under control now."
"What does that mean? Are they okay?" My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. "Damiano, tell me."
"Everyone is fine, Lucrezia. That's all you need to know right now."
I grip the phone harder. "That's not good enough. I was there when the shooting started. I deserve to know what happened."
"What you deserve is to stay safe," he counters, his tone softening slightly. "And you are. Hayes is with you."
"Damiano—"
"The situation is contained," he interrupts. "I'm handling it."
That's Damiano-speak for 'I've killed whoever needed killing and I'm cleaning up the mess.' I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted.
"When can we get out of here?" I ask instead.
"Hayes says the door is damaged."
"Yes, he had to shoot someone. The bullet hit something in the locking mechanism."
Damiano sighs. "We'll have someone work on it from the outside. It might take a few hours."
"Hours?" I glance at Daniel, who stands at attention a few feet away, pretending he can't hear every word. "We've already been in here for two hours."
"I know, sorellina." The old nickname slips out, a rare show of affection. "But you're safe there. That's what matters."
"At least tell me who attacked us," I press.
"Lucrezia." His voice hardens. "Everything you need to know is that everyone is fine. The rest isn't your concern."
I bite back the angry retort threatening to escape. It's pointless arguing with Damiano when he takes this tone.
"Fine," I say. "Just... get us out of here as soon as possible."
"We will." His voice softens again. "Stay with Hayes. Do what he says."
"I'm not a child, Damiano."
"No, but you're my sister." There's steel in his voice.
"Give me Hayes back," Damiano says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I roll my eyes and hold the phone out to Daniel. "He wants to talk to you."
Daniel takes the receiver, his face returning to that unreadable mask. "Yes, sir." Pause. "Understood." Another pause. "We'll be fine, sir." He hangs up.
I sink back onto the cot, shaking my head with a bitter smile.
Hilarious, really. I was born and raised in one of New York's most powerful crime families, but apparently I don't need to know anything beyond what they decide to tell me.
I've sat at the dinner table while they discussed "business" in coded language since I was old enough to hold a fork.
I've watched people disappear after crossing my family.
I've seen the blood on my brothers' hands—literal and figurative.
But God forbid they actually tell me what's happening. I'm just the fragile little sister who needs protection.
"They're going to put Melania to work on the clock," Daniel says, breaking into my thoughts.
"Melania?" I look up at him in surprise, both at the information and the fact that he volunteered it without me asking.
He nods once. "To bypass the damaged lock mechanism. She has the technical expertise."
I process this, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything. Melania Lombardi. Computer genius extraordinaire and Alessio's girlfriend.
"That's smart," I say. "If anyone can hack that door system, it's Melania."
Alessio brought her into our world some months ago. She was meant to be temporary. A job for him to handle. Instead, she became permanent. I've never seen Alessio look at anyone the way he looks at her. Like she hung the moon and stars just for him.
He's like another brother to me. Has been since I was little. The way he dotes on Melania, protects her while still respecting her brilliant mind, it's beautiful to watch. It gives me hope that maybe there's still room for love in our violent world.
"She's good with systems," I tell Daniel, though he probably already knows. "Computers, security, anything digital—she can crack it. She helped upgrade half the security protocols at the compound."
Daniel raises an eyebrow slightly—the most expression I've seen from him all night.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." He shifts his weight. "Just surprised she has that level of access to family security."
I shrug. "Alessio trusts her. That's enough for us."
And it is. In our world, trust is rarer than diamonds and twice as valuable. If Alessio trusts her with his heart and our security, then she's family now. Simple as that.
I keep my eyes trained on the door, my back rigid with tension. I could do it for days without complaint. But being locked in this room with Lucrezia Feretti makes every minute feel like an hour.
She sits on the cot, frustration evident in the set of her shoulders.
The cut on her cheek has stopped bleeding, but the dried blood stands stark against her pale skin.
I should offer her another wet towel to clean it properly, but that would mean getting closer.
Touching her. Better to keep my distance.
"Do you know who attacked us?"
Her question hangs in the air between us. I consider ignoring it. Security protocol dictates information control, especially when details aren't confirmed. But when I glance at her, those brown eyes are fixed on me, wide and demanding answers.
I shift my weight, keeping my gun hand free. "Not my place to speculate."
"That's not an answer." She crosses her arms. "I just had a bullet nearly take my head off. I think I deserve to know who wanted me dead."
"Your brother will brief you when appropriate."
She scoffs, the sound sharp in the concrete room. "My brother treats me like I'm made of glass. You saw what happened out there. I'm already involved."
I return my gaze to the door, focusing on the responsibility of keeping her safe rather than the way her voice makes something twist in my chest.
"Please, Daniel." Her voice softens. "I need to know."
My name on her lips breaks something in me. I make the mistake of looking at her again. Those eyes.
Goddamn those eyes.
"Russians," I say finally, the word clipped. "Probably."
She looks at the door now, her expression changing. "You're sure?"