Chapter 41 Carmela
CARMELA
My hands shake as I clean Silvo’s wound. The bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving an angry red path across his skin. He winces when I apply the antiseptic, but doesn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to be gentler.
“Don’t be. I’ve had worse.” His voice is steady, but I can see the pain in his eyes—not just physical pain.
The house bustles with activity below us. After the ambush, both families agreed to consolidate forces at our estate after counting their losses and regrouping. The Morettis will arrive soon for an emergency council.
“Nine men,” Silvo murmurs, staring at nothing. “Nine families that won’t see their fathers, brothers, sons come home.”
I say nothing as I begin wrapping his shoulder in gauze. What could I possibly say to make this better?
The bedroom door swings open, and Isabella appears, tablet in hand. “Security teams are in position,” she reports, all business despite the late hour. “I’ve coordinated with Valeria on the Moretti protocols. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
From the hallway behind her, I hear Sophia’s laugh mixing with Federico’s voice. Shortly after, they appear in the doorway.
“Someone’s got to keep morale up around here,” Fed says, his rakish grin not quite reaching his eyes. Sophia stands close beside him, her hand brushing his.
“Fed,” Sophia chides, but there’s affection in her tone. “Now’s hardly the time for jokes.”
“On the contrary,” Fed counters, his smile faltering for just a moment. “After what we saw tonight? Now’s exactly the time.”
I notice how Sophia’s fingers intertwine with his, how she leans slightly into his space. Their connection seems to have deepened tonight. Fed’s usual charm is there, but beneath it, I see something raw. Sophia must see it too, because she squeezes his hand when she thinks no one’s looking.
“The Tartarovs knew exactly where we’d be,” Isabella says, redirecting us. “Every exit point, every sniper position.”
Silvo nods grimly as I finish securing his bandage. “We have a leak. Maybe in both families.”
The weight of his words settles over the room. Trust, already fragile between longtime enemies, now seems impossible.
“At least last night proved one thing,” I say, finishing with Silvo’s bandage. “The Tartarovs can’t drive us apart anymore. Not after you took a bullet for Nico.”
Fed flops into the armchair by the window. “Nothing brings enemies together like a common enemy trying to kill them both.”
“Very philosophical, brother,” Silvo says dryly.
“I have my moments.” Fed winks at Sophia, who rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile.
Isabella checks her watch. “The Morettis will be here any minute. I need to arrange refreshments.” She heads for the door.
“Need help?” Sophia offers.
“I’ve got it. You stay and take care of these hotheads.” Isabella waves her hand dismissively and disappears down the hallway.
When her footsteps fade, I perch on the edge of the bed beside Silvo. The idea that’s been forming in my mind since the charity gala suddenly feels urgent.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start, my voice low. “About strengthening the alliance between our families.”
“We’re working on it,” Silvo says, reaching for his shirt. “Last night was a disaster, but—”
“No, I mean something more permanent.” I take a deep breath. “Something like what we have.”
Fed raises an eyebrow. “An arranged marriage? Between who?”
“Isabella and Maximo.”
The room goes silent. Then Silvo laughs—a short, sharp sound.
“You’re crazy.” He shakes his head. “They hate each other.”
“Do they?” I challenge. “Or do they remind you of us? The way we were at first?”
Sophia sits up straighter. “Carmela might be onto something. I’ve seen how they look at each other when they think no one’s watching.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Silvo says firmly. “Isabella would never agree to it.”
“We didn’t exactly agree to our arrangement either,” I remind him, touching his uninjured shoulder. “But look at us now.”
Fed drums his fingers on the armrest. “Maximo is a loose cannon and a complete asshole. I don’t want him anywhere near my sister.”
Silvo shrugs. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. But Isabella’s too stubborn to admit she feels anything for that Moretti punk.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why the fuck would you even consider Isabella marrying that piece of shit?” Fed asks.
Silvo’s jaw clenches. “Because Carmela has a good point. There’s no better alliance than uniting our families through marriage.” He tilts his head. “Alternatively we could always have you marry Valeria.”
Fed pales and shakes his head. “No thank you. I’m not marrying a Moretti.”
“I’m not saying it would happen right away,” I press.
“I’m saying we plant the seed. They’re already drawn to each other—anyone with eyes can see that.
The way she flushed when he grabbed her wrist at the gala?
The way he watches her when she enters a room?
It’s already happening whether we acknowledge it or not. ”
Sophia nods. “The tension between them is practically visible.”
“An alliance sealed with blood,” Silvo muses, wincing as he pulls his shirt over his bandaged shoulder. “Our fathers might actually consider it, especially after tonight’s bloodbath.”
I feel a surge of hope. Maybe something good could come from all this horror. “It would unify our families permanently, just like us.”
The door swings open, and Isabella reappears, her expression tense. “They’re here. The Morettis just pulled up—Nico, Maximo, and Valeria. Dad’s in the study waiting.”
My pulse quickens. Antonio rarely attends tactical meetings—meaning the stakes have escalated beyond what I even imagined. I touch Silvo’s arm. “This is perfect timing. With Antonio here, we could—”
“Not now, Carmela,” Silvo cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s focus on the immediate threat first.”
I bite my lip, frustrated. With both families under one roof, Antonio present, and emotions raw from shared loss, the timing couldn’t be more perfect for proposing to bind our families together. But I see the determination in Silvo’s eyes and the exhaustion lining his face.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he promises, squeezing my hand.
I nod, swallowing my disappointment. “Later.”
As we follow Isabella downstairs, I can’t help feeling we’re missing a crucial opportunity. But I’ve learned when to push and when to trust my husband’s judgment. After last night, with nine men dead and a traitor in our midst, I’ll follow his lead.