Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Gualtiero
The words on the screen blur.
I blink, forcing my eyes to focus, rereading the email for what must be the sixth time. Fatigue weighs on me, a dull pressure that refuses to lift.
Fuck, I’m tired. Tired of everything.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Come in,” I say, lifting my gaze at the last second to see who’s entering.
Antonio steps in, closing the door quietly behind him. His suit is immaculate, expression composed.
He pauses just long enough to remind me that he understands protocol. As he should, given he wants to be my next consigliere.
“I took care of the Palermo issue,” he says.
It takes a second for my tired mind to catch up. Palermo. I drag the details forward, one by one.
Since eliminating anyone who posed a calculable threat to Ella’s safety, our territories and businesses have grown at a pace that would have impressed even my father. Expansion brings money. It also brings chaos. Integrating hostile factions into our structure is never clean.
In Palermo, a shipment from one of the rivals we absorbed went missing before dawn. It wasn’t theft, it was sabotage.
There’s nothing I hate more.
I lift my chin, signaling him to continue.
“Two of their men were reassigned to logistics.”
Clever. Put them where every loss is traceable, every discrepancy visible. If another shipment goes missing, their necks will be first on the line.
“I demoted one and sent another north,” he continues. “No casualties.”
I meet his gaze, searching for hesitation. There is none.
“You moved quickly,” I say, a note of approval slipping through despite myself.
“Speed discourages dissent,” he replies.
Of course it does. I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. My temples throb, a steady pulse that has been there since dawn. I rub at them briefly before glancing back at the tablet Antonio handed me.
The numbers look good. Better than projected.
Cash flow is up. Routes are stabilizing. Several bottlenecks we anticipated never materialized.
But the problems sit beneath the surface, invisible to anyone who only looks at spreadsheets.
“Our expansion was always going to cause friction,” I say. “Men don’t like being absorbed.”
“They’ll adjust,” Antonio replies without hesitation. “Or they won’t last.”
His tone is controlled, clipped, the edge beneath it carefully leashed.
There was a time when my life was simple. Before Ella, I had two clear purposes.
La famiglia came first. Growing the business, dragging it into this century, refining it into something stronger and cleaner than what I inherited from my father.
Something worthy of the De Marco name.
For sex, I indulged occasionally. The girls in my clubs were easy, uncomplicated, and never stayed long enough to matter. I never mistook distraction for fulfillment. I always knew I would meet my One eventually.
That was my other purpose.
Finding her.
Making her mine.
Securing my bloodline.
Now everything is tangled. Every decision I make loops back to Ella, whether I admit it or not.
Even when I tell myself I’m acting for the good of la famiglia, her safety sits at the center of every calculation.
I scroll through the reports again. My eyes sting, the letters blurring at the edges.
“We let too many of their soldiers live,” I say, staring at the sheer number of them. “They’ll start at the bottom. Watched closely.”
Antonio nods. “It’s risky.”
“But unavoidable,” I finish. I won’t eliminate men who might still prove useful. If they fail to do so, the consequences will be theirs alone.
He meets my gaze, understanding passing between us. This is the cost of speed. Of ambition. Of expansion fueled by more than profit.
And I’m willing to pay it.
Antonio watches me carefully. “You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Then let me carry more responsibility.”
The offer is calculated. Just like the man himself.
Antonio has always been power-hungry. My father took him in as a teenager, and he climbed steadily through the ranks, proving his loyalty again and again in the thirty years he’s been with us. A schemer by nature, he’s able to maneuver situations to a desired outcome.
“Aren’t you busy patching things up with the Contis?” I ask.
It’s a loaded question, and we both know it.
A flicker of something sharp passes through Antonio’s eyes before it’s gone.
He spent months securing the match, binding one of our longest-standing, high-ranking families to him through marriage. He nearly lost it when his daughter’s wedding to Renaldo, la famiglia’s most ruthless enforcer, collapsed into farce.
That wedding will be laughed about for years to come.
Antonio’s jaw tightens. His expression darkens, temper pressing against the restraint he’s learned to maintain in my presence.
He chooses not to take the bait.
Instead, he goes straight for what he wants.
“Emiliano retires at the end of the year,” he says, referring to our current consigliere. “Have you decided on his replacement?”
He knows well enough that he’s the only candidate.
The timing couldn’t be worse. Emiliano has been with my family for forty years, the last fifteen as consigliere.
We’ve clashed more than once over the years, but his counsel has never failed me. Losing him now, with integration still unfinished, feels like removing a load-bearing beam.
Am I ready to trust Antonio in the same way? To make him the third most powerful man in my organization?
My reluctance to make it official should be indication enough.
And yet Antonio Accardi remains the most suitable man to fill Emiliano’s boots.
He would make a capable adviser. Of that I have no doubt. Still, my instincts urge caution, my gut telling me to stay vigilant around him. Especially when Ella doesn’t like him.
She never said it outright, but her body language never lied. I pin him with my stare, letting the moment stretch.
“You’ll be the first to know when I make my decision,” I say coolly.
He accepts that without protest, which only confirms how carefully he’s managing himself.
At the door, he hesitates. Then asks anyway.
“Any news on your fiancée?”
The entire la famiglia expects Ella and I will marry once I bring her back, even though I’ve yet to propose.
My hand slips into the pocket of my jacket, fingers brushing Mama’s engagement ring.
“No,” I say, keeping my voice level. Weakness is not an option, even though everyone knows Ella is mine.
It’s why the price on her head is so high.
Antonio nods once and strides toward the door. When it closes behind him, the silence presses in.
I return my attention to the screen. The email I’ve been trying to digest is still open. I read it for the seventh time now. Soon, though, my thoughts drift again.
The days pass with no sign of Ella.
Logically, I know there will be a trace eventually. I will find her.
What’s eating at me is how long it’s taking.
Every hour that passes gives someone else the chance to step into her life. To fill the space I left behind.
She wouldn’t let that happen.
Would she?
What if she believes we’re finished. That I’ve stopped looking. That whatever we had is already in the past.
How could anyone move on from what we had? An earth-shattering connection like ours happens once in a lifetime.
And yet people reach for comfort every day. They fill voids when silence stretches too long.
The thought of another man touching her makes my jaw lock.
No. Not my Ella.
She loves me.
When she gives her heart, she gives it fully.
And her heart is mine. Just as mine is hers. We are meant to be.
I exhale slowly, forcing control back into my body.
With one last glance at the email, I abandon it and open my latest project, buried deep within our system. No one would ever stumble across it by accident. Only someone like Uberto would know where to look, and even then, only if he was searching for it.
Once I’m finished, I’ll erase every trace.
The numbers add up. I rub the back of my neck, already calculating the expenses that will follow.
The ring of my phone cuts through the silence.
Mateo.
I close the application instantly. No one should be coming into my office again anytime soon, but I won’t risk anyone seeing my screen.
I pick up my phone and answer the call.
“Hey,” he greets me, the noise of the city humming in the background. He’s in Rome, looking after our businesses there.
“I’ve emailed you some pictures. Open them.”
I open his message wordlessly and click on the attachments. They’re of Ella’s best friend, Rhia. In each one, she’s on the phone.
“What exactly am I looking for?” I ask, flicking from one image to the next.
“I think Rhia is in touch with Ella.”
“How?” I bark, the word snapping out before I can stop it.
I close my eyes briefly, wrestling control back into my body.
“How is that possible?” I continue, forcing my voice down. “We have her private and work phones bugged, her office and her apartment. We’re listening to everything she says. She hasn’t spoken to her once.”
“Take a closer look at the phones in the pictures.”
I zoom in. There are shots of her leaving the office, phone pressed to her ear. Another in a restaurant, phone in hand. Then there’s a series of photos taken in a park, sitting on the grass, talking quietly into her mobile.
Nothing unusual.
“The phones are all black,” he says, “but if you look closely, the one in the park is smaller. Almost every lunch break she goes there and talks on that phone for at least half an hour. There are no listening devices in the park.”
Realization hits. “She’s using a burner phone?”
“That’s my guess.”
Hope detonates in my chest like a charge going off, contained but lethal.
Rhia knows where my angel is.
“I had our guy try to get closer while she was on the phone,” Mateo continues, “see if he could overhear anything. But she’s careful and always aware of who’s around her. She sits in open spaces where no one can approach without being seen.”
Smart.
“While she was on the phone yesterday,” he adds, “I had Uberto check whether her mobile was in use.”
He pauses.
I lift a brow, even though he can’t see me, my pulse hammering now.
“It wasn’t,” he says, triumph threading his voice. “None of the numbers we monitor showed any activity. We’ve got her, Tiero.”
The first real smile in weeks spreads over my face.
“Shall we bring Signorina Bannaghan in for questioning?” Teo asks, eager to move.
I rub my chin once, already knowing the answer.
“No. Rhia would never betray Ella. And the methods required to force the truth wouldn’t be pretty.” I pause. “Ella would never forgive me if I harmed a single hair on her best friend.”
Teo exhales. “It could also alert her. If Rhia suddenly went silent, Ella might run again.”
“We can’t risk it,” I say.
“Yeah. And there’s also her boyfriend,” he adds. “He keeps tabs on his girl too.”
Any self-respecting man should. Protecting your woman should always be a priority.
“We need the phone,” I continue. “Just long enough to pull its number and call history. And Rhia can’t know.”
Mateo hums thoughtfully. “I’ll have people in place. As soon as there’s an opportunity, they’ll take it.”
“Send extra men to Dublin,” I add. “She doesn’t move without us knowing where she’s going. Day or night.”
“Done.”
“They need to remain hidden. She or her boyfriend can’t know.”
Underestimating how close the two women are was a mistake. I should have known Ella would find a way back to the one person she trusts without question.
But mistakes can be corrected.
I end the call and set the phone down slowly.
Finally.
The trace we’ve been waiting for.
Ella must think she’s hidden herself well if she’s taking the risk of talking to Rhia.
Her friend is careful. Smart enough to know what’s at stake. And clever enough to do it in plain sight.
But a trail exists now.
And we will follow it.