Chapter 2
GAbrIELLA
I didn’t used to be like this.
Oh, sure, I’ve always been headstrong and determined, but I wasn’t a bitch.
I’ve always gone through life with the glass half full. Always seizing the day and doing it with joy and laughter.
People used to tell me my laugh could brighten a room. Dad always said I got my mother's sunshine.
Even through law school, when everyone else cracked under pressure, I maintained my optimism, my joy for life.
Now look at me. Suspicious, angry, constantly on edge.
All because I overheard Marco talking to Roman about taking over my father’s territory nearly a year ago.
Those words changed everything.
One minute, I was falling for this stern, serious man who somehow softened when we were alone, and the next, I realized I was just a pawn in his game to get to my father.
Marco changed me, and I hate him for it.
I stand my ground, heat rising to my cheeks as Marco threatens to have me removed like I'm some unwanted stray that wandered in off the street.
The audacity of this man!
"You don't intimidate me, Marco." My voice doesn't quaver, though inside I'm a storm of fury.
I know I’m playing with fire.
It’s quite possible that Marco will request I be punished for such disrespect.
But my father is being betrayed and I can’t let that happen.
His man approaches, and I shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. Even Marco's goons know better than to manhandle Don Antonio Monti's daughter.
I glance at Dad, who looks uncomfortable with this confrontation.
The flashes of confusion in his eyes only strengthen my resolve.
He needs me, whether he admits it or not, whether La Corona can accept it or not.
My father steps toward me. “You’re not helping, mia cara.”
I see pleading for me to drop my effort to stay in my father’s eyes. Only because it’s him do I decide to concede.
"I'll wait in the living room.” I glare at Marco. "But this isn't over."
"This way, Miss Monti. I’ll show you to the living room.”
I take a deep breath as Marco's guy extends his hand toward the double doors into the meeting area in Marco’s home.
"Perhaps Miss Monti would prefer the library," Marco calls out. "She always did enjoy private spaces."
I freeze mid-step as the memory blasts back into my mind completely unwanted.
Marco pressing me against his bookshelves, his hands tangled in my hair, books tumbling around us as we lost ourselves in each other.
The library was where it started, where I first gave in to the attraction, and surprisingly, he did too.
I turn slowly, meeting his dark gaze across the distance.
His face remains impassive, but I catch that slight curl at the corner of his mouth. He thinks he's clever.
"The living room is fine," I reply, my voice honey-sweet with poison underneath. "I've outgrown my taste for dusty old things that promise more than they deliver."
The flash in his eyes tells me my barb hit its mark. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what I've felt this past year.
"Though I appreciate your concern for my comfort," I add, because why not? "It's the first you've shown in quite some time."
I turn away before he can respond, continuing toward the living room with my head high, even though inside I feel like a tornado is wreaking havoc.
I refuse to let him see how he still affects me.
I sit rigidly on Marco's expensive leather sofa, my leg bouncing with nervous energy.
The living room is bare of any holiday decor despite Christmas being around the corner.
Last year, the room was decked out, but I suppose that is because he was hosting the holidays for La Corona.
Ten minutes pass. I rise and move about the room looking for something to entertain me while I pass the time.
Twenty more minutes go by. Then thirty.
I strain to hear anything from the meeting room, but no voices carry through to the living room.
What are they discussing? What decisions are they making about my father's territory? About our family's future?
God, if only Luca would come home since La Corona only listens to people with dicks.
But like my father, he seems unconcerned.
Why am I the only one who cares about preserving our family business? Our legacy?
"This is ridiculous," I mutter. I move to the door.
The guard by the door straightens. "Something wrong, Miss Monti?"
"I need to use the restroom," I lie, another skill I’ve mastered over the last year.
He hesitates. "I can show you to the powder room."
"I know where it is," I say, already in the hall. "Unless you plan to follow me there too?"
His cheeks redden. "Of course not, Miss. Just… please return directly afterward."
I give him a sweet smile. "Naturally."
Once in the hallway, I head toward the bathroom, but as soon as I'm out of the guard’s sight, I change direction.
Marco's office is just across the hall.
Heart pounding, I check over my shoulder as I open the door and quickly slip inside, shutting it behind me.
The meeting will last at least another hour.
Plenty of time to search Marco's office for any evidence of what he's planning for my father's territory.
I’m surprised to find an icing laden cookie covered in sprinkles on his desk.
I assume it’s something Roman’s daughter made.
I’m sure Marco doesn’t appreciate the gesture from the child or Roman. I can’t believe I was falling for a man like that.
My hands shake as I rifle through the papers on Marco's immaculate desk. This is beyond dangerous.
These men have killed for less than what I’m doing now.
Everything is organized as if Martha Steward herself came in with her label maker and files.
It's infuriating how methodical he is, how controlled, while my life has been chaos since I walked away from him.
"Come on, come on," I mutter, scanning documents for anything about my father's territory.
I should've pressed Luca harder to come home. My brother's loyalty to the family business in Italy is admirable, but his place is here now, helping Dad.
The few times we've spoken about Dad's issues, Luca's dismissed my concerns. "He's just getting older, Gabriella. Everyone gets a little forgetful as they age. Stop worrying so much."
But my father isn’t just forgetting little things. He’s forgetting big things.
He’s more often confused and struggles to find the right words.
My father needs protection from his own declining faculties and from vultures like Marco.
For all I know, Dom and Leo are a part of it as well.
And right now, they’re in a meeting probably confusing my father, manipulating him to hand over power.
I pull open the middle drawer, finding a folder marked Monti Holdings—Quarterly Reports.
My breath catches. I knew it!
Anger burns in my chest.
Flipping through the pages, I see profit margins declining, security incidents at three of our warehouses, and shipment losses at the docks.
All within the last six months.
All in my father's territory.
A separate document catches my eye. It’s a map of our territory with red circles around vulnerable locations.
Warehouses, clubs, distribution centers.
Next to each circle are notes in Marco's precise handwriting.
Security inadequate, Management issues, Requires intervention.
Intervention. Is that what he calls it?
The puzzle pieces click together in my mind.
The security breaches, the lost shipments, Dad's increasingly erratic decisions.
Marco's been orchestrating this.
Creating problems, exposing weaknesses, preparing to swoop in and take over when Dad can no longer maintain control.
And Luca's thousands of miles away, leaving us exposed because these male chauvinists won’t let me into their club.
I take out my phone and snap photos of everything. Evidence. Proof that Marco Calabresi is the snake I've suspected him to be.
I feel sick that I once trusted him. That I let him touch me. How I nearly fell in—
No. I won't go there. That was a mistake. I’d misread who Marco was.
I’d thought he was a man who hid his true nature because of a traumatic childhood.
I learned in reality, he is a man without a soul.
I slip the map back into the folder, feeling vindicated.
There have been times I thought I was being paranoid, but here's the proof.
Marco's been systematically undermining my father's operations.
Planning, calculating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The betrayal burns since I know my father helped Marco when he was thrust into the role of Don at a young age.
This is how he repays him. Asshole!
I check his desk, needing to make sure everything is just as I found it.
The door clicks open.
My heart stops mid-beat.
"Find what you're looking for, Gabriella?" Marco stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, his expression unreadable. The air between us charges with tension so thick I can barely breathe.
I straighten my spine, refusing to cower. "Actually, yes. Quite the operation you've been running. Monitoring my father's territory, documenting weaknesses, planning your takeover."
His eyes darken as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him.
Fear trickles down my spine.
Will he kill me here and now?
Where’s my father? Will he intervene?
Will the other Dons?
It’s well known they don’t kill women, but I’ve accused a Don of betraying other Dons and have now gone through his desk.
"You have no idea what you're talking about." His voice is dangerously quiet as he approaches the desk.
I hold my ground even as my pulse races. "Don't I?”
“If you think I’m trying to take over your father’s territory, you don’t.”
“You’re such a liar.” If I’m going to die, I’m going to at least go out telling him everything I know and what I think of him. “I heard you last year discussing it with Roman.”
Marco stops, mere feet away now.
Close enough that I catch the familiar scent of his cologne.
It triggers sensations, memories of his touch, his taste.
“I don’t know what you heard, but you're trespassing in my private office, going through confidential documents." His gaze drops to my phone. "And taking photographs."
I clutch my phone tighter. "I'm protecting my family."
His hand shoots out, lightning-fast, closing around my wrist. Not painfully, but with enough pressure that I can't pull away.
"Give me the phone, Gabriella."
I study him, looking for the man I fell for last year.
But then I remember he was a figment of my imagination.
In reality, Marco is a cold, calculated man and a killer.
I’m certain I’m his next victim.