Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty Three
Antonio
Her question hangs in the air between us.
I feel it hit me in the ribs, right where the truth always lands—right where it hurts, right where you can’t dodge it without looking like a coward.
For two weeks I’ve been thinking of what this would be like, coming face-to-face with her again. A dozen versions of it ran through my head every day.
None of them was this version.
Standing in her apartment, with her in gym clothes and bare-faced and furious and brilliant, I know none of those other versions matter.
This is the moment where I either tell her the truth or I lose her forever.
And I may lose her anyway.
I don’t know what happens after. I don’t know if she’ll look at me like I’m a monster. I don’t know if she’ll ever want to see me again. I don’t know if I’m about to watch the last fragile thread between us snap clean through.
But I owe her the truth.
Because I came into her life like a wrecking ball, risked her job, and she still didn’t slam the door in my face when I came knocking.
I hold her gaze and keep my voice even.
“We know,” I say, “because if the Bellandis move into the Northeast, they’ll be moving right into our territory.”
She goes still in that way that tells me she’s processing something that changes everything.
Silence stretches.
I don’t fill it. I let her take all the time she needs.
Then she speaks, and her voice is quieter, more careful.
“Your territory,” she repeats. “You mean… your family’s territory?”
There’s no drama in the question. No theatrical outrage.
Just inevitability.
I watch her eyes close for a brief second, like she’s forcing herself not to flinch.
“Of course,” she whispers, and the word sounds like it hurts her. Like it confirms the thing she didn’t want to confirm. “Of course, that’s why you’re trying to acquire Northstar as well.”
She opens her eyes again and looks at me like she’s seeing me in a different light. Or clearly for the very first time, and she’s trying to decide which parts are real and which parts are costume.
My chest tightens.
“No,” I say immediately.
She blinks, not expecting that.
“No,” I repeat, firmer. “That’s not why.”
Her brows knit, skeptical as hell. “Antonio—”
“Listen to me,” I cut in, and my voice roughens because I can’t stand the idea of her thinking I’m here to sell her another story. “We genuinely want to acquire Northstar for legitimate business.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give me anything.
So I keep going, because if I stop, I give her time to fill her thoughts with the worst version of me she can conjure up.
“We’re not looking for expansion,” I say.
“Not like they are. Northstar makes sense because it strengthens what we already run. It’s synergistic.
It’s a control of standards and compliance depth.
It’s protection. It’s—” I swallow. “It’s a smart acquisition.
One we pursued long before we knew about the competition. ”
Her jaw is tight. “And yet—”
“And yet,” I agree, because that’s the part I can’t pretend isn’t true, “we are not willing to let another syndicate move into our backyard.”
The words taste like iron.
Her throat works. She swallows.
“So yes,” I say, quieter now, “we’ve been keeping track of the competition. Because this isn’t just an M&A race. It’s territory and potentially a turf war.”
“A turf war,” she repeats, flat. Disbelieving. “You’re saying that like it’s a normal risk factor.”
“It’s not normal,” I say. “But it’s real.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you think I’m supposed to sit here and consider this new factor in the acquisition? A turf war between two rival mobs?”
“No.” I hold her gaze. “I think you’re supposed to understand what’s actually on the table. And understand that this isn’t about you and me. I’m not willing to leave you here blind.”
I shift on the couch, forcing myself to stay seated, to not crowd her, to not touch her the way my body keeps wanting to.
“I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe from what, Antonio?” she asks and starts pacing again. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. But what are you keeping me safe from? What are you doing here?”
Her eyes cut to me, bright and suspicious.
“Why are you here telling me about the Bellandis?” she demands. “Are you hoping it’s going to sway my decision toward you? Is that what this is?” Her voice rises. “Another attempt to seal the deal? Try to guilt me into becoming organized crime collateral?”
I push off the couch and stand, my patience snapping.
“No,” I say, and it comes out firm enough to stop her momentum.
She holds her ground anyway, chin lifted, eyes daring me to lie.
I cross the space between us before she can turn away and take her by the upper arms.
“No,” I repeat, and tighten my grip briefly. “I’m not trying to sway you. I’m not trying to influence your decision. I’m not here to close a deal.”
Her breath is fast. I can feel the tension in her through the thin fabric of her tank.
“Then what are you doing here?” she throws back. “And don’t say ‘to keep me safe’ like that’s an answer.”
“It is the answer,” I say, and my eyes lock on hers. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Safe from what?” she asks again, and this time the words come out sharper, like she’s cutting straight to the point.
I hold her arms, not letting her twist away, because if she bolts back toward that door and slams it in my face, she’ll do it with her eyes closed to what matters and walk right into trouble.
“You’re right in the middle of it,” I tell her. “You are the person who makes the decision. You are the gate.”
Her posture stiffens.
“And the Bellandis want Northstar,” I continue, my voice dropping. “They want it badly enough that they’ll do anything to get it.”
I feel the exact moment the words land.
It’s subtle—her shoulders tighten, her throat works in a hard swallow—but her eyes change. Fear flickers there, quick and bright, followed by doubt like a shadow.
“What do you mean by that?” she asks, and now her voice is quieter.
I don’t soften this. I can’t.
“I mean they’ve already started watching you,” I say. “We picked up surveillance outside your apartment building.”
Her breath catches.
“And I just got wind of more outside your office building,” I add, watching her face as it goes still.
“My team is still combing through all the video we can get our hands on. I’m willing to bet we’re going to find more.
And we’ll probably find some on your team members too—Malcolm, David, Eleanor—because they’re part of the equation. ”
Her lips part. She doesn’t speak.
“But I don’t think they’re in as much danger as you are,” I say, and the certainty in my own voice makes my stomach turn. “Because you’re the one who can make this real for them. You’re the one who can hand them the keys.”
Her eyes flash, angry again, because anger is easier than fear.
“How could they know it’s me?” she demands. “I didn’t introduce myself as the due diligence lead when I met them.”
Her gaze sharpens, like she’s replaying the whole Chicago meeting in her head and looking for the moment she slipped.
“I wanted to meet them without that influence,” she says, fast now, defensive. “So I told them I was a financial executive—which is true.”
I nod once, because I believe her. I can hear the logic in it. It’s exactly something she would do.
“They still know,” I say simply.
“How?” she snaps.
I let my hands ease on her arms, not letting go, but loosening, trying to keep her anchored without making her feel trapped.
“Because they have their ways,” I tell her. “Because they would make it their business to know exactly that.”
She shakes her head, disbelieving. “That’s—”
“Otherwise,” I cut in, keeping my voice firm, “they wouldn’t be watching your building.”
She breaks away from my grip and starts pacing again. “How am I in danger? What is it you think they’ll do?” she asks, voice wavering a bit. “I can’t suddenly go missing. That won’t help them.”
This is not a discussion I want to have with her—all the ways that people like that can “influence” people like her. But I respect her enough to tell her what she needs to know.
“No,” I say quietly. “There are other ways. Not just threats against you. Against family, friends, people you love.”
“My family isn’t even in the country,” she says. “My mom is retired, but she still makes a lot of public appearances. And my dad is always with her. If either of them goes missing, it’ll just shine a light on this whole thing, right? They wouldn’t want that, right?”
I furrow my brows. Out of respect for Elsa, I haven’t looked into her background. I wanted to learn about her through her, and I haven’t had time since the meeting in Caterina’s office to learn, so I’m not really sure what she means by that.
“Els—”
She whirls back to me. “Right?” she asks, a bit desperately. “They wouldn’t go after my parents, would they?”
“Dolcezza, just relax a moment,” I say gently, willing her to calm down. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
She drags in a breath like she’s trying to swallow panic.
“My mom, she’s a model,” she says, and the words come out harried.
“Retired now, but people notice her. Cameras follow her. She makes appearances with my dad all the time. If anything happened to either of them, the world would be all over it. It would be huge news. Hell, if anything happened to me, my parents would make sure it was big news, too.”
It clicks into place so hard my brain stalls for a beat.
Of course.
My gaze flicks over Elsa’s face—those bones, that symmetry—and the resemblance, especially now that she’s bare-faced, is like a quick jab in the gut.
Lajla Floren.
A face you can’t escape seeing, even now, on TV, in magazines, all over the internet. The kind of woman who walks into a room and owns it.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Then they won’t touch them like that.”
Her shoulders are still tight. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides. “So what will they do?”
I exhale, controlled, because I hate saying it out loud.
“They don’t need you to go missing,” I tell her. “They need you to feel watched. They need you to feel unsafe. They need you to start making decisions with your nerves instead of your ethics.”
Her eyes narrow, swallowing hard. “And you think they can do that to me?”
“Yes,” I say, and my voice stays gentle even as the word is a harsh reality. “It’s what they do. I think you’re smart enough to recognize pressure, but not immune to it.”
I don’t move closer. I keep my hands open at my sides. Harmless.
“You’re not overreacting,” I add. “You’re under-informed. That’s fixable.”
Her laugh is short and thin, like it hurts her throat to make it.
“Fixable,” she repeats, and her eyes cut back to mine. “How? You’re going to… what? Post men in my hallway?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Not where you can see them. Not where they can see them.”
She shifts her weight, restless.
“What does that even mean?” she demands. “Because if you think I’m going to accept some shadowy protection detail from a man I barely—” She stops, jaw tight.
“I’m not asking you to accept anything,” I cut in, keeping my tone low. “I’m telling you what’s already happening.”
She stares at me, chest rising and falling too fast.
“It’ll go a lot easier with your cooperation,” I say.
“So you’re going to do it whether I want it or not,” she asks, voice shaky.
“Yes,” I say.
“Because you don’t want the Bellandis in your terri—”
I brush my fingers softly over her cheek.
“Because I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you,” I say softly. “If, after all of this is over, you never want to see me again, I understand.” My heart aches at the thought. “But, please, let me make sure nothing happens to you.”
Her eyes drop. I want to lean in and brush my lips to hers.
“What does that entail?” she asks.
“I already have security outside covered, and we’re checking the strength of your building security. I’ll have a better assessment for members of your team once we know the extent to which they’re being watched, but the focus is on you.”
Standing so close to her and not being able to take her in my arms is painful.
Her hair is disheveled, likely from the gym, if her outfit is anything to go by.
Loose strands cling to her temples, framing her face in a way that makes her look vulnerable.
The flush hasn’t faded from her cheeks yet.
Her skin is bare and clean and unfairly smooth and soft.
She’s in black leggings that hug every line of those never-ending legs, and a tank that hangs loose but still shows the shape of her waist when she moves. There’s a faint sheen on her collarbone, and it takes everything in me not to put my mouth there, not to taste the salt and heat and her.
I drag my gaze back to her eyes before it becomes obvious.
After a moment, she says, “Fine. Is that all?”
“I want someone inside as well,” I say, voice still quiet.
“Inside my building?” she asks. “You said you were checking the security in here.”
“As a secondary measure,” I say. “But primary security will be inside your unit.”
“Inside my apartment?” she asks, her eyes widening. “You want to post men in my apartment?”
“Not men,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Me.”
For a beat, she just stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“No,” she says flatly and turns away.
“Elsa,” I say patiently. “We can put as much security as we want around you, but the bigger the fence, the bigger the chance something can slip through.”
She walks away from me and behind the giant island that separates her kitchen from the rest of the living area.
“No.” She yanks open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of something pink.
“I know you have your doubts,” I answer, following her but making sure to keep the island between us. “I know that I’ve brought problems to your life. But I didn’t bring this one. It would be here with or without me, but at least with me here, I can help.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not a convincing argument.”
“It’s the honest one,” I say. “I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll take the couch. I won’t touch anything. I won’t touch you.”
The words feel like metal scraping on the way out, but I keep going. “It won’t matter if I have someone posted outside your door if they manage to get in here undetected. I need someone behind the door with you.”
Her throat works as she swallows, the fear there even under the anger.
“And if I say no?” she asks, voice hard.
“Then I’ll just have to adjust my opinion of your intelligence,” I say.
She sets the glass bottle down on the counter with a sigh, and I know I have my yes.