Chapter 25 Carmela
CARMELA
The estate feels too large, too empty without Silvo.
Three days since he left for Miami, and the walls seem to close in despite the mansion’s vastness.
I wander through the garden, trailing my fingers along the rose bushes I’ve been trying to maintain—though they’re nothing compared to Giulia’s expert touch.
“Careful of the thorns.” Fed appears behind me, his footsteps silent on the stone path. “You’ll ruin those pretty hands.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not made of glass.”
“No, you’re made of fire.” Fed grins, so much like Silvo yet so different. “Has my brother called?”
“This morning.” I don’t mention how my heart races every time the phone rings, how I strain to hear any hint of danger in Silvo’s voice. “He says it’ll be another day or two.”
A maid approaches us, carrying a small package on a silver tray. “This just arrived for you, Mrs. De Luca.”
I take the unmarked brown parcel, feeling its lightweight in my hands. “No return address?”
“No, ma’am. It was hand-delivered to the gate.”
Something cold slithers down my spine as the maid retreats. Fed frowns, stepping closer.
“Let me open it.”
“I can handle a package, Federico.” I tear through the brown paper, revealing a plain white envelope inside.
The moment I slide my finger under the flap, several photographs spill onto the stone path. I freeze, my blood turning to ice.
They’re photos of Silvo and me. Leaving restaurants. Standing on our balcony. Even one through our bedroom window makes my stomach clench.
“What the fuck?” Fed snatches up the photos, his playful demeanor vanishing.
My hands shake as I pull out a typed note from the envelope:
The De Luca’s prized possession. How easy it would be to take you. Your husband can’t protect you forever. The Morettis send their regards.
Fed’s face hardens as he reads over my shoulder. “We need to call Silvo.”
“No.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “He has enough to worry about.”
“Carmela—”
“They want to frighten me.” I crumple the note in my fist, anger replacing fear. “I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’m not sitting around waiting to be the victim in someone else’s war,” I say, gathering the scattered photos. “Let them come. I’ll be ready.”
Fed studies me with newfound respect. “What are you planning?”
“Knowledge is power, and I’m tired of being powerless.” I march back toward the house with purpose. “The Morettis want to play games? I’ll learn every rule before they make their next move.”
I head straight for Silvo’s office, a room I’ve barely entered since arriving. The heavy oak door swings open to reveal leather-bound books, filing cabinets, and a massive mahogany desk.
“Carmela, you shouldn’t be in here,” Fed warns, following close behind.
I ignore him, sliding into Silvo’s chair. “Your brother married a Bianchi. I grew up in this world, too.” My fingers trail over the sleek laptop on the desk. “The password. What would Silvo use?”
Fed hesitates, then sighs. “Try Carmela0522.”
The screen unlocks. My wedding date. Something warm flutters in my chest before I push it aside.
“Now leave me alone.”
“You know Silvo will—”
“What Silvo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” I fix Fed with the same glare that kept my own brothers in line. “Unless you plan to tell him?”
Fed raises his hands in surrender. “Your funeral,” he mutters, backing out of the office.
Once alone, I dive into the De Luca database. Files upon files on every family in the country. I click on Moretti and begin scrolling through decades of intelligence. Names, businesses, territories, weaknesses. I jot notes, memorize faces, and map connections.
Nico Moretti, the head of the family. His son Maximo—the man Isabella can’t seem to stop arguing with whenever they cross paths.
I study their operations, their patterns, searching for anything I can use.
I’m not just some prize to be threatened or protected.
I’m Carmela Bianchi De Luca, and I refuse to be a pawn in anyone’s game.
Hours pass as I build my own dossier. The Moretti family wants war? I’ll learn exactly who I’m fighting.
The clock on Silvo’s desk shows 2 AM when I hear the door creak open. I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Carmela?” Isabella’s voice is soft with surprise. “Fed woke me. He said something happened—are you alright?”
I glance up to see her in her pajamas.
“The Morettis sent me a message today.” I gesture to the photos and threatening note spread across the desk.
Isabella steps forward, picking up one of the photos. Her face hardens. “They’re watching your house.”
“They’re watching me.” I tap the screen where Maximo Moretti’s file is open. “And I’m tired of being a target without knowing my enemy.”
I brace for a lecture, for her to tell me to leave this to the men, to remind me I’m overstepping my bounds as a new wife. Instead, Isabella slides into the chair beside me.
“The intelligence on the Moretti daughter is in a separate folder.” She reaches across me, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Valeria. She’s studying business at Wharton. If they’re targeting you, we should know everything about their family, too.”
I stare at her, caught off guard by her willing participation. “You’re helping me?”
Isabella gives me a small smile, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You’re a De Luca now. We protect our own.”
“But Silvo—”
“My brother is a brilliant strategist, but he has blind spots.” She pulls up another file. “He sees you as something to protect rather than an ally. Men in our world often miss that women can be weapons too.”
The tension in my shoulders releases as I realize I’ve found an unexpected ally. “My family taught me that from birth.”
“Then between your Bianchi instincts and my De Luca knowledge, we’ll be ready for whatever the Morettis are planning.” Isabella squeezes my hand. “Family protects family. Even new members of the family.”
For the first time since moving to Philadelphia, I feel like I might belong here.
Isabella pulls up a folder on Maximo Moretti, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard for a moment.
“There’s something I haven’t told anyone.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Not even Silvo or Fed.”
I lean closer, noticing the sudden tension in her shoulders. “What is it?”
“Maximo’s been sending me messages.” Isabella reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. “For weeks now.”
My breath catches. “Messages? Like the one I received today?”
“Different, but just as unsettling.” She scrolls through her phone and hands it to me. “See for yourself.”
I scan through dozens of texts from an unknown number. Some are cryptic quotes about family loyalty and revenge. Others are disturbingly intimate comments about her daily routine, what she wore to dinner, and places she’d visited.
“Jesus, Isabella. How long has this been going on?”
“Since before your wedding.” She takes the phone back, her face pale in the blue light of the computer screen. “At first, I thought it was just someone trying to scare me. Then when we ran into him at that bistro the other day...”
“He confirmed it?” My mind races back to lunch, to the charged moment between them.
She nods. “He leaned in close, said he enjoyed our conversations, and looked forward to seeing me in person more often. The way he said it...” She shudders. “It wasn’t just family rivalry, Carmela. It was something darker.”
I feel sick. “This isn’t just about territory or business deals.”
“No.” Isabella pulls up another file—an old newspaper clipping showing a younger Antonio De Luca standing over what appears to be a Moretti family member. “Our families have history. Blood history.”
“And now they’re targeting us. The women.” My fingers curl into fists. “Making it personal.”
“I think it always was.” Isabella’s eyes meet mine. “And Maximo seems determined to settle old scores—through us.”
I lean back in Silvo’s chair, the weight of this revelation settling over me.
For weeks, I’ve been a pawn in a game I didn’t understand—moved around the board by men playing with lives like they’re expendable.
But sitting here at 2 AM, surrounded by decades of intelligence, with Isabella as my ally, something crystallizes inside me.
I’m done being a target. Done waiting for men to protect me, or threaten me, or decide my fate.
The Moretti family wants war? They’ll get it—but not the war they’re expecting. By the time Silvo returns from Miami, I’ll know their operations better than they know ours. Every weakness, every vulnerability, every secret they’ve buried.
“Let’s keep digging,” I tell Isabella, pulling up another file. “I want to know everything.”
She nods, a fierce smile crossing her face as she settles in beside me. “Welcome to the family business, Carmela.”
For the first time since my forced marriage, those words don’t feel like a cage—they feel like armor.