One
Knowing your worth means walking away even if you don’t want to.
Present day
“This is business, Gabriella,” he says, already sounding tired of me before I even say a word. “Don’t give me that look. You knew this day would come. Be happy you get to take your entourage. I know how you can’t leave home without them. It'll be good for all of you.”
He clicks his tongue at me, and something inside me snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. He might as well have patted me on the head and called me kiddo . My narrowed eyes turn into a full-on mug that would’ve made a lesser man fold. But Sammy? He just meets it.
His face shifts—hard Don slipping, softer brother trying to surface. That familiar mix of arrogance and affection in his eyes. I know that look. I used to fall for it.
But not today.
“It’s not working,” I say flatly, voice cold as stone.
The softness dies quick. His expression hardens, his jaw tightens, and his spine straightens. Don Barone steps back into the room, replacing Sammy in a blink. That weight in his gaze drops like a gavel. Judgment. Command. The reminder of who he is —and what I am expected to be.
To everyone else, my brother is La Morte .
The Death wrapped in a fine suit and a sharper reputation.
The man no one dares cross. But to me? He’s just Sammy.
My big brother. My protector. The one who used to carry me on his back when he needed to make me smile, punched my first boyfriend for making me cry, and tucked me in at night when our father was too busy.
But right now?
I’m not sitting across from my brother. I’m staring down my Don.
And I really, really don’t want to go.
Yeah, I’m a grown-ass woman, damn near forty, and I’m sitting here with my arms crossed and my bottom lip halfway between a pout and a snarl. Am I being dramatic? Possibly. Am I ashamed? Not for one second.
Because this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not today. Not this soon. Not ever, if I had my way.
I’m not ready—not for that place. Not for him .
Seventeen years. That’s how long it’s been since I walked away and slammed the door on that whole twisted chapter of my life. Seventeen years of keeping that pain locked away so deep, I almost convinced myself it didn’t still bleed.
And now Sammy wants me to walk right back into the fire like it didn’t nearly burn me alive last time.
Like the scars don’t still itch. Like I didn’t spend years building a fortress around those memories—layer by layer, steel and stone, silence and survival.
I did a damn good job keeping it all sealed.
I worked hard to become untouchable. Unreachable. Unshakable.
And now?
He wants me to crack it all open. Smile pretty and march into hell with my head high like I’m not terrified of who I’ll become if I do.
My gaze shifts around the room, trying to escape the pressure building in my chest. These four walls haven’t changed. It’s the same office where our father held court, where empire-shaping decisions were made between sips of espresso and loaded silence.
My eyes fall to the floor, and the rug catches my attention, and my mind fills with memories. Memories of being a little girl sprawled on that rug, sketching on paper while men talked in low, heavy voices around me. I knew better than to listen, but I did. I always did.
And now? I’d give anything to hear his voice again. Just once. To see those deep, assessing eyes turn toward me with approval. Or disappointment. Hell, I’d take either. Anything but this empty ache that’s been lodged in my chest since the day we buried him.
I blink against the burn at the back of my eyes and clench my fists in my lap.
Damn it, that still hurts.
We’ve done what we could since our father passed. Rebuilt. Rebalanced. Reclaimed power that vultures tried to swoop in and snatch while we grieved. It’s been bloody and brutal, but we survived.
Sammy took the throne earlier than expected, wearing it with more weight than he showed.
And me? I became his consigliere. The advisor.
The strategist. The woman behind the man behind the empire.
Not everyone liked that. Plenty of pricks in this business don’t believe a woman should have a seat at the table, let alone at the right hand of the Don.
But most respected my father’s decision.
And the ones who didn’t? Let’s say they learned fast what happens when you underestimate me.
The Barone name still commands power. Still inspires fear.
And we’ve worked too damn hard to let anyone threaten that.
But this contract… this old tie... It’s the one knot we’ve never untangled.
Luca’s handled it until now—quietly, efficiently.
He never complained, but I’ve always known the day would come when I’d have to pick it up.
Now with the expansion, the restructuring, the shifting alliances—it’s time.
It was always going to be me.
But that doesn’t mean I’m ready.
Not for him .
Not for what I left behind.
Not for the pieces of me I buried the second I walked away.
My family, the Barones, have ruled this territory for generations through blood, grit, strategy, and fear. And we’re not done. We’re building something bigger, stronger, and sharper. We’ve cleaned house, tightened our ranks, and reinforced the foundation my father laid in stone and sacrifice.
No one questions our place anymore. We made sure of that.
But this contract? This contract has been the thorn under our empire’s skin for the last ten years. Always lingering. Always waiting. A shadow at the edge of every deal, every meeting, every whispered warning.
Luca’s been handling it. Quietly. Efficiently. Like everything else he does. But now? His plate’s overflowing. He's stretched thin between the expansion on the East, bleeding out the Russians in the North, and trying to get a handle on all this new blood pushing for relevance.
And me? I’m next up.
I always knew it would come to me eventually. As consigliere, I’m the one who picks up what no one else can carry. I’m the closer, the cleaner, the calm storm at the center of our chaos. But just because I knew this day would come doesn’t mean I have to like it.
And I don’t .
I drag a hand through my curls, fingers shaking with restrained frustration. I've handled hits, negotiations, and full- on betrayals without breaking a sweat. But this? This one thing? I’ve ducked it like a coward for years. Made excuses. Took on extra responsibilities to avoid this exact moment.
And Sammy knows it.
He’s always known it.
“I know, Sammy,” I say, voice tight but steady. “I’ll do my job. You know I will.”
Because I always fucking do.
Seventeen years ago carved a hole in me that I didn’t know how to patch.
What I felt… what I lost ... it gutted me.
Back then, I lashed out at everything. Drank too much.
Slept too little. Burned through people like matches just to feel something again.
My father said cutting ties with him was necessary, that it was protection. That I’d thank him one day.
Sammy never said a word. But I could see the truth in his eyes—he disagreed. He just didn’t stop it.
I spiraled. Crashed. Tried to disappear. But my family wouldn’t let me. They pulled me out, inch by inch, bone by broken bone. They gave me a reason to stand again. And when I did? I stood harder. Meaner. Sharper.
Now they say I’m cold. Calculated. A ruthless bitch with a knife for a tongue and a smile you shouldn’t trust. Maybe they’re right.
But I survived. And I’m not broken anymore.
Sammy stands, moves around the desk, and plants himself on the edge in front of me.
Calm. Controlled. But I see the way his eyes flick toward Luca and Armand, still lounging on the couch like this is some fucked-up play.
Armand’s grinning, amused by the show. Luca’s tense, jaw is tight, like he’s bracing for an explosion.
Sammy leans in close. “Gabriella, this isn’t about reliving the past. You’re there to renegotiate the contract. Observe how they operate. Who’s moving product? What alliances are shifting? We need eyes— your eyes. And you’re the only one I trust for this.”
Then he crouches down in front of me and takes my hands—my cold, clenched, kill-a-man-if-you-have-to hands—into his. And just like that, I’m not consigliere. I’m not the woman everyone fears.
I’m just his little sister again.
“You need closure,” he says softly. “You need to move on. You deserve that. You deserve peace, Lil’ Bit.”
That name. That fucking name. It cuts deeper than any knife.
My throat tightens, something cracks in my chest, but I don’t let it show. Not fully. Just enough for the heat in my glare to simmer instead of boil. Just enough for my shoulders to loosen the tiniest bit.
“My entourage…” I mutter, smirking as I pull one hand free and raise a brow. “You make it sound like I travel with backup singers and a damn body double.”
He chuckles. Really chuckles. “You kind of do.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t move without my people anymore. Loyal. Lethal. Mine.
But he knows the truth.
It’s not just about protection. It’s not about appearances. This trip? It’s personal. There’s no return date because even he doesn’t know if I’ll come back the same, or at all. We both know what lies on the other end of this road.
And still, he’s asking me to walk it.
That flicker in my chest—weak, disobedient, alive—flares up again. That buried voice, the one I’ve smothered under years of silence, starts whispering his name.
I bite it back.
I hate this. Hate that I still feel anything after all these years. After all the destruction. After everything I became to bury him. But this isn’t about feelings. This isn’t about love or loss or the ghost of who I used to be.
This is about us . The family. The business.
The empire. So I’ll do what I do best. I’ll armor up.
I’ll show up. I’ll take their measure, make my moves, and protect what’s ours.
And if the past has the audacity to reach for me?
I’ll burn that motherfucker to the ground.
Let the ashes fly and the bodies fall. Just pray they don’t land on the wrong head.
Because if they do?
Well. Collateral damage has never been something I lose sleep over.