Chapter 5 Julian
I DIDN'T SLEEP after Elio left my room.
I lay in bed replaying his words. You're right. It's not just in your head.
He'd admitted it. Acknowledged the pull between us. Then walked away anyway because he was disciplined and controlled and probably right about all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
But he'd admitted it.
That had to mean something.
At seven the next morning, Elio knocked on my door. Earlier than usual. When I opened it, he was already in his working uniform—black suit, white shirt, tie knotted with mathematical precision. His expression was carefully neutral. Professional.
Like last night hadn't happened.
"We're retrieving your documents today," he said without preamble. "The safe deposit box in Manhattan. Sandro wants them verified before the partners meet this afternoon."
"Okay." I grabbed my jacket. "I'm ready."
"Julian." He stopped me before I could step into the hallway. "What we talked about last night—"
"I know. We're not talking about it. Pretending it didn't happen. Maintaining professional distance." I met his eyes. "I understand."
Something flickered across his face. Relief or disappointment, I couldn't tell.
"Good. Let's go."
The car ride into Manhattan was excruciating.
Elio drove. I sat in the passenger seat. We didn't speak. The silence was heavy with everything we weren't saying.
I watched the city pass by the windows and tried not to think about how close we were sitting. How I could smell cedar and ink. How his hands moved on the steering wheel with the same precise efficiency he brought to everything.
"You're quiet," Elio said after twenty minutes.
"So are you."
"I'm always quiet."
"Not like this. This is different."
He didn't deny it. Just kept driving.
We crossed into Manhattan. The streets got busier. More crowded. More dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with traffic.
"My father has people in the city," I said. "Contacts. Associates. If they see me—"
"They won't. I've got countermeasures in place. Different route every time we leave the club. Randomized patterns. No predictability." Elio glanced at me briefly. "You're safe with me."
I believed him. Which was probably stupid. Which was probably exactly what I'd been doing since I walked into Inferno two weeks ago—trusting people I barely knew because the alternative was being alone.
The bank was a nondescript building in Midtown. Elio parked in a garage two blocks away. We walked the distance with him slightly ahead of me, his body angled to shield me from the street. Protective without being obvious.
Inside the bank, I signed the paperwork with hands that wanted to shake. Showed my ID. Waited while the attendant verified everything.
Elio stood close enough that I could feel his presence. Close enough that anyone watching would think we were together. Partners maybe.
The attendant led us to the vault. Left us alone in a small private room with my safe deposit box on the table.
I stared at it.
This was real. I was really doing this.
"Having second thoughts?" Elio asked quietly.
"No. Yes. I don't know." I touched the metal box. "Once I hand these over, there's no going back. My father will know I betrayed him. That I chose you—chose them—over my own family."
"You already made that choice when you ran."
"This makes it permanent. Official. This is evidence. Proof. Once Sandro has this, once he acts on it, my father will know exactly who gave it to him."
Elio was quiet for a moment. Then: "Do you want to stop? We can walk away right now. Tell Sandro you couldn't access the box. Give you more time to think."
I looked at him. Really looked at him. Saw genuine concern in those sharp eyes. Not manipulation. Not strategy. Just honest worry about whether I was ready for this.
"No," I said. "I'm doing this. I need to do this. I just—" I took a breath. "I've spent my whole life being defined by my family. By my father's expectations. By the alliance he arranged. This is the first real choice I've ever made. And it terrifies me."
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Keeps you from making stupid mistakes."
"Is this a stupid mistake?"
"It might be. But it's yours. That matters."
I opened the box.
Inside were USB drives. Printed emails. Documents I'd been stealing and copying for five years. Evidence of everything my father had done. Everyone he'd betrayed. Every deal he'd made with federal agents to destroy his rivals while protecting himself.
My hands shook as I transferred everything into the bag Elio handed me.
This was it. The point of no return.
I was about to destroy my father. Burn every bridge with my family. Make myself a permanent enemy of the Bianchis.
And I was doing it to protect men I'd known for two weeks.
Men who'd given me sanctuary when I had nowhere else to go. Who'd looked at me and seen someone dangerous instead of someone fragile. Who'd treated me like I mattered beyond being a pawn in someone else's game.
Men who included Elio Marino, who I was absolutely not supposed to have feelings for but couldn't seem to stop thinking about.
"Done," I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Elio took the bag. "Let's go."
We walked out of the bank and back to the car without incident. But I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like every person on the street could see what I'd just done. What I was carrying.
In the car, Elio handed me the bag.
"Hold onto this until we're back at Inferno. Don't let it out of your sight."
"You don't trust me?"
"I trust you. I don't trust anyone else." He started driving. "If someone tries to intercept us, if anything goes wrong, you protect that bag. Understand?"
"Yes."
We drove in silence. I clutched the bag against my chest and tried not to think about what would happen if my father found out. What he'd do to me. What he'd do to the Vitales for harboring me.
Halfway back to the club, Elio said: "You did the right thing."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're protecting yourself and people who've shown you kindness. That's always the right thing." He paused. "Your father will see it as betrayal. But from where I'm sitting, you're just surviving. And there's no shame in that."
Something tight in my chest loosened slightly.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For understanding. For not making me feel guilty about this."
"Julian." Elio's voice was soft. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. You're a victim who's fighting back. That takes courage. Not everyone has it."
I looked at him. Saw him in profile, focused on the road, jaw set with determination.
God, I was in so much trouble.
Not from my father. Not from the FBI. Not from any external threat.
From this. From the way Elio made me feel seen. Protected. Valued.
From the way I was falling for someone completely wrong for me in every possible way.
We got back to Inferno without incident. Elio escorted me directly to Sandro's office.
Sandro was waiting. So was Luca. They both stood when we entered.
"You have the documents?" Sandro asked.
I handed over the bag. Watched him open it and start reviewing the contents.
Sandro looked at Luca. They had a silent conversation in the way people who'd worked together for years could.
Then Sandro turned to me.
"Do you understand what this means?"
"It means my father's trying to destroy everyone, including the people who're protecting me now."
"It means you just made yourself a target for multiple families. When this gets out—and it will get out—everyone's going to want to know who gave us this information. Your name will be at the top of that list."
"I was already a target." I met his eyes. "At least now I'm useful."
Luca laughed. Sharp and surprised. "He's got balls. I'll give him that."
"Balls without brains get you killed," Sandro said. But his expression had shifted. Less skeptical. More considering. "We need to verify all of this before we act. If it's legitimate—"
"It's legitimate," I said. "Every email. Every document. Every piece of evidence. I watched my father make those deals. I know they're real."
"Then we've got a problem. A massive one." Sandro looked at Elio. "Call a meeting. All four partners. One hour. Julian attends—it's his information."
Elio nodded and pulled out his phone.
I stood there clutching the strap of the now-empty bag and tried not to shake.
I'd done it. Actually done it.
I'd just handed over evidence that could start a war. That could destroy my father. That could change everything.
There was no going back now.
An hour later I sat in Inferno's main conference room and tried not to feel overwhelmed.
All four partners were here. Sandro at the head of the table, documents spread in front of him.
Matteo to his right, looking dangerous and coiled like violence waiting to happen.
Luca to his left, charming smile replaced by cold calculation.
Elio standing by the wall behind me, close enough that I could feel his presence like a shield.
"Rebecca Watson has been investigating us for three years," Sandro said without preamble.
"Building a RICO case using information provided by Winston Bianchi.
The case fell apart during our trial, but she's not giving up.
She's expanding scope. Planning to bring down all four major New York families simultaneously. "
"How?" Matteo's voice was gravel. Dangerous.
"Coordinated indictments. Multiple jurisdictions.
Federal and state charges all filed at once to prevent anyone from running or making deals.
Winston feeds her intelligence on everyone's operations in exchange for immunity and protection for the Bianchi family.
" Sandro looked at me. "When it's done, the Bianchis will be the only major family left standing in the region. "
"That's a death sentence for everyone in this room," Luca said calmly. "We need to eliminate Winston immediately. Cut off Watson's intelligence source."