Chapter 19
Nineteen
If there is one thing I have learned from my life growing up with my father, it is to keep quiet and listen. The subtle art of silence is often underestimated, and when you blend into the background, people tend to speak more freely, revealing their true thoughts. This is how I survived his under his roof for so long.
I listened.
I learned.
The group of mafia men and Ava sit around the large oak table, their voices a low rumble as they delve into the consequences of going to war with Salvatore. Maps and documents are strewn across the table, and the flickering candlelight casts shadows on their pensive faces. They discuss the strategies needed to take on someone as formidable as Salvatore without sacrificing their own men. I sit quietly in the corner, my presence almost forgotten.
I absorb every word, every nuance.
No one at this table truly grasps what they are about to face. The fortified walls, the loyal soldiers who swear allegiance to my father, and those who desperately wish they could. Men who would betray their own for a sliver of favor, eager to divulge secrets if given the slightest opportunity. “ Guidonia is the perfect airport to land in,” the one they call Dante says. He’s the Don of the Romano family here in Seattle. “It’s only eighteen kilometers from Rome’s center.”
The men exchange glances and nod, their low voices rumbling in agreement. Yet, I am acutely aware their plan will fail. Salvatore’s iron grip on all of Rome is unyielding, and his loyal guards stationed at Guidonia are heavily armed. They’ll be met with a hail of bullets before their feet can touch the tarmac.
“Ms. Nardoni doesn’t seem to agree with us.” My body tenses at Matthias Dashkov’s deep rumble. “It seems she knows something we don’t.”
All eyes are on me, and my eyes are fixed on the table. How is it that he knows my thoughts? Are they so easily displayed on my face?
“Gia.” Vitali’s voice cuts through the tension with a sharpness that sends my attention snapping toward him. His intense hazel eyes burn into my soul, fixing me in an unwavering stare that threatens to expose every hidden thought. Summoning the courage to suppress the surge of fear and uncertainty, I clear my throat and draw in a long, steady breath. What I am about to do is not only considered treason in my family, but it is practically a sacrilege—a deed deemed imperdonabile , unforgivable.
There is no turning back after this act, no chance to return home. My father will know that I am the one who leaked this dangerous information, and the mere thought of his wrath makes the prospect of torture seem like a torment far worse than anything hell could ever dream up.
“You can’t trust anyone inside of Rome,” I declare, my words full of cold resolve. My tongue darts out to moisten my cracked, dry lips as if to wash away the dreadful reality that I am about to unfold. “Most of them are spies for Salvatore and my father, and those who aren’t will betray you for a comfortable seat at their tables.”
Everyone at the table exchange weary glances, but I pressed on, my voice steady as I lay the plan bare.
“You’ll need to land near Pienza, a quiet haven about two hours north of Rome,” I explain, my tone measured and clear. “This local area has no roots tainted by the mafia. Salvatore and my father attempted to establish themselves in that modest countryside village years ago, but they were forcefully expelled.”
As another round of exchanged glances ripple around the room, there is a hint of astonishment rather than suspicion in the air. Matthias leans forward, elbows resting confidently on the table, his hands clasp together as the gray storm clouds in his eyes fixate on me.
“How do you know this?” He tilts his head to the side in deliberate curiosity, studying me as though he intends to commit every nuance of my expression to memory. I realize then that he is not merely observing but meticulously reading me—scrutinizing each micro-expression and twitch in my face. This must be how he detected the anxiety bubbling beneath my calm facade at their plan.
“My father ranted about it for months,” I admit, thinking I might as well be honest. Lying won’t ingratiate me to these people. The revelation that my father might have deliberately sent my mother to her death steels my resolve. Working with Vitali is my best option. If I can provide him with the information he needs and assist him in any way possible, perhaps he won’t force me down the aisle like he has promised.
“He just ranted about it?” Dante’s voice slices through the room with piercing skepticism, his incredulous tone echoing off the walls. “Right in front of you?”
“When you’re a woman in the Italian mafia, you are invisible.” Those are the words I whisper, a harsh truth that I barely let slip because most men are too blinded by their privilege to ever grasp it. Males born into the Italian mafia are automatically gifted with an unearned advantage because their reproductive organs are on the outside instead of the inside.
Meanwhile, women become mere pawns shuffled around on an unseen chessboard, traded like precious commodities. Their bodies, and everything that comes with them, are bartered to the highest bidder—be it for alliances, debts, or simple greed.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Ava grinning widely, her eyes shimmering with unspoken understanding. She may be the leader of one of the most formidable branches of the Bratva in the States, but something tells me there was a time when she had to learn to be just as invisible as me. I have spent my whole life learning how to make myself smaller, stealthily slipping through the tiny cracks left open when no one was watching. Under the oppressive roof of my father’s domain, I learned early on that survival meant becoming three things:
Meek.
Quiet.
Obedient.
Those were the three relentless lessons he hammered into me over the years in his bleak quest to mold me into the perfect daughter and, someday, the perfect wife for whoever had the biggest purse. Lucky for me, his teachings never stained my soul.
Dante’s mouth turns up at the corners, a slight tug betraying his reluctant concession, and he nods ever so slightly, momentarily easing the tension that hangs in the air like a shroud.
“What else do you know?” Matthias’s unwavering gaze bores into me throughout our entire conversation, each scrutinizing look making it hard not to squirm in discomfort. Nervousness knits my throat tight.
“I want to make a deal first.” My heart hammers wildly in my chest while I struggle to meet the eyes of the brutish man sitting before me, an imposing figure who could crush me before I even manage a blink. Maybe if I negotiate with him directly, away from Vitali’s looming shadow, I might escape this predicament without another chain binding me here. “If I give you the information I know, I want something in return.”
Before I can continue, Vitali’s smooth, menacing voice slices into the space between us. “And what is that, piccola cerva ?” His tone oozes charm, yet hides a threatening undercurrent that sends shivers down my spine.
“Not—” I begin, but Matthias is already leaning back in his chair, one leg casually draped over the other. He smiles, and fuck, it makes him look even more like a predator than he already does. In that moment, the dynamics shift. If I hadn’t felt like a hunted animal before, I sure as hell do now.
“You deal with me, Gia,” Vitali interjects, his words unspooling with a softness that belies the fierce storm beneath. His calm is deceptive, a simmering threat poised to burst. “You are mine. No one else gets to decide your fate. There are no deals—no outside assistance. If you want to bargain, it will be with me alone.”
I roll my shoulders back, sitting up straighter in my chair, defiantly lifting my chin even as my eyes search the face of the man who both saved me and condemned me. The same man who holds the key to my undoing, and who demands the kind of obedience I once promised myself I would never surrender.
“I want to see my brother.”