Chapter Thirty Ella
Chapter Thirty
Ella
Gualtiero is holding my hand as he leads me into the restaurant through a side door that opens into a large private dining room. Two of his soldiers stand guard by the entrance, making sure only invited guests are allowed in.
The main part of the restaurant is busy tonight, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses spilling into the corridor.
Our security team surrounds us, close enough that no one could get near even if they tried.
Oriana has the day off, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Alonso is here, though, and I can feel his eyes on me constantly.
The moment we step inside, the shift is immediate.
All attention snaps to Gualtiero. Conversations falter. Postures straighten. The men nod respectfully in his direction, while the women greet him with bright, practiced smiles.
I wonder how many of them were born into this world, like Mariella, and how many were pulled into it later.
Are any of them outsiders like me? And if they are, did they choose this life? Or were they caught in it before they realized what it would cost?
I can’t imagine anyone willingly stepping into a world like this. But then again, some people are drawn to power and wealth. And some might even find the constant danger thrilling.
The room is packed. At a guess, there are around sixty people celebrating, voices loud, laughter easy, alcohol already flowing freely. The energy is infectious, almost enough to make it feel normal.
Mateo is here and makes a beeline for us. He claps his brother on the back, Gualtiero returning the gesture with the same ease. They really do care about each other.
It’s strangely comforting, considering the world they operate in and help sustain.
A drink is pressed into Gualtiero’s hand, and the room quiets as he taps his pocketknife against the glass, drawing everyone’s attention. He says a few words in Italian, likely in honor of the man standing at the center of the room, whose birthday is being celebrated.
Renaldo, I’ve heard the name mentioned more than once, looks to be in his mid-thirties. Like the rest of Tiero’s men, he’s broad, solid, with a face that doesn’t invite conversation. The kind of man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley… or anywhere else, for that matter.
Glasses are raised. Toasts are made.
Gualtiero is still on his first drink while I’m already on my second glass of champagne.
Is it caution? Control? A need to stay sharper than everyone else in the room?
Probably all of the above.
As the head of an empire, he can’t afford to lose focus, not even for a moment. Every decision, every move, carries weight.
I admire his discipline, his relentless focus. If only it were used for something good.
I’m introduced to the high-ranking capos in Gualtiero’s organization. Among them is Mariella’s father. Seeing him up close, I understand even better why she doesn’t get along with him.
Antonio Accardi has cold, calculating eyes. He seems to take everything in and gives nothing away. The kind of man who measures people by what they’re worth to him.
The happiness of his daughter would mean nothing.
He gives me a polite nod, but the moment Gualtiero’s attention shifts elsewhere, his gaze returns to me, assessing, clinical, like I’m something to be studied.
I hold his stare, unflinching.
I don’t like this man.
Most of the wives I meet are beautiful, impeccably put together, their smiles fixed and practiced. The longer I watch them, the clearer it becomes that meek and obedient are not just preferred, but expected.
They’re gracious. Polite. Curious about me in a careful, measured way.
And to my surprise, they all speak some English.
But it doesn’t take long before my tolerance for small talk runs out.
I toy with the charm necklace Tiero gave me on the island, letting the small pieces slide between my fingers as I half-listen to their drivel.
I’ve tried countless times to take it off, but the clasp is so intricate I’ve never managed it.
I even tried to rip it off once, but stopped when it bit into my skin.
Despite everything, I still love it. The charms are delicate, beautiful, each one a reminder of a time when things between us felt… different.
Halfway through the evening, Gualtiero’s phone rings. He hasn’t left my side until now, but the second he sees the caller ID, something shifts. He excuses himself and steps out onto the terrace, Santino following. In his absence, Alonso steps closer to me.
When Gualtiero returns, the change is obvious.
The ease is gone. Tension has settled over him like a second skin.
I stop pretending to listen to the women and watch him instead as he moves straight to Mateo and a few others. Their conversation is low but intense. Instructions are given, and within moments, a third of the room is on the move.
Unease spreads through me. By the time Gualtiero pulls me aside, my stomach is already in knots.
Something is wrong.
I can see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his jaw clenches.
“Ella, I need to go. I’ll be back for you later. Stay here and get to know the women. Alonso and a few others will remain, so you’re safe.”
My brows draw together. “I’m not worried about my safety, Tiero. You should take them with you… you probably need them more than I do.”
His expression softens for a fraction of a second. “Don’t worry about me, princess. I’ll be fine.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and turns away.
“Tiero.” I catch his arm before he can leave.
He looks back at me, one eyebrow lifting in mild impatience.
“Please be careful.”
For a moment, something warmer breaks through the tension in his face. He leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Always.”
Then he steps away, gives Alonso a few quiet instructions, and walks out of the room.
With a deep sigh, I rejoin the group of women, all of whom watched my interaction with Tiero a little too closely.
I don’t want to be back with them, though there’s a small part of me that hopes the conversation might loosen now that the men are gone.
It doesn’t.
It’s the same shallow chatter about fashion, appearances, and their children, future heirs already being molded into this world. On top of it, the smiles are tighter and the glances sharper.
Someone get me out of here.
Alonso lingers within earshot, and I can’t help but wonder if Gualtiero instructed him to listen in, to make sure I don’t say something I shouldn’t. The thought makes my skin prickle, irritation flaring up.
He really does think of everything.
Plastering on a polite smile, I excuse myself from the gossiping Mafia wives and catch Alonso’s attention. He’s at my side immediately.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him.
I need space. Air. A moment when no one is watching me.
Alonso steps ahead, another man I don’t recognize falling in behind me. We leave the private dining room and move through the restaurant toward the bathrooms. After checking inside, Alonso finally lets me enter.
I close the door behind me with a quiet click and let out a long breath.
Finally, I’m alone.
A chaise sits tucked into the corner, and I sink onto it, enjoying the peace and quiet in here. How can I convince Alonso to take me back to the house instead of keeping me here until Gualtiero returns?
A flush breaks the silence.
I stiffen as a cubicle door opens and a young woman in her early twenties steps out. How did Alonso miss her being in here? She moves to the sink, washing her hands, her gaze lifting to meet mine in the mirror.
“Buonasera,” she says with a smile. “Come stai?”
“Bene. Grazie,” I reply.
Her smile widens. “You’re English?” she asks, her accent light.
“Was my pronunciation that bad?”
“No, not at all,” she laughs. “I went to boarding school in England. I’ve got a pretty good ear.”
“Actually, I live in Dublin.”
“Oh. You don’t have an Irish accent,” she says, pulling a hair clip from her bag and gathering her long blonde hair at the nape of her neck.
“No, I don’t. My parents were strict about pronunciation. They wanted me to be understood anywhere I go.”
“Well, they did an excellent job.” She turns, extending her hand. “I’m Sofia.”
I take it. “I’m Ella.”
Up close, her eyes catch me off guard. They’re an unusual, murky green that somehow still looks bright. Freckles dust her nose, softening her features and giving her an almost innocent look that doesn’t quite match the sharpness in her gaze.
She reminds me of Rhia. God, I miss her.
“You don’t look too thrilled to be here,” Sofia says, dropping down beside me on the chaise. “Are you hiding out?”
“Wouldn’t you if you’d been kidnapped and guarded relentlessly?” I say before I can stop myself.
I intended for it to sound like a joke, but failed miserably to keep the bitterness from my voice.
Sofia’s face drains of color. “Oh my God, are you serious? You’ve been kidnapped?”
Reality snaps back into place.
“Sorry, Sofia. I shouldn’t have said that.” I push to my feet. “I’d better go.”
She grabs my hand before I can take a step, pulling me back down. “Wait. So you’re being watched right now?”
I hesitate.
My gaze flicks to the door, then back to her, weighing how much I should say… and whether I should say anything at all.
“Yes,” I admit finally. “They’re right outside.”
Something shifts in her expression. Not fear. Decision.
I frown, trying to read her.
She stands and starts pacing. “Okay. You’ve been in here a while. One of them is going to check on you any second.”
My pulse starts to pick up.
“Wait, what?” I push myself up slightly. “What are you—”
“When he does,” she continues, “tell him you just got your period and you need tampons.”
I stare at her.
A short, disbelieving laugh escapes me. “Why would I—”
“Trust me. This works every time,” she cuts in, flashing me a quick, almost conspiratorial smile. “Most men can’t handle anything to do with periods. He won’t ask questions.”
I blink at her, still trying to catch up.
This is insane.
“Why are you trying to help me?” I ask.
She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second. “Because I hate this world too,” she says quietly. Before she can continue, a knock sounds on the door.
“Miss O’Neil, is everything okay?” Alonso calls.
I glance at Sofia. She nods once, as if saying, “Do it.”
I move to the door, but Alonso opens it before I can reach it and steps inside. His gaze lands on me, then shifts immediately to Sofia, assessing, suspicious.
I clear my throat, drawing his attention back. Acting embarrassed, I lean closer and lower my voice.
“Alonso, I just got my period, and it’s… really heavy. I had to throw out my underwear. I can’t leave the bathroom. You need to get me tampons and something to change into.”
He recoils slightly, horror flashing across his face, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
“Can’t she help?” he asks, gesturing toward Sofia.
“She doesn’t have anything on her,” I say quickly, forcing urgency into my voice. “Please, Alonso. I don’t want to be stuck in here all night.”
He hesitates for a second, clearly uncomfortable, then pulls out his phone and makes a call, speaking in rapid Italian.
I wish I understood. If I’m stuck here, I need to learn the language. It might be the only way I ever get out.
He ends the call and looks at me. “I’ve sent someone to a nearby shop. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll be waiting outside.”
“Thank you, Alonso.”
I turn back toward the chaise.
“And you, Miss?” he adds, looking at Sofia. “Aren’t there people waiting for you?”
He wants her gone.
Sofia just smiles at him, all innocence. “Not really. I try to avoid family dinners whenever I can. I’ll keep Ella company.”
Alonso studies her, then looks at me. I shrug lightly, as if it’s out of my hands. After a moment, he nods and steps back out, closing the door behind him.
We’re alone again.
Sofia scans the room quickly, then goes into a stall. I follow her out of curiosity.
There’s a half-open window there, and a bamboo screen pushed to one side. Cool air streams in.
She turns back to me, already moving.
“Come on,” she says, motioning to the window. “Let’s go.”