Chapter 26 Giulia #2
"Business concessions," he continues. "A percentage of the Ciresa family's gambling operations in Brooklyn.
Twenty percent, I think. That seems fair.
And a formal apology from your father. Public acknowledgment that the Marchesi family was wronged, that the Ciresa family overstepped, and that there will be consequences if it happens again. "
I feel sick. My father will never agree to this.
It would be seen as weakness, as capitulation.
It would undermine everything he's built, everything he's fought for.
The other families would smell blood in the water and start circling, testing boundaries, pushing for their own concessions. The Ciresa empire would crumble.
He won’t do it. Not for a daughter. Not for me, and especially not after everything I’ve done.
"And one more thing." Alessandro's voice drops, turning darker and more personal. "We want Luca Moretti."
I feel dizzy, the blood rushing to my ears as the warehouse spins around me.
"No." The word bursts out of me before I can stop it, loud and desperate. "No, you can't—"
"He coordinated the operation against us.
" Alessandro's tone is still calm and reasonable, like he's explaining something obvious to a child.
"He's the one who planned the strikes, who led the teams, who killed our people.
He walked into those locations and executed men who were just doing their jobs.
And he's the one who ruined the marriage alliance by putting his hands on what belonged to me. "
The possessiveness in his voice makes my skin crawl.
"Luca will pay for that personally." Alessandro stands and begins pacing slowly around my chair like a predator circling prey.
"We want him delivered to us, and we want him to understand exactly what happens when you disrespect the Marchesi family.
We want him to suffer. We want him to beg.
And we want you to know that it's happening because of you. "
He stops directly in front of me, looking down, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne again, the same scent he wore during our engagement. It makes me want to vomit.
"Here's the deal, Giulia." He crouches down so we're eye level, his hands resting on his knees.
"If your father agrees to our terms—all of them, including Luca—then you and your baby go home unharmed.
You get to raise your child, live your life, and pretend this never happened.
You'll be a widow, of course, but you're young and beautiful.
You'll find someone else eventually." He pauses, letting the words sink in as he watches my face for any reaction.
"But if he refuses..." He doesn't finish the sentence.
The implication hangs in the air between us. If my father refuses, I die. My baby dies. Everything ends here in this warehouse, in this cold, empty space that smells like rust and oil and fear.
"It wasn't Luca's fault." The words tumble out frantically, tripping over each other in my haste to get them out. "The marriage—it wasn't his fault it was ruined. It was mine. I'm the one who lied. I'm the one who deceived everyone."
Alessandro tilts his head, studying me with an amused curiosity on his face. "Go on."
"I created a fake identity," I continue, the words coming faster now, desperate to make him understand.
"I went to that club. I seduced him. He didn't know who I was.
He thought I was someone else entirely—a stranger, someone with no connection to this world.
So if you want to blame someone, blame me. Not Luca. Me."
For a moment, there's silence. The soldiers around us have gone still, listening.
Then Alessandro laughs.
It's not a pleasant sound. It's cold and mocking, utterly devoid of humor, echoing off the metal walls and concrete floor. "You think admitting you were a whore is going to help?" He shakes his head, still laughing. "You think taking responsibility is going to change anything?"
"I'm telling you the truth—"
"I don't care about the truth." His voice hardens and loses that veneer of civility. "This isn't about truth. This is about how this world works.”
He leans down, his face inches from mine. "Luca Moretti touched what belonged to me. He put his hands on my fiancée. He got her pregnant. He destroyed my family’s plans. And now he's going to pay for it."
The possessiveness in his voice is visceral and ugly, like I'm a car he owned that someone else crashed, property that was damaged.
"I was never yours," I snap. I'm surprised by the steadiness in my voice, the anger that's starting to cut through the fear. "I'm not property."
"Aren't you?" Alessandro straightens, his expression cold. "You were promised to me. Your father gave his word. We had an agreement, a contract. And then Luca took you anyway. So yes, Giulia, in every way that matters in this world, you were mine. And he stole you."
I feel like all the breath has been sucked out of me. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t even matter if my father gives up territory and money to get me back. This isn't about business, territory, or organizational politics.
This is personal.
Alessandro is humiliated. His ego has been shattered by the fact that I chose Luca over him, that I wanted Luca so desperately I was willing to lie and deceive and risk everything just to be with him.
That I created an entire false identity, spent months sneaking around, and got pregnant, all because I couldn't stand the thought of marrying Alessandro instead.
And now he's going to make us both suffer for it.
"You're going to kill him because your pride was hurt." My voice is shaking again. "Because I didn't want you."
“I’m going to kill him because watching you realize that you caused his death—that your lies and your selfishness got him killed—is going to be almost as satisfying as killing him myself."
He walks away, pulling out his phone, and I'm left sitting in the chair with a dozen armed men watching me like I'm an animal in a cage. Some of them have lost interest and gone back to their conversations or their phones. But others are still staring, and I can see the speculation in their eyes.
My hand finds my stomach again, pressing against the curve. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault.
Alessandro's voice carries across the warehouse, sharp and angry, echoing off the metal walls. "I don't care what Dante says. These are the terms. Non-negotiable."
There’s a pause. I can hear the tinny sound of someone's voice on the other end of the line, but I can't make out the words.
"Then he can watch his daughter die. Is that what he wants?" Alessandro's voice rises, losing some of his control. "Is that what the great Don Ciresa wants? To receive his daughter's body in pieces?"
Another pause, longer this time. I can see Alessandro's jaw clenching, his free hand curling into a fist. "You have two hours to decide.
After that, I start sending pieces of her back to you.
Maybe I'll start with her fingers. Or maybe her ears.
Something small that won't kill her right away.
Something that will let her suffer while you make up your mind. "
My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. I have to swallow hard to keep from vomiting right here in the chair. Oh God. Oh God, he's serious. He's actually going to—
"Tell Luca Moretti that if he wants to see his wife and child alive again, he'll turn himself over. Otherwise, their blood is on his hands. He can live with that guilt for the rest of his miserable life."
Alessandro ends the call and turns back to me, his expression unreadable. The anger from the phone call is gone, replaced by that same cold calculation.
"Your father is considering his options," he says calmly, walking back toward me. "We'll know soon whether you're worth more to him alive or dead. Whether his pride is more important than his daughter's life."
I can't speak or think straight. It’s everything I can do not to fall apart completely.
The soldiers are still watching me. One of them, a younger guy with a scar across his cheek and dead eyes, is looking at me like he's imagining what he'd do if Alessandro gave him permission.
I look away, focusing on the concrete floor, on the cracks and stains.
Oil stains, water damage. Something dark that might be old, dried blood.
Think. You have to think. There has to be a way out of this.
But there isn't.
I'm pregnant and unarmed, surrounded by people who want to hurt me and use me as leverage to destroy my family and kill the man I love. I have no weapons, no allies, no way to call for help. My phone is gone. My security detail is unconscious or dead. No one knows where I am.
No.
The thought comes from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere primal and fierce. From the same place that made me create Valentina in the first place, that made me walk into that club, and made me fight for what I wanted even when everyone told me it was impossible.
No. I won't let that happen.
I refuse to accept this outcome. I refuse to let Luca suffer for what I’ve set in motion. I refuse to let Alessandro win.
There has to be a way out, something I can do, some move I can make that will change the trajectory of this nightmare. Some weakness I can exploit, some opportunity I can seize.
I just have to find it.
I'm going to survive. And I'm going to make sure that when this is over, Alessandro Marchesi understands exactly what happens when you underestimate a woman who has everything to lose.
My hand presses harder against my stomach, feeling the small curve where my baby is growing, where that tiny heartbeat is fluttering away, unaware of the danger.
I won't let you die. I won't let any of us die. I promise.