Chapter 42 Silvo
SILVO
Three weeks of silence from Tartarov feels worse than daily gunfire. I pace my office, checking surveillance feeds for the tenth time today. Nine good men gone, and what? The Russians vanished like smoke.
“Anything?” Carmela asks from the doorway, her face drawn with the same tension we’ve all been carrying.
“Nothing.” I slam my palm against the desk. “It’s the waiting that kills you.”
She crosses to me, resting her head against my chest. My shoulder’s almost healed, but the memory of that night at the docks haunts me—how close I came to leaving her a widow. How close Nico came to death beside me.
“The meeting starts in twenty minutes,” she reminds me.
I nod, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s get this over with.”
The conference room feels smaller with both families squeezed around the table. Nico sits opposite me, dark circles under his eyes matching mine. Tartarov’s silence has been harder on our businesses than his attacks—shipments delayed, territories undermanned, everyone jumping at shadows.
“We can’t keep operating like this,” Fed says, spreading maps across the table. “We’re bleeding money maintaining double security details.”
“You think we don’t know that?” Maximo snaps, leaning forward. “My men haven’t had a day off in three weeks.”
Isabella rolls her eyes. “Poor babies. Maybe they should learn to multitask like our crews.”
“Rich coming from someone who’s never worked a day in her life,” Maximo retorts.
Isabella’s cheeks flush. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know enough,” he says, eyes sliding down her body.
“Enough,” I interrupt, but the electricity between them is unmistakable—like watching Carmela and me months ago, hatred barely masking something else entirely.
A realization hits me like a thunderbolt. I glance at Carmela, who gives me a subtle nod—she’s been right all along.
I clear my throat. “Nico, could I speak with you and my father privately?”
We step into the hallway, closing the door on the continuing tension.
“What is it?” Nico asks, guard still up despite weeks of alliance.
I take a calculated risk. “I have a proposition that could permanently unite our families.”
My father clears his throat. “And you didn’t think to run this proposition by me first?”
I clench my jaw. “Trust me.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m listening.”
“Maximo and Isabella. An arranged marriage—like mine with Carmela.”
Nico’s eyebrows shoot up, and a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. It’s the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from him since this mess began.
“Those two?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “They bicker like cats and dogs. Maximo can barely be in the same room with her without starting an argument. That’s a cruel option, even by our standards.”
“I agree, it’s pretty farfetched, Silvo,” my father states.
I lean against the wall, my shoulder still tender.
“Carmela and I were the same way. She hated me when we married—thought I’d tricked her when we met at a club.
” I can’t help the small smile that forms. “Now? She’s the first person I want to see every morning and the last one I want to hold at night.
What began as business became... everything. ”
Nico studies me, and there’s a shift in his expression. I’ve never shared anything this personal with him before, and I can sense he’s weighing my sincerity.
“Look at them in there,” I continue, nodding toward the conference room. “That’s not just hatred. That’s chemistry masquerading as contempt. They’re circling each other like wolves.”
Through the glass panel, we can see Isabella gesturing animatedly while Maximo leans forward, his face intense as he argues back. Yet neither walks away.
Nico and my father follow my gaze, watching them for a long moment. “My boy needs someone who won’t bow to his every whim. Someone with fire.” He taps his fingers against his chin, considering. “And the alliance would be... substantial.”
“Permanent,” I correct. “Family.”
He nods slowly. “It’s a good idea, Silvo. But we can’t force them. Let’s run it by them together.” He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “See how they react when it’s not just another order.”
“Agreed,” father says, and him and Nico exchange a nod before stepping back into the room.
The moment we enter the conference room, the arguing stops. Something in my expression must betray me because Carmela sits up straighter, a small smile playing at her lips.
“We have a proposal,” Nico announces, his voice commanding immediate attention. “One that would cement our alliance permanently.”
I scan the faces around the table, lingering on my sister. She’s smart enough to sense what’s coming.
“The De Lucas and the Morettis have been enemies too long,” Nico continues. “We propose uniting our families through marriage—Isabella De Luca and my son, Maximo Moretti.”
Isabella’s jaw drops. “No freaking way.” She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You can’t be serious.”
To my surprise, Maximo’s expression shifts from shock to something like delight. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he leans back in his chair, eyes roving over Isabella.
“I don’t know,” he drawls. “I think I could get used to having you in my bed every night, bella.” His voice drops lower. “Imagine all the fun we could have... fighting and making up.”
Isabella’s cheeks flush crimson. “You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but I don’t miss how her breath catches.
“That blush suggests otherwise,” Maximo continues, standing to approach her. “You’ve been watching me since day one. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“I’d rather marry a rattlesnake,” Isabella retorts, but she doesn’t back away as he steps closer.
“At least a rattlesnake warns you before it strikes,” he murmurs. “I prefer to... surprise.”
The tension between them crackles like a live wire. Isabella’s blush deepens, and though her mouth opens for another retort, no words come out.
Isabella looks like she might actually strike Maximo, and I’ve seen my sister angry enough times to know she’s not above it.
Nico steps forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Isabella, please. This isn’t just about two people. This is about two families.” His voice softens, surprising me with its gentleness. “Think of what we could build together—real peace after three generations of bloodshed.”
My father nods solemnly beside him. “The feud ends with us. Here. Now.”
Isabella’s eyes dart between them, then to Carmela, who gives her a sympathetic smile. My wife understands better than anyone what it means to be the bridge between families.
“So I’m supposed to take one for the team?” Isabella throws her hands up. “Be chained to him forever?” She glares at Maximo with such intensity I’m shocked he doesn’t burst into flames.
Maximo, the smug bastard, seems to be enjoying every second of her discomfort. He leans against the conference table, muscled arms crossed over his chest.
“I don’t mind being chained to you, bella,” he purrs, eyes traveling down her body and back up again. “We could make it fun. I even have the cuffs already.”
Isabella makes a strangled sound of outrage while Fed coughs to hide a laugh. I shoot my brother a warning look, but it’s too late—Maximo caught it, and his grin only widens.
“And that concludes today’s business,” my father announces, tapping the table. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow to finalize our strategy against Tartarov.”
The tension lingers as everyone files out, murmuring in small groups. As expected, Isabella storms toward me, green eyes blazing.
“A word,” she hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the adjacent study.
The door slams behind us. “What the hell, Silvo? You couldn’t warn me before offering me up like a sacrificial lamb?”
I lean against the desk, giving her space to vent. “We didn’t decide anything. It’s a suggestion that deserves serious consideration.”
“Consideration?” She laughs bitterly. “You watched him humiliate me in there with those disgusting comments!”
“I saw a man who couldn’t take his eyes off you,” I counter. “The same way I looked at Carmela when we first met.”
Isabella crosses her arms. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” I step closer. “Being a De Luca means considering sacrifices for the greater good of the family. Always has.”
“So I’m supposed to sacrifice my happiness?”
“I married Carmela because our family needed strength and power from the Bianchi alliance. We needed to expand our reach in California.” I soften my voice. “I resented it at first. Thought I’d be trapped in a loveless arrangement forever.”
Isabella’s anger falters. “And now?”
“Now I can’t imagine my life without her.” I take my sister’s hands, feeling the same protectiveness I’ve had since she was born. “I found love in the last place I expected. You might too.”
She stares at our joined hands. “And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll find another way,” I promise. “But at least think about it. For all of us.”
Isabella’s shoulders drop slightly, the fire in her eyes dimming to embers rather than flames. She tugs her hand away from mine, but gently now.
“I’ll... think about it,” she concedes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not promising anything, Silvo. That man is insufferable.”
I bite back a smile. “So was I, according to Carmela.”
“That’s different. You were just brooding and controlling. Maximo is...” She waves her hand, searching for words.
“Cocky? Arrogant?”
Isabella rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “All of the above, and worse.”
“Just consider it,” I squeeze her shoulder. “For the family, yes, but for yourself too. Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“Fine.” She straightens her blouse. “I’ll talk to him. Once. In public.” She points a warning finger at me. “And if he makes one inappropriate comment, the deal’s off.”
As Isabella leaves, I remain in the study, staring out at the Philadelphia skyline. For the first time since bullets started flying at those docks, a wave of genuine optimism washes over me.
If we pull this off—if the Morettis and De Lucas truly become family—Philly will never be the same. Our combined territories would stretch from the Delaware River to the western suburbs. Our manpower would double. Our influence would reach into sectors neither family could touch alone.
Most importantly, Alexei Tartarov wouldn’t stand a chance against a united front. The Russians might have resources, but they don’t have what we’re building here—blood ties, history, family bonds that run deeper than business.
Two of the oldest Italian families in Philadelphia united after three generations of bloodshed. The thought feels like something from a dream.