Chapter 11 Atlas
Atlas
I was already dressed in my head before I’d even dragged myself out of bed at eight o’clock the next morning. Morning light leaked through the glass walls, soft and gold, painting the stone floors like it was trying to warm a place that refused to be warmed.
My penthouse in Tuscany sat above the city like it had never meant to belong there—too modern, too cold, too removed from the world below.
Glass, steel, stone. Clean lines and sharp edges.
It contained no softness. No history and nothing to indicate that it was lived in on anything more than a temporary basis.
I stood there for a moment, breathing it in.
The quiet. The stillness. I didn’t come here often enough.
I always told myself I was too busy, that Genoa needed me, that responsibility came before indulgence.
But maybe that wasn’t the real reason. Maybe I avoided this place because it forced me to sit with myself—and I wasn’t sure I liked my own company.
I moved through the kitchen and poured a coffee, the machine humming low in the silence. When I walked to the window, the view hit me all over again—Tuscany stretching out in shades of terracotta roofs and rolling hills, the early bustle muted by distance.
Below, the day started gently. A man unlocked his bicycle. A woman hung washing from a balcony. A baker slid open his shutters and dusted flour from his apron.
Life. It was ordinary. Simple. A different universe entirely from the one I’d been raised to rule.
Steam curled from my mug as I took a slow sip. The brew was bitter, hot, grounding.
Maybe everything that had brought me here had been an overcorrection. Maybe I’d been chasing shadows that were never threats in the first place because it was easier to battle ghosts than admit the quiet unsettled me more than any enemy ever could.
My shoulders loosened, enough to feel foolish for ever thinking this trip required more from me than observation and patience. Enough to finally admit there was no danger here. Not to the family or the throne. And definitely not to me.
I exhaled, long and steady, the decision settling into place before I’d even spoken it aloud.
I would go home tonight.
Back to Genoa and the weight of responsibility that leaned heavily on me. To the life I knew how to live.
My phone vibrated on the counter, slicing through the silence. It was Marcello. Of course.
I answered before the second ring, already annoyed at how he insisted on playing the older brother instead of the younger one he was.
“What.”
“Why the hell aren’t you answering?” he demanded. “I called twice.”
“I’m answering now.”
“That’s not an answer, Atlas.”
I stared out at the Tuscan skyline, the clouds spread across the city. “I’m handling something.”
He exhaled harshly. “You disappeared in the middle of a busy week. You didn’t take a single man with you. You didn’t leave instructions. You didn’t—”
“I was sure you could manage,” I told him. “If I didn’t think I could leave you in charge for a few days, I wouldn’t have left.”
“You’re unprotected, Atlas!”
“I don’t need a shadow every time I leave the city, Marcello.”
“You’re the Don,” he snapped. “You don’t get to walk around unprotected. That’s reckless.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that now, but I swear if something happens—”
“Marcello.” My tone dropped. “I’ll be home soon.”
There was a beat of annoyed silence. Then, “How soon? I’m coming out there. You need at least one man with you who has your back.”
“And if you come, who will run the family while we’re both away?” I was sure he hadn’t thought that one through. “I’ll be home before the day is out.”
The call ended after I convinced him I’d be home soon and before he could dig any further. I set the phone down, hoping that was the end of his concern until I made it back home.
It wasn’t.
The buzzer rang from the building entrance. I froze. Only one person besides Marcello knew where I was in Tuscany. And it sure as hell wasn’t my mother.
I hit the intercom. “Yes?”
A cheerful voice answered, “It’s your favorite cousin, cugino mio. Buzz me in.”
Gianni. Fuck.
I pressed the door release, already irritated.
A minute later, he pushed the door open and walked into the penthouse like he owned it. He was grinning, relaxed, carrying the kind of confidence only a man who had never had to fear anything could pull off.
“Wow,” he breathed, giving the place a slow look. “I love how cold and impersonal you’ve made it.”
I almost rolled my eyes. Of course he’d say that. Gianni had been the one who’d shown me this property before I bought it. Back then, it had just been an empty shell with concrete floors and bare walls. I’d bought it for the view, nothing more.
He stepped further inside, still smiling like he was here for a family reunion instead of an unannounced assignment.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Tuscany?”
I arched a brow. “Marcello sent you.”
“Obviously.” Gianni dropped onto my couch like it was his. “He forgot to mention it when he called, didn’t he?”
I glared. “He did.”
“He’s worried,” Gianni shrugged. “And when he’s worried, he annoys the shit out of me until I fix things.”
“You’re not here to fix anything,” I noted. “You’re here because he thinks I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”
Gianni kicked his feet up. “Well, are you?”
I moved in front of him, lowering my voice. “You know better than to question a Don.”
He didn’t flinch. Gianni had always been fearless, even when he was staring me down.
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” He shrugged. He knew I’d never.
There was only silence as he waited for my answer. Then he burst out laughing. I shook my head despite myself, and the tension loosened just enough that I let my guard drop an inch.
Gianni leaned back, hands behind his head. “So. Really. What are you doing here? And how can I help?”
“You can’t.”
“I figured you’d say that,” he sighed. “But I’m not leaving. I promised Marcello I’d keep an eye on you. And if something happens to you, he’ll cry nonstop, and I’m not dealing with the baby of the family.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Gianni—”
“Nope. I’m here. I’m staying. Also,” he added, brightening, “I want to go to the market.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
“Dry mango.”
“What?”
“Mikayla only likes the mango from the stalls here,” he told me, already standing. “She’s pregnant and will make me sleep outside if I go home without it.”
I blinked once. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grinned. “Tell her that. She’ll agree with you.”
I sighed and grabbed my keys. “Fine. Market. Then you leave me alone.”
“That’s what you think,” he muttered under his breath—loud enough for me to hear.
Tuscany’s markets were loud, cramped, and crowded with locals. People haggled over fruit. Vendors shouted prices. Tourists took photos they probably wouldn’t look at again.
Gianni headed straight for the fruit section like he’d been navigating these stalls his whole life.
“We get the mango, then pistachio crisps.” He was already weaving through the crowd like he was leading a mission. “Mikayla loves pistachio chips.”
I followed him, unimpressed. “Anything else you want to add to the list? Do you need a trolley, perhaps?”
He snorted. “Don’t tempt me. She also wants dried figs, but I’m pretending I forgot that part.”
“You’re a coward,” I told him.
“I’m married,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how your wife puts up with you.”
Gianni grinned at me over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Don. I’ll buy you a gelato. Maybe it’ll help with your personality.”
“Get me gelato and I’ll consider not shoving you under a bus.”
He laughed, unbothered. “See? This is why I came. You need me. Otherwise you’d be brooding alone in your fancy penthouse like some tragic villain.”
I stopped walking. “I am a tragic villain.”
“Exactly,” and he clapped my shoulder. “Which is why you need fruit and gelato before you do anything stupid.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
He flashed a bright smile before turning back toward the stalls, all easy confidence and loud energy as he rattled off a list of items to one vendor.
I was barely listening.
Because my attention was drawn somewhere else as a man shouted,
“Bella! Bella! You came back for me!”
The voice was too loud and too eager.
Gianni waved a hand without looking back. “Ignore him. Happens all the time.” He kept talking, ticking items off his ridiculous list.
I barely heard him as something pulled at me, and I turned my head.
And to my complete and utter surprise, there she was.
Neve Trimboli.
She was standing beside another woman who had started tearing into the man shouting at her, hands flying, voice raised, fury written plainly across her face.
Neve stood stiffly beside her, clutching her bag, trying to inch away without drawing more attention to herself.
Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed from embarrassment or anger—I wasn’t sure which.
My pulse jumped.
Gianni looked at me, brows raised. “Well. That’s interesting—you taking an interest in something that doesn’t involve blood.”
He had no idea.
And now she was standing twenty feet away from me, completely unaware that her entire past was standing right behind her.
And this time… I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her.