Chapter 9
I wake up on the studio couch, my neck stiff and my clothes stained with paint. The memories of last night flood back. I drag myself to my room and shower, watching crimson and black swirl down the drain.
After changing into another pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, I head downstairs.
"Ettore?" I call out as I enter the kitchen. The familiar scent of fresh bread and coffee fills the air.
Our family cook appears from the pantry, his face lighting up. "Signorina Lucrezia! You're up early."
"Can you make some spritz? Scarlett's coming home today, and we're celebrating in the gallery."
Ettore's blue eyes twinkle. "Ah! The fiery one returns from Europe! Of course, of course." He bustles around, gathering bottles of Aperol, prosecco, and soda water. "I will make my special recipe. The one your friend loves so much."
"You're the best, Ettore." I manage a small smile.
"For you, anything." He winks. "How many glasses?"
"Three. Zoe's joining us."
I smile as Ettore bustles around the kitchen, his enthusiasm for Scarlett's return almost matching my own. I've missed her terribly.
Scarlett is technically Zoe's best friend, but over the past two years, she's become one of the few people outside my family I truly trust. After what those men took something I can never get back, Scarlett was there alongside Zoe, sitting with me through the nightmares and panic attacks.
I trace my finger along the marble countertop, remembering how Scarlett would show up at random hours with ice cream, never pushing me to talk but always ready to listen when I did.
Unlike others who treated me like I might shatter, she'd make inappropriate jokes that somehow made me laugh when I thought I'd forgotten how.
"Will you need anything else, signorina?" Ettore asks, interrupting my thoughts.
"No, that's perfect. Thank you."
While most people in my life walk on eggshells around me, Scarlett calls me on my bullshit.
She was the first person who didn't look at me with pity.
Instead, she looked at me with understanding and a fierce protectiveness that reminded me of my brothers, but without the suffocating guilt they carry.
I check my phone and see a text from her: Landed! Grabbing my bags now. Can't wait to see you and tell you about the hot Italian men I've met.
I smile at her message. That's Scarlett. Always trying to make me laugh, even when she's exhausted from a transatlantic flight.
An hour later, the doorbell rings. I rush to answer it before anyone else can.
"Lu!" Scarlett's vibrant red hair catches the sunlight as she throws her arms around me. "God, I've missed you!"
I hug her back, breathing in her familiar perfume. "Almost a year, Scar. Too long."
She pulls back, studying my face with those perceptive blue eyes. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," I lie automatically.
Scarlett raises an eyebrow but doesn't push. That's what I love about her—she knows when to wait.
Zoe appears behind me. "Scarlett!" She joins our hug, completing our trio. "Life has been so boring without you."
We make our way to my gallery. Ettore has already delivered a tray with three vibrant orange spritz cocktails, garnished with orange slices.
"Ettore is a saint," Scarlett declares, taking her first sip. "I couldn't find a decent spritz anywhere in Paris."
I settle into the white couch, tucking my feet under me. "So, tell us everything. Your Instagram was like a European travel guide."
Scarlett launches into stories about midnight swims in Santorini, getting lost in Prague, and dancing until dawn in Berlin. Her hands move animatedly as she speaks, her face glowing with the freedom I once took for granted.
"And then there was Gabriel," she sighs dramatically.
Zoe leans forward. "The Italian guy? The one with the yacht?"
"That's the one." Scarlett takes a long sip of her spritz. "Gorgeous, rich, amazing in bed?—"
"But?" I prompt, knowing Scarlett's pattern.
"But boring as hell once I got to know him." She shrugs. "Three weeks in, all he could talk about was his investment portfolio and his mother's opinion on everything. So I dumped him in Monaco and took the train to Nice. His face when I walked away with my suitcase—priceless."
"That's what, the third guy this year?" Zoe teases.
"Fourth," Scarlett corrects, unashamed. "I'm not settling for anything less than spectacular."
I take a sip of my spritz, the bittersweet flavor matching my mood. "Smart."
Scarlett's eyes soften as she looks at me. "How are you really, Lu? And don't say 'fine.'"
I hesitate, glancing at Zoe, who nods encouragingly.
"It's been... complicated." I set my glass down. "The casino was attacked two nights ago. Russians."
Scarlett's playful demeanor vanishes. "Were you there? Are you okay?"
"I was there. Daniel got me to a safe room." I don't mention the panic attacks or the nightmares that followed. "But now there's this whole thing with the Sartoris trying to use it as leverage."
"Leverage how?" Scarlett's eyes narrow.
I look at Zoe again, who takes over explaining the marriage proposal and the casino license situation while I stare at the paintings on the wall—remnants of who I used to be.
"That's beyond fucked up," Scarlett declares when Zoe finishes. "They can't seriously expect you to marry that creep."
"Damiano said no," I say quietly. "But four hundred families depend on that casino."
Scarlett reaches for my hand. "Lu, listen to me. You are not responsible for saving everyone. Not at that cost."
Zoe sets her glass down with a gentle clink. "Scarlett, I love you very much, but there are things in this world you can't understand." Her voice is soft but firm. "These marriages aren't about love. They're about power and money."
Scarlett's eyes flash. "That's medieval thinking. Lucrezia deserves better."
I trace the rim of my glass, watching the orange liquid catch the light. "I don't want to marry someone I don't care for," I admit quietly. "But like Zoe said, it's not about that."
"It's about family obligations?" Scarlett's voice rises. "That's?—"
"It's about survival," I cut in. "The Feretti name comes with responsibilities."
"But after everything you've been through?—"
"Especially after everything," I whisper. The weight of four hundred families presses on my chest. "Sometimes we don't get to choose."
Scarlett opens her mouth to continue, her cheeks flushed with indignation on my behalf, when Zoe raises her hand.
"I think it's best we change the subject," Zoe says firmly. Her eyes meet mine with understanding. She knows what it means to be caught between duty and desire in this world.
Scarlett takes a deep breath, visibly restraining herself. After a moment, her expression softens glancing at both of us. "Fine. Tell me about our babies. These little monsters must be getting big."
The tension in the room dissolves as Zoe's face lights up. "They're incredible. Sofia's talking in full words now, and Michael is trying to stand." She pulls out her phone, scrolling through photos. "You'll see them before dinner."
"Does Sofia still have Damiano wrapped around her finger?"
"Completely," Zoe laughs. "You should see him when she says 'Papa.' The most dangerous man in New York turns to absolute mush."
I smile despite myself, grateful for the change in topic. The babies are the brightest spots in our complicated lives.
"And then Sofia tried to feed her peas to the dog," Zoe laughs, scrolling through more photos on her phone. "Damiano was horrified?—"
The sharp crack of gunfire cuts through her words.
We freeze. One second. Two seconds.
More shots follow, closer this time. Glass shatters somewhere in the mansion.
"The children," Zoe gasps, her face draining of color. She's on her feet before I can blink, phone forgotten on the couch.
Scarlett stands, eyes wide. "What's happening?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. Not again. Not here. Not in our home.
Men shout in the distance. Another burst of gunfire.
Zoe is already running. "I need to get to the nursery!"
I grab Scarlett's arm and drag her toward the walk-in closet at the back of the gallery. "Stay here," I order, pushing her inside among the art supplies and canvases.
"Lu, no?—"
"Lock it from inside. Don't come out until one of us gets you." I slam the door before she can argue.
My legs move before my brain can catch up. I'm running down the hallway, toward the sound of chaos instead of away from it. Every instinct screams at me to hide, to curl up somewhere dark and safe, but I can't. Not when my family might be in danger.
I sprint down the hallway toward the nursery, my heart pounding in my ears. The sound of gunfire grows louder with each step. My body remembers the casino attack, but I push through the fear. Zoe and the children need me.
I round the corner and slam into something solid—a chest. Strong hands grip my shoulders.
"Lucrezia!" Damiano's voice cuts through my panic. His face is hard, eyes scanning behind me. A gun hangs at his side.
Enzo appears beside him, weapon drawn, his expression murderous. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"
"I heard shots—Zoe went for the children—" My words tumble out.
Damiano's grip tightens. "The nursery is secure. Daniel's team has it covered."
Relief floods through me at the mention of Daniel's name. He's handling it. He's keeping everyone safe.
More gunfire erupts from the east wing. Damiano and Enzo exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"Get to your room and lock the door," Damiano orders, already moving past me. "Now, Lucrezia!"
I should listen. I should run and hide like they want me to. But my feet won't move. I stand frozen in the hallway, watching my brothers advance with their weapons raised.
The mansion feels foreign suddenly. This place that should be our sanctuary transformed into a battlefield. The elegant wallpaper, the marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, all of it seems obscene against the violence unfolding.
Shouting echoes from multiple directions. The security system wails. I hear glass breaking, heavy footsteps, more gunfire.
And then... nothing.
No shots. No shouts. Just the distant sound of the alarm and my own ragged breathing.
I don't know how long I stand there, unable to move forward or back. Time stretches and warps around me.
Footsteps approach from behind. I spin around, heart in my throat.
Alessio bursts through the doorway at the end of the hall, his white shirt splattered with blood. His face is a mask of cold fury I've rarely seen, even on him.
"Where are Damiano and Enzo?" he demands, barely slowing as he reaches me.
"They went that way," I point with a shaking hand. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"
Alessio's jaw tightens. "The Russians hit us where it hurts. They killed Fabio and Anthony."
My stomach drops. Fabio has been with us for fifteen years. Anthony just got engaged last month.
"How?" I whisper.
"Execution style. Left them displayed like fucking warnings." Alessio's voice is flat, controlled, but I can see the rage burning beneath. "They were off-duty, having dinner with their families."
"Where's Daniel?" I ask suddenly, looking around. He should be here. He's always here when there's trouble.
"What do you mean?" Alessio's brow furrows. "I haven't seen him."
My heart stutters. Daniel is always where the danger is. Always the first to respond, the last to retreat.
"But he should be?—"
Heavy footsteps interrupt me as Damiano and Enzo round the corner, weapons still drawn. Enzo's knuckles are bloody, his expression thunderous. Damiano's face is carved from stone, his eyes scanning the hallway with lethal precision.
"Clear?" Alessio asks.
Damiano nods once. "For now. Two got away. We have men in pursuit."
"How the fuck did they get past our security?" Enzo demands, holstering his weapon with barely controlled rage.
Before anyone can answer, the door at the end of the hallway bursts open. Daniel staggers through, one hand pressed against his left bicep. Blood seeps between his fingers, staining his shirt crimson. His face is pale but composed, jaw clenched against the pain.
My stomach drops at the sight of him wounded. "Daniel!"
Damiano whips around. "What the hell happened?"
"I was going to find Santiago when everything happened. Since Miss Lucrezia was not alone, I needed to inform them about our new rotation this week.
Daniel straightens, professional even while bleeding.
"Perimeter breach on the east side. They cut the power to the secondary alarm system before attacking. I took one down by the garage, but not before—" He gestures to his arm.
"How many?" Damiano demands.
"At least six. Coordinated attack." Daniel's eyes find mine briefly before returning to Damiano. "They knew exactly when to hit us."
Enzo curses, low and vicious. "We have a fucking snitch."
"We were planning to move against them tonight," Damiano says, his voice deadly quiet. "And they hit us in the middle of the day. They knew."
The implications hang heavy in the air. Someone close to us betrayed the family. Someone with access to our plans, our schedules, our security protocols.
I step closer to Daniel, unable to look away from the blood soaking his sleeve. "Are you okay?"
His eyes meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "I'm fine."
Enzo's gaze shifts between us, his expression suddenly calculating. The look he gives Daniel is loaded with meaning I can't decipher.
"You need medical attention," I say, ignoring my brother's scrutiny. "That's a lot of blood."
Daniel shakes his head. "It's just a graze."
"Bullshit," I snap, finding strength in concern. "You're bleeding all over my mother's antique rug."
A ghost of a smile touches Daniel's lips before vanishing. "Wouldn't want to ruin the decor."
"I'll get the first aid kit," I announce, already moving toward the stairs. No one stops me, though I feel Enzo's eyes following me.
As I hurry down the hallway, I hear Damiano's voice behind me, low and dangerous: "Find the leak. I want to know who sold us out before the day ends."
I quicken my pace, desperate to do something useful, something that doesn't involve thinking about traitors or Russians or the sight of Daniel's blood.