CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ari
The rain hasn’t stopped since I arrived. It streams down the windows in rivulets, distorting the view of the manicured gardens outside. This house isn’t home, but at least it’s familiar—the faint strains of my uncle’s favorite opera drifting through the halls, the sharp scent of espresso filling the kitchen.
I sit at the island, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee I don’t even want. The silver spoon clinks against the porcelain, a steady rhythm that does nothing to calm my thoughts.
“You’ve been quiet since you got here.”
André’s voice startles me, and I turn to find him leaning against the doorway, a mug in one hand, his other resting casually on his holster. His dark suit is immaculate, but his tie is loosened, a rare concession to the current climate and the tension humming through the house like a second heartbeat.
“I didn’t realize I needed to narrate my thoughts,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intend.
His lips twitch in a faint smirk, but his eyes are serious as he enters the room. He pulls out the stool and sits, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. “I’m not asking you to narrate, sorella . But I recognize that look. You’re planning something.”
I grip the edge of my cup, the ceramic warm against my palms. “I’m thinking. That’s all.”
“Thinking leads to plans,” André says, taking a sip of his coffee. “And plans—when they come from you—usually lead to trouble.”
I glance at him, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “And what exactly would you have me do, André? Sit here and smile while Sal tries to tear us apart piece by piece?”
“No one will tear apart this alliance.” His voice is fierce, just like all the men who have held the Famiglia together over the years. “Would you like to help?”
Shocked, I press my lips together. “Hell really has frozen over.”
André exhales. “Better I make the plan than allow you to throw yourself into the fire.”
His words hit hard as I stare into my coffee. “I don’t have a death wish, André.”
“No,” he says, his tone softening. “But you have a habit of taking risks that make the rest of us sweat.”
I glance at him, and for a moment, the weight of everything hangs between us—our family, our loyalty, the fragile alliances holding it all together. André has always been the pragmatic one, the steady hand in a storm. But even he can’t hold back the tide forever.
Franco strides into the kitchen as if on cue, his coat is damp from the rain...and he’s not alone. I freeze when I see him.
“Emilio,” I say, his name sticking in my throat.
He’s bulkier than the last time I saw him, his dark eyes holding the same intensity. I haven’t seen him since he was dragged out of Franco’s office in shame.
Emilio stops a few feet away, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his jaw tight.
“I see you’re still alive,” I say, surprised. “I thought you’d be at the bottom of the river or something.
Franco shakes his head. “We decided he could be useful.”
“But he betrayed the Famiglia .”
“No,” André says, his voice like steel. “He made a mistake. A costly one. But I gave him a choice—redemption or death. He chose redemption.” André stands and adjusts his holster. “He’s proven his loyalty. Giovanni thinks Emilio is loyal to him, but he’s feeding me everything. Every word, every move.”
“I owe the Famiglia my life,” Emilio says firmly. “That’s enough to keep me loyal.”
Franco fills a cup with coffee and drops down onto a chair. “Giovanni’s arrogance is his greatest weakness. He loves the sound of his own voice. Emilio’s been feeding him just enough to keep him talking.”
“What does this have to do with me?” I ask, crossing my arms.
André’s eyes narrow slightly. “Have you kept your acting skills sharp?”
I blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been feeding Giovanni rumors since you arrived a couple of days ago,” Franco says. “He thinks you’re unhappy. Trapped. If you lean into that, he could talk.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You want me to pretend I’m disillusioned with Maxsim and looking for a way out? He would never believe I’d turn on my husband and consider him an option.”
Emilio chuckles. “He sure as hell would. There are no limits to his delusions of grandeur.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Maxsim will kill me if he finds out.”
André’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Better alive and hated than dead and cherished.”
The words hit their mark. “And what about Maxsim?” I ask. “Doesn’t he need to know about this?”
Franco smirks faintly. “I will explain it to him afterward. Right now, this is our best chance of discovering where Sal is.”
I look between my brother and cousin, realizing this is my chance to put my money where my mouth is. “Alright. I guess I can get him talking,” I say slowly. “But if you’re wrong—if this doesn’t work—”
“Then we’re all dead,” Franco says bluntly.
After Franco and André outline the basics of the plan, I retreat to Luna’s room under the pretense of changing clothes. The air feels heavy as I step into the closet, my fingers brushing over the silk and lace of her carefully curated dresses.
Giovanni loves control. Power. The illusion that women are tools for him to wield. If I’m going to manipulate him, I need to look the part—soft, vulnerable, just angry enough to make him believe I’ll break my vows.
I pull out a black dress with a plunging neckline and drape it over the bed. It’s a costume, nothing more, but doubt creeps into my chest as I stare at it.
I’m playing with fire. Maxsim will lose his mind. He doesn’t want another man looking at me, much less flirting.
Civil War. The thought steadies me because I have to do what I can to avoid it.
I step into the dress, the cool fabric sliding over my skin like armor. When I look in the mirror, the woman staring back is someone I barely recognize—dangerous, alluring, and entirely in control.
Downstairs, Franco and Emilio wait by the door. Franco looks me over, his expression tightening slightly.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say honestly, grabbing a clutch from the table.
“Good,” Emilio says. “Overconfidence will get you killed.”
Franco steps closer, his dark eyes sharp. “Remember—Giovanni thrives on ego. Flatter him. Let him feel like he’s the smartest man in the room. But don’t push too hard. If he smells the trap, he’ll shut down.”
“Please don’t give me advice on how to handle men.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve been doing it since I took my first step.”
“I know,” Franco says quietly. “That’s what I’m counting on.” He studies me for a long moment before stepping aside. “Good luck.”
As I step into the car waiting outside, the rain starts to fall again, tapping against the windows like a warning.
This isn’t just about Giovanni or Maxsim anymore. It’s about me. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone take my choices away again.
The valet station in front of the family’s resort gleams with polished brass. A line of luxury cars stretches down the circular drive, and Emilio cuts in front of them, stopping in front of a Famiglia soldier.
Encore’s entrance is a study in excess—towering glass doors flanked by immaculately dressed doormen and a cascade of lights spilling across the polished marble steps. Even the air smells expensive, tinged with the faint aroma of designer cologne and rain.
Enzo is waiting for me just inside, standing near the carousel like a sentinel. The soldier, whose name I’ve forgotten, opens my door and tips his head toward my brother.
I stride inside and see Enzo dressed in a suit that fits him with military precision. His gaze sweeps the room constantly, tracking every subtle movement as if he’s cataloging threats before they can materialize.
When his eyes meet mine, his lips curve into the faintest hint of a smirk—a rare concession for someone like him. “You’re late,” he says, his deep voice carrying over the din of slot machines and laughter.
I adjust the strap of my clutch, keeping my expression neutral. “Traffic.”
His sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” I reply evenly, accepting the slim disc I’m supposed to slip into his pocket.
“Any questions?”
“Carolina explained everything. She needs ten minutes to clone his phone, and I must ensure the tag is on his person.”
“Seems simple, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” I take his hand and start walking toward the lounge. “It’s like taking candy from a baby.”
We walk side by side, his presence an unsettling combination of calm and dangerous. “You finally got a sanctioned job,” he says, lowering his voice as we weave through the crowd. The casino is a blur of gold and glitter, the spinning wheels of fortune blending with the faint notes of a jazz quartet drifting from the bar.
“It’s about time,” I reply, though my pulse betrays me, racing like a horse at the starting gate. As we approach the lounge, the atmosphere shifts—the air cooler, quieter, more refined. This isn’t where people come to gamble. It’s where deals are made, fortunes are traded, and power is measured by what’s left unsaid.
Enzo stops short of the entrance, nodding to a soldier stationed nearby. “I’ll be close,” he says, his tone low enough that only I can hear.
I tap the small broach Carolina gave me and let out a breath. “Here goes nothing.”
The space is designed to intimidate—dark wood-paneled walls, chandeliers that cast a dim golden light, and velvet booths tucked into shadowy corners. Smoke curls lazily through the air, mingling with the faint notes of whiskey and cigars.
I spot Giovanni immediately. He’s sprawled in a corner booth, his tailored suit pristine, a smirk already curling his lips when he sees me. I can feel his gaze dragging down my figure as I stride toward him, the heels of my stilettos clicking softly against the polished floor.
“What brings you here,” he says, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He leans back, spreading his arms across the booth like a king surveying his court.
“I broke free of my cage.” I force a small, hesitant smile and slide into the seat across from him, my hands resting lightly on the table. “And decided to spread my wings.”
Giovanni chuckles a low, pleased sound. “I knew you wouldn’t last with that cold Russian.”
The words twist in my stomach, but I let them roll off me. I lean forward slightly, just enough to draw his attention. “I hate being ignored,” I say softly, tracing the edge of my dress. His eyes trace the movement, and I smile inwardly. “Maxsim only cares about the alliance—not me.”
Giovanni’s smirk widens. “ Principessa , men like him don’t change. But me?” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can offer you freedom.”
Freedom. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but I tilt my head as if intrigued. “Freedom? At what cost?”
“Nothing you can’t afford,” he says smoothly, his confidence filling the room like a noxious gas. “If we get together, we can build something real. Something that doesn’t depend on the whims of the Bratva or the Famiglia.”
I nod to the waitress who delivers my drink and then take a slow sip to cover my disgust. His arrogance is almost too easy to exploit, but I have to be careful not to push too hard. Instead, I let a small, uncertain laugh escape and cover his hand. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” Giovanni says, shifting so our legs touch. “You deserve better than to be some Russian’s trophy wife. You deserve power, Ari. Real power.”
As he speaks, I catch Enzo’s subtle signal from the bar. He tilts his head slightly, then nods toward the waitress. A moment later, she discreetly delivers a doctored drink to Giovanni, and I slip the disc into his suit pocket.
He gives the woman a smarmy smile and then takes several gulps. This spy business is easier than I imagined.
Gio begins prattling on about his big plans, and I notice how quickly the drug affects him. Within minutes, his posture relaxes slightly, and his words become just a little looser, his smug confidence softening the edges of his usual caution.
He leans back in his seat, swirling his drink before taking another sip. “You know, Ari, I’ve always had a knack for seeing the bigger picture. André and Franco? They’re stuck in their ways, clinging to old alliances and outdated rules. But me? I see opportunities where they see obstacles.”
“And what opportunities are those?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Giovanni chuckles as if the thought of betrayal doesn’t weigh on him at all. “You’re smarter than Maxsim gives you credit for, principessa . You see it, don’t you? He’s too proud to see the walls closing in around him.”
“What walls?” I ask lightly, feigning curiosity as I rest my hand on his leg. “Maxsim doesn’t exactly strike me as a man easily cornered.”
Giovanni leans forward, his smirk growing. “Sal’s playing chess while the rest of them are stuck on checkers. He’s got alliances André doesn’t even know about—powerful friends who are ready to move when the time comes. By the time André and Alexey realize what’s happening, the Bratva and Famiglia will already belong to Sal.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression calm. “And what’s your role in all this, Giovanni? Surely, Sal isn’t handing you the keys to the kingdom out of the kindness of his heart.”
He laughs with a low, self-satisfied sound. “I’m Sal’s right hand. When this is over, I’ll have everything I deserve—power, territory, respect.” His gaze sweeps over me, lingering. “And you.”
I shift away. “Excuse me?”
He pulls me close, his expression softening as if he’s offering me a gift. “Come on, Ari. You’re too smart to think Maxsim can protect you from this. He’ll fight, of course—he’s too stubborn not to—but he’ll lose. And when he does, what do you think Sal will do with you? With your brother?”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “So your solution is… what? I betray my family and run off with you?”
“Not betray,” Giovanni says smoothly, leaning closer. “Align. Sal respects me. I can protect you. Together, we’d be untouchable.”
“And Maxsim?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
Giovanni shrugs, his smirk turning cold. “Maxsim’s a dead man walking. You can either join me and survive or go down with him. The choice is yours.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, but I don’t move away. Instead, I let a slow, calculated smile spread across my lips. “So when is all this happening?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
Giovanni’s grin falters for a fraction of a second. His sharp eyes narrow, and he studies me with a sudden intensity that sends a chill down my spine.
“Why do you need to put it in your calendar?” he asks, his tone light but with an edge of suspicion.
I lean in and see his eyes fall to my cleavage. “If I’m going to blow up my life, I want to be ready.”
His gaze lingers, and I feel its weight like a blade pressing against my skin. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to hold his gaze, to keep my expression steady.
Giovanni finally relaxes, his suspicion easing as a smirk returns to his lips. “Don’t worry, principessa. You’ll know in plenty of time.”
Across the room, Enso shifts slightly in his seat, his hand resting on the edge of the bar. The tension in his posture mirrors the knot in my stomach.
“Of course,” I say smoothly, standing and smoothing my dress. “I trust you, Giovanni.”
He stands as well, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “You won’t regret it, Ari.”
I force a smile, my skin crawling at his touch. “I hope not.”
Once Enzo has delivered me safely to the car, I pull out my phone and check my messages. Got it.
Emilio glances over as we pull away from the valet station. “Mission accomplished?”
“According to Carolina, we got what she needed.”
“Good.”
I glance over and notice that Emilio is no longer wearing the Seiko. Maybe he really has learned the cost of betraying the family.