Chapter 13
Lucrezia.
The memory of yesterday comes instantly to mind. Her face so close to mine in the car. The way she'd leaned in, her fingers clutching my lapel. How badly I'd wanted to close that final inch between us.
Fuck.
The guest room they've given me in the east wing of the Feretti mansion is comfortable but impersonal—king bed, expensive sheets, tasteful art on the walls.
Nothing of me in it except the gun, my laptop, and a duffel bag of clothes.
My real apartment across town has been collecting dust since I took on Lucrezia's security detail full-time.
I stand, stretching carefully to avoid pulling at my wound.
Noah and Matteo have been rotating shifts these days with me so I can get some sleep, but it never feels like enough.
Not with Russians gunning for the family.
I usually have my men replace me for some hours but with all this shit going on, we can't truly trust anyone else.
The bathroom mirror shows dark circles under my eyes. I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away thoughts of her. It doesn't work. Nothing works.
I dress quickly. Black tactical pants, black t-shirt, shoulder holster. The routine is automatic after years in the Rangers and then with the Ferettis. My body moves while my mind circles back to that moment in the car.
I check my weapon, the familiar weight of it grounding me. What could I have said when she asked me why I care?
I couldn't say any of what is true. So I'd said nothing. And somehow, that silence had pulled her closer.
If Hazel hadn't knocked on that window...
A sharp knock on my door interrupts the thought. I holster my weapon and open it to find Noah, looking as tired as I feel.
"Morning, Daniel," he says, handing me a coffee. "Thought you might need this."
I take it with a nod of thanks. "Anything happen overnight?"
"All quiet. Matteo's still on patrol." Noah leans against the doorframe. "How's the arm?"
"Fine." The standard answer for any injury that hasn't killed me yet.
Noah studies me for a moment too long. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"Seriously, man. When's the last time you took a day off? You've been here 24/7 since the casino attack."
I take a long sip of coffee instead of answering. The truth is, I can't leave.
"Any word on the leak?" I ask, keeping my voice low even though we're alone.
Noah's expression darkens. He steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him.
"Nothing yet. Alessio and Enzo are pushing their men hard, but we've got jack shit for leads." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "Everyone's on edge. You can feel it in the air."
"What about the Russians? We moving on them?"
Noah shakes his head. "Damiano's put everything on hold. Says if we've got a leak, the Russians already know how we operate. They'd be waiting for us."
I nod. It's the right call, even if it feels like we're sitting ducks.
"We need time to regroup," Noah continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "But first priority is finding the rat. Damiano wants the leak plugged before we make any moves."
"Smart." I take another sip of coffee, the caffeine finally starting to clear the fog in my brain. "Who's on the suspect list?"
"That's the thing. Could be anyone who knew about the attack plans. That's at least fifteen people, not counting support staff who might have overheard something."
"What about the casino situation?" I ask. "The Gaming Commission's deadline is coming up fast."
Noah's expression tells me everything before he speaks. "Still fucked. And with the Sartori marriage proposal on the table..." He trails off, studying my face.
I keep my expression neutral, but something must show because Noah raises an eyebrow.
"Heard Lucrezia agreed to it," he says carefully. "At the funeral."
My jaw tightens. "Not my business."
"Right." Noah doesn't push, but his eyes say he knows better. "Anyway, Damiano wants everyone on high alert. Double check everything, trust no one outside the inner circle."
"Copy that."
Noah finishes his coffee and crushes the cup in his hand. "I'm gonna grab some sleep. Matteo's on until eight, then you're up."
"I'll be ready."
He pauses at the door. "Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch yourself. Not just with the Russians." His eyes meet mine, and I know exactly what he means.
I give him a nod, and he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
The soft knock on my bedroom door barely registers through my sleep. I burrow deeper into my pillows, clinging to the last threads of sleep where I don't have to remember yesterday's funeral or my promise to marry Bruno Sartori.
"Signorina Lucrezia." Ginerva's voice is gentle but persistent as she opens the door. "Time to wake up, cara mia."
I groan and pull the duvet over my head. "Five more minutes."
The mattress dips as Ginerva sits beside me, her hand finding my shoulder through the layers of bedding. "Come now, piccola. The sun is already up, and so should you be."
I peek out from my cocoon to find Ginerva's kind face watching me, her gray hair pulled back in its usual perfect bun. She's been with our family since before I was born, the closest thing to a mother I've ever known after losing my own when I was barely two years old.
"There she is," Ginerva says, her weathered hand reaching to brush hair from my face. Her touch is gentle, familiar—the same hands that bandaged my scraped knees and wiped away childhood tears.
"What time is it?" I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
"Nearly nine. I've let you sleep as long as I can." The worry lines around her eyes deepen. "How are you feeling today, tesoro?"
"I'm fine," I lie, sitting up against my headboard.
Ginerva gives me her look. The one that says she's known me too long to believe such nonsense. In front of others, she maintains the proper distance of a housekeeper, but here in the privacy of my bedroom, she's always been more. Family in every way that matters.
"Damiano is waiting for you in the kitchen," she says, smoothing my duvet with practiced hands. "He says you need to talk."
My stomach tightens. I know exactly what Damiano wants to discuss. My impulsive offer at the funeral to marry Bruno.
"Did he seem angry?" I ask.
Ginerva shakes her head. "Not angry. Worried, perhaps." She takes my hand in hers, her palm warm against mine. "Whatever you've decided, bambina, remember that your happiness matters too."
I squeeze her hand, grateful for her unwavering support. "I know what I'm doing, Ginerva."
She studies my face for a moment, then nods, though doubt lingers in her eyes. "If you say so."
"Tell Damiano I'll be down soon," I say, throwing back the covers. "But only if Ettore makes his special breakfast."
A smile breaks across Ginerva's face, softening the worry lines. "The cinnamon ricotta pancakes with fresh berries?"
"And extra maple syrup," I add. "If I have to face an interrogation from my brother, I at least deserve comfort food."
Ginerva chuckles, patting my cheek affectionately. "I'll tell him. And Ettore will be delighted. He worries you don't eat enough."
She stands, straightening her uniform with a quick tug. "Fifteen minutes, yes? Before your brother comes looking for you himself."
"Twenty," I bargain, earning another smile.
At the door, Ginerva pauses, her professional mask slipping for a moment. "Whatever happens, Lucrezia, remember you are strong. Stronger than you know." The rare use of my full name underscores her seriousness.
"I learned from the best," I tell her softly.
She nods once, composure returning as she steps back into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
I drag myself out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. I shuffle to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.
After using the toilet, I brush my teeth and run a comb through my tangled hair, not bothering with makeup.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a soft oversized sweater that falls off one shoulder. Comfort clothes. Armor for difficult conversations with my brother.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and head for my bedroom door. My hand closes around the doorknob, and I pull it open.
Daniel stands there, ramrod straight in his dark suit, vigilant as always. His presence startles me even though I should expect it by now.
I freeze, memories of yesterday flooding back.
"Good morning," I say, my voice coming out huskier than intended.
Daniel's gaze locks with mine, then drops briefly to my lips before snapping back up. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible, but it sends a flutter through my stomach.
"Good morning," he replies, his deep voice carefully neutral despite the tension crackling between us.
We stand there for a moment, neither moving, the air thick with everything unsaid.
I clear my throat, breaking the charged silence between us. "Damiano's waiting for me in the kitchen."
Daniel nods once, his face slipping back into professional neutrality. "Yes, ma'am."
The formality stings, a reminder of the boundaries between us.
The kitchen smells of cinnamon and coffee when I enter. Damiano sits at the island counter, a steaming mug between his hands. He looks up as I approach, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he's had little sleep.
"Good morning," he says.
I slide onto the stool across from him. "Morning."
Damiano's gaze shifts to Daniel, who has positioned himself near the doorway. "Hayes, give us a few minutes."
Daniel's eyes meet mine briefly before he nods. "Yes, sir." He steps out, pulling the door closed behind him.
The moment he's gone, Ettore bustles over from the stove, a plate of golden pancakes in hand. They're stacked high, drizzled with maple syrup and topped with fresh berries.
"Your favorite, signorina," Ettore says, placing the plate before me with a flourish. "Extra syrup, just as you like."
The familiar comfort food brings an unexpected lump to my throat. "Thank you, Ettore."
The cook beams at me, then glances between Damiano and me. Understanding the need for privacy, he wipes his hands on his apron. "I'll just check on the garden herbs," he says, making his excuse to leave.
When the door closes behind Ettore, silence falls between my brother and me. I pick up my fork, cutting into the soft pancakes more to have something to do with my hands than from actual hunger.
Damiano watches me, his fingers tapping against his coffee mug. The kitchen feels suddenly too quiet, the only sounds are the gentle clink of my fork against the plate and the distant hum of the refrigerator.
I take a bite of pancake, the sweetness of maple and the tang of berries flooding my mouth. Despite everything, I can't help but close my eyes briefly at the familiar comfort of Ettore's cooking.
When I open them again, Damiano is still watching me, his expression unreadable.
"About what you said at the funeral," Damiano finally says, his voice quiet but firm. "Are you sure about this marriage, Lucrezia?"
I set my fork down, the metal clinking against fine china. "To be honest? No."
His eyebrows lift slightly, waiting for me to continue.
"I always thought..." I pause, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "I always believed I'd have this huge wedding someday. That I'd be walking down the aisle toward someone I was madly in love with. Someone who made me feel safe and happy."
Damiano's expression softens, the hard lines of his face melting into something more vulnerable. It's rare to see him this way. My oldest brother, the fearsome Don Feretti, looking at me with such naked concern.
"You can still say no," he says, reaching across the island to cover my hand with his. "We'll find another way."
We both know he's lying.
"But we need this arrangement," I say, voicing what we're both thinking.
Damiano doesn't deny it. His silence is confirmation enough.
I push my plate away, appetite gone. "I'll do it."
"Lucrezia—"
"No, it's okay." I force a smile that feels brittle on my face. "Who knows? Bruno surely doesn't want this marriage either. It can be just on paper."
Damiano studies me, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I keep my voice steady. "Call Riccardo. Tell him I accept."
My brother holds my gaze for a long moment before nodding. He pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. "Once I make this call..."
"I know what it means," I say. "Make the call."
Damiano dials, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for Riccardo to answer. The kitchen feels suddenly airless, the ticking of the wall clock unnaturally loud.
"Riccardo," Damiano says, his voice shifting into the cool, controlled tone he uses for business. "About your brother's proposal. We agree."
I can't hear Riccardo's response, but Damiano's jaw tightens slightly.
"Yes, tonight would work. Eight o'clock." He pauses, listening. "We can discuss the details then."
He ends the call, setting his phone on the counter with deliberate care.
"Dinner tonight here," he says. "Eight o'clock. The Sartoris want to discuss how we'll proceed."
I nod, my fingers fidgeting with my napkin. "Who else is coming?"
"Riccardo, Ava, and Bruno." Damiano hesitates. "You don't have to do this, Lucrezia. Even now, you can change your mind."
"No," I say, straightening my shoulders. "I've made my decision. The family comes first. It always has."
Damiano reaches across the island again, this time taking both my hands in his. "I never wanted this for you. After what happened..." He trails off, unable to speak of that night even now.
"I know," I whisper. "But this is different. This is my choice."
My brother squeezes my hands once before letting go. "I'll have Daniel drive you to the restaurant tonight."
The mention of Daniel sends an unwelcome flutter through my chest. I push the feeling away, locking it in the same box where I've stored all my dreams of love and happiness.
"Fine," I say, standing up from the stool.