Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Gualtiero
Idial Mateo’s number as I step outside onto the terrace. As it rings, I flick the switch for the outdoor fireplace. I’m not making the same mistake as the other night when I nearly froze my ass off standing out here too long, staring at nothing and everything at once.
The flames catch quickly, licking upward with a low whoosh, casting warmth across the stone and glass. Chicago stretches below me, cold and lit up. The city never really sleeps. It just watches itself breathe.
The wind off the lake cuts through my shirt as I move closer to the railing, but I barely register it.
“Finally,” Mateo greets me.
His voice is calm, controlled, but I hear the strain at the edges. The way he makes it sound casual when he’s holding the fort with both hands, carrying the weight that should be mine. Mateo has always been good at that, shouldering responsibility without complaint or asking for credit.
Sicily is an ocean away.
My home. My blood. My responsibilities, stacked and waiting for me to return.
And here I am, standing in a city that does not belong to me, hunting my cousins’ shadows, men who know how to disappear just like Molinaro used to. Always just out of reach.
But is Sicily still my home?
Without Ella there, how could it be?
The house I lived in for years now feels empty. Too large, too cold, with rooms built for power, not for life.
What is a home without the woman who makes it feel anchored, without her warmth that has nothing to do with fireplaces or walls?
Mateo has my back, as I have his. He’s the one person in this life I trust without hesitation. If there is one man who understands what it means to be born into this life, it’s him.
But as much as I love my brother, Ella is the one who holds my heart. Without her, everything else stops mattering. Even him.
I’ve been raised to carry the responsibilities of the Don. Groomed for it. Sharpened into it. Just like Maximo has been here in Chicago.
I’ve never questioned any of it.
Until now.
Power, control, and endless vigilance. That’s what my life is about.
Do I want this to be my future?
A life where everything is secured except the one thing that matters?
“Any leads?” Mateo asks, straight to the point, cutting through my thoughts before they can spiral further.
Tightening my grip on the railing, I force myself to focus. The cold metal bites into my palms while the fire burning at my back keeps me warm.
Cold and warmth war against my body, just like the responsibility and desire within me. Meanwhile, the city hums relentlessly below me, indifferent to my plight.
“No,” I say. The word tastes like rust. “Not yet. We’ve got eyes on a few angles, but nothing that holds.”
“There will be something eventually,” he says, steady as ever. “There has to be. Ella cannot hide forever.”
“I know, but she—”
I cut myself off before the sentence can finish forming.
My hand slips into my pocket, fingers brushing the thin piece of plastic that has already changed everything.
I burn to tell him.
It feels absurd that something so small can carry this much weight, that it can sit quietly against my skin while my entire world tilts around it.
I want to shout it from this rooftop, let it rip through the night air and echo between the buildings.
I’m going to be a father.
Mateo would stare for one stunned heartbeat before a smile broke through. He would be genuinely happy for me. He’d understand what this means, how much I want this.
We don’t keep secrets from each other, but I can’t tell him over the phone. There are always ears where there shouldn’t be. Enemies would pay well for this piece of news.
Our child makes Ella more valuable to anyone who hates me.
A bargaining chip with a heartbeat.
My stomach turns. I press my lips together, forcing the instinct to protect into something cold and usable.
I close my eyes, breathe through my nose, and shove my thoughts back into their familiar channels. Control. Containment. Elimination of risk.
No one can know. Not yet.
Not until I can guarantee Ella’s safety.
Sensing my turmoil, Mateo’s voice softens. “Tiero, talk to me.”
I stare at the streets far below and the streams of cars moving through them like blood cells through veins.
My fingers curl tighter around the test in my pocket, the plastic bending slightly under the pressure.
I’m full of joy and despair in equal measure, and I have no place to put either of them.
“When I get back,” I say, before he can press harder and my voice betrays me, “and we can talk uninterrupted.”
The words are like a compromise I hate making.
“Antonio is keen to return to finalize the marriage contracts with the Contis,” I continue, retreating into logistics, into safe ground.
“Argh, that’s right. Mariella’s wedding is coming up,” Teo groans. “I want to skip it. I hate weddings.”
“No, you don’t. It just reminds you that yours isn’t happening anytime soon.”
“Exactly right,” he fires back. “My One is taking her sweet time to show up.”
I lean my forearms against the railing, going quiet. I don’t know how to respond to Teo’s last comment. He deserves the happiness Ella and I found in each other’s arms, but not the flipside, the heartache and despair.
“Fuck,” Mateo says, the humor draining from his voice. “I’m sorry. Attending a wedding is the last thing you need right now.”
He misinterprets my silence. I wasn’t thinking about myself. Even though he’s right. I don’t need the reminder of how close I came to having it all, only to lose it again.
But need has never factored much into our lives.
“It’s okay. It’s what’s expected of us. So we will both go.”
Teo sighs, but he doesn’t argue. He never does when it comes to duty.
“At least it won’t be lovey-dovey.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “That’s for sure. I feel sorry for Mariella. But it is what it is. We don’t meddle in our capos’ business.”
The words come easily. I’ve said variations of them my entire life.
“Hmm,” Teo hums. “Lots can happen in two weeks. You might have Ella back by then, and you two can attend together.”
The thought hits like a match struck in the dark. It’s enough to keep me going. Though I doubt she’d approve of this arranged marriage.
“I’d spare her,” I say. “She likes Mariella too much to stand by idly. And we can’t have her interfere.”
And I don’t want her shutting down again on me the moment I finally have her back.
She’d hate everything this wedding represents. The contracts. The expectations. The way women are traded under the guise of tradition.
But that is a problem for after I’ve got her back in my arms.
“Will you be okay leaving the States and putting more distance between the two of you again?” Mateo asks carefully.
The question cuts deeper than he knows.
“No,” I answer, because I don’t lie to him. “But what other choice do I have? I’m not going to leave running our empire entirely up to you. I’ll come back here as soon as we have a credible lead.”
The thought of leaving without my angel feels utterly wrong. The idea of boarding a plane while she remains out there somewhere beyond my reach hurts more than bullets ever have.
“How are things on your end?” I ask, forcing the focus away from me before he hears too much in my silence.
Mateo exhales, a slow, controlled sound.
“It’s been… loud here.”
“Define loud.”
“A car bomb,” he says. “You’d think with Molinaro dead, the ones still loyal to his name would give up or crawl back into the shadows. Instead, they’ve decided they need to make a stand.”
I close my eyes briefly. “I suspect it will go on for some time yet. The dust will settle eventually. Until then, we need to up our security on all critical infrastructure.”
“Already on it,” Mateo says.
He keeps talking about practicalities, pressure points, and about an accountant who’s been asking too many questions. A shipment that arrived a day early, catching men off guard and reminding everyone how quickly complacency gets people killed.
I respond with the right words. The right tone. The right authority.
It’s muscle memory by now.
But my heart isn’t in it.
Mateo notices, but doesn’t call me out on it.
“It’s late in Chicago,” he says instead. “Try to get some sleep. Call me when you have anything. Even if it turns into nothing.”
“I will,” I reply, genuinely grateful for him and the way he carries things without needing to be asked.
He hangs up. The moment the line goes dead, the terrace seems colder, the wind sharper.
I stand there and breathe through my nose.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Slowly, I pull the pregnancy test out of my pocket.
It’s cheap white plastic. Ordinary. Yet it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held.
Two lines.
I don’t need to tilt it under the light anymore. I’ve stared at it so many times the image is burned behind my eyes.
Footsteps scrape behind me. I pivot instantly, the test hidden in my fist, as I slide my hand into my pocket.
Max and his three brothers step out onto the terrace, all of them freshly showered after our little hunting expedition that yielded nothing but a handful of soldiers foolish enough to interfere with a delivery bound for one of Max’s warehouses.
Max lifts his chin. “You’re out here again.”
“I like the air,” I say. “I was talking with Mateo. He says hi.”
Rafa, the second oldest of the Marcos brothers, grins. “Checking in, are you? Making sure he hasn’t burned down Sicily without you?”
“If he does, he’ll rebuild it,” I say.
Gabe’s gaze drops to my hand in my pocket, to the fist I keep clenched, its outline visible through the fabric.
“What’s that?” he asks.