10. Valerio
VALERIO
Riccardo arrives at nine. Right on time.
I know before he walks in that the news is bad. He's alone. No Savannah. No Valerio, I'm sorry written across his face. No attempt at comfort.
Good.
I asked him, months ago, to give it to me straight if this day came.
He steps into my office and closes the door behind him.
I stay behind the desk, both hands flat on the wood, shoulders square, jaw locked so hard I feel the ache at the hinge.
“Tell me,” I say.
Riccardo doesn't sit.
“Your parents are dead.”
The office goes silent.
My right hand curls against the desk. The edge bites into my palm. I let it.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I nod once.
A man can survive any sentence if he turns it into information quickly enough.
Three weeks ago. Not today. Not yesterday either. I have been eating, sleeping, breathing, signing contracts, and marrying Federica while my parents were already dead.
I press my thumb into the cut on my knuckle until pain clears the fog from my head.
“How?”
“Mateo Rubio gave the order.” Riccardo’s voice stays flat. “Execution by firing squad. He recorded it, then delivered to one of my men in California with instructions to pass it to me.”
My stomach turns once. I do not let it reach my face.
“Do you have the recording?”
“Yes.”
“Destroy it.”
Riccardo holds my gaze. “I already did.”
Good. That is why I trust him.
No one needs to see my father die. No one needs to hear my mother in her last seconds. Not my men. Not my enemies.
And especially not me.
My nails scrape once over the desk. “And Valentina?”
“Alive.”
The word hits harder than the first blow.
Alive.
My lungs work again, and I hate that they do. Relief is an insult when it stands beside two bodies.
“For now,” Riccardo adds.
I look at him. “What are Rubio's terms?”
“He's giving you twelve weeks for a full transfer of Queens territory to his men. Routes, warehouses, ports, street crews, accounts. Everything. If you refuse or stall, he stops being patient.”
My hand closes around the pen on my desk.
Riccardo’s mouth tightens. “His words were that he’ll start sending Valentina back in pieces.”
The pen snaps in my fist.
Ink spills over my fingers. Black. Warm from my skin.
For one second, I see nothing but Rubio’s face. I put a bullet through him in my head. Then another. Then I drag him back alive because death would be too clean.
I breathe once, before sinking into my chair.
Business first. Rage later.
“Where is he?”
Riccardo takes the chair across from me now. “We don’t know.”
“You’ve had your men in Mexico for months.”
“My best men,” he says. “They’ve been scouring everything south of the border. Safe houses, cartel farms, ports, medical clinics, churches, airstrips. Twice they came close. Both times, Rubio moved before they could close in.”
“Someone tipped him off.”
“Maybe. Or he’s careful.”
“I should go.”
“No.”
The refusal is immediate.
My gaze cuts to his.
Riccardo does not move. That is another reason I trust him. He does not shrink from another man’s fury just because it is justified.
“They want you there,” he says. “They want Queens without firing a shot in New York. If you leave, you give them your absence, your panic, and an opening. Your sister becomes bait that worked.”
“She is my sister.”
“And you are capo of Queens.”
My fist hits the desk once and the sound cracks through the office.
Riccardo lets it pass.
I lean forward. “Do not remind me of my title while my sister is in Rubio’s hands.”
“I will remind you because she needs the capo more than she needs the brother.”
For a moment, I hate him. But that fades quickly, because he’s right.
I look down at my ink-stained hand. My pulse hammers under the skin. I want blood. I want a plane. I want twelve hours alone with Mateo Rubio and no witnesses.
I sigh and reach for a handkerchief and wipe my fingers clean.
“Keep searching,” I say.
“I never stopped.”
“If there is a leak, find it.”
“I will.”
“If Rubio contacts you again, I hear it first.”
“You will.”
The meeting should end there.
It does not.
Riccardo’s eyes move to the folder on my desk. The marriage contract. Federica’s signature sits at the bottom, sharp and furious even in ink.
His brows draw together.
“Who?” he asks.
“Federica Berardi.”
He looks back at me. For the first time since he came in, his expression shifts.
“Camillo’s sister. You married her?”
“Yes.”
He exhales through his nose and leans back. “Marriage shouldn’t be entered into lightly.”
I laugh once. It sounds wrong. “Thank you, Father Romano.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His gaze hardens. “I have watched you go gray at the temples for months, Valerio. I have watched you turn yourself into a weapon because everyone needed you sharp. I understand why. I respect it. But a wife can give a man things he didn’t know he needed.”
“Like Savannah did for you?”
“Yes,” he says. “She gave me more than I deserved. Every day, she gives me more.”
I look away first.
The office feels too small suddenly. Too much death. Too much ink. Too much of Federica’s name sitting beside mine like it belongs there.
“She doesn’t want me like that.”
“Are you sure?”
“She signed a no-touch clause this morning.”
Riccardo says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, “A clause is not set in stone.”
My jaw tightens.
“She asked for it.”
“Then honor it.”
“I intend to.”
“I know.” He stands. “But don’t decide what her heart is doing because a contract made the answer convenient.”
I should tell him to get out. He gave me the news about my parents, delivered Rubio's ultimatum to me. His job is done.
But he's still my don.
And he's still my friend.
I nod once. “Thank you for the advice.”
He accepts the dismissal. At the door, he stops. “We will find Valentina. You have my word.”
I don't trust my voice right now to answer, so I nod.
He leaves and the door closes behind him.
I spring to my feet, and stand still.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Then I pick up the chair Riccardo used and hurl it into the wall.
Wood splinters. Glass shatters. The framed photograph above the cabinet drops hard to the floor. I clear the desk with one arm. Papers, lamp, folder, contract, all of it crashes down. I throw the ink bottle next. It bursts against the bookcase and bleeds black down the shelves.
I stop only when there is nothing left within reach that will break properly.
My chest heaves.
My hand is bleeding.
The office is wreckage.
In the middle of it, Federica’s contract lies open on the floor, her signature shining brightly.
My life feels like a scene out of a horror movie. Two dead parents. Twelve weeks to save my sister's life. A wife who has already told me she will never truly be mine.
I bend, pick up the contract, and set it carefully on the ruined desk.
Next, I pick up my phone and call Tito, “Get me everything we have on Mateo Rubio. We're going hunting.”