CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
francesca
The first thing I felt was the pounding in my skull, a relentless, rhythmic throb that made me want to curl in on myself. The second was the sharp bite of plastic cutting into my wrists. My fingers twitched, but I could barely move them. I tried to make sense of the events that led to my precarious position, and I came to the shocking realization that I was in big trouble.
The cold seeped through my thin dress, offering little protection from the chill in the air. I attempted to lift my head, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through me, causing my stomach to lurch. I blinked slowly, my vision swirling until it sharpened enough to take in my surroundings.
A warehouse. The high ceilings stretched above me, metal beams crisscrossing like ribs in the belly of a great, hollow beast. The air was thick with the scent of motor oil, damp concrete, and something coppery—something that twisted my stomach in recognition before I even turned my head.
Sean.
He lay on the ground, his broad frame still as a dark pool spread beneath him. His face was bloodied, one eye swollen shut, and his lip split. His chest was barely moving. My breath caught in my throat.
No, no, no?—
I jerked against the restraints, the zip ties biting deeper. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat as I willed him to move, to groan, to do anything that proved he was still alive. But he didn’t.
“Finally awake.”
The voice was smooth and rich with amusement, and when I raised my gaze, I saw him.
Cosimo Oliveto.
He lounged in front of me, his suit impeccable despite the grim surroundings. His dark hair was slicked back. His mouth curved into something that might have passed for a smile if his eyes weren’t so cold. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the tip flaring as he took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke into the air.
“I thought we might’ve hit you too hard,”
he mused, flicking ash onto the concrete. “I have questions.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the men surrounding him.
That was when I noticed others—perhaps half a dozen men, or more, standing in the shadows. Some wore suits, while others dressed more casually in tactical gear, but all were armed. I didn’t recognize most of them, but one stepped forward, causing my stomach to sink.
Vallone.
His presence sent ice down my spine. While Cosimo radiated desperation, it was directed at solving a personal agenda. Vallone was entirely different—sharp, calculating, and predatory. He viewed women as commodities, and his dark eyes raked over me, assessing. I could practically feel the weight of his gaze, like fingers pressing into my skin.
“You’ve stirred up quite a ruckus, Francesca,”
he said, his voice softer than I expected —more dangerous because of it. “Cosimo has sacrificed a great deal for this moment with you.”
He paused, almost humming to himself as he rocked on his heels.
My eyes darted to Cosimo, who appeared resolute, as though he had burned his bridges and left the remnants of his soul on the other side.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“You—”
My voice was hoarse, my throat raw. I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way my head screamed in protest. “You attacked the club.”
“A necessary step,”
Vallone shrugged as he stepped closer. “You’re quite the little puzzle piece, you know? First a Santelli, married to the Irish, best friends with the Anthakos girl, and now you’re here with us.”
My stomach churned as my mind struggled through the haze of pain. I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious, but if they wanted me dead, I would be by now. That was something, at least.
Cosimo exhaled another drag of his cigarette and glared. “I hope you’re comfortable because you and I have a lot to talk about.”
I swallowed, my pulse an erratic drum in my ears. Cosimo’s dark gaze held me in place as his cigarette smoldered between his fingers.
“You were at the club the night Fausto died.”
His voice was sharp, laced with something volatile. “Don’t bother denying it—I have a witness.”
My fingers curled into fists. My wrists ached from the zip ties, but I ignored the sting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Theo’s words and my motto echoed in my ears: deny, deny, deny. Another litany held equal sway.
He’ll come for me. Conall would come for me.
Cosimo’s lips twisted. “Liar.”
He flicked his cigarette, embers flaring as it hit the ground. “The bartender remembers you. He said you were there that night, sitting at the bar and drinking something expensive. You stood out.”
I inhaled through my nose, maintaining a composed expression. “So what? Lots of girls were there.”
“But only one was a Santelli.”
His voice cracked like a whip, and his frustration hung thick in the air. “So tell me, Francesca—what were you doing there?”
I lifted my chin. “Having a drink. Enjoying my life. Being young.”
Cosimo shot his hand out and gripped my jaw. “Wrong answer.”
His fingers dug in just enough to convey his frustration but not enough to bruise me. “Try again. You think just because you’re a woman, I won’t hurt you? I bartered everything to have you here,” he spat.
A slow, disgusted exhale escaped Vallone. He had been observing from the shadows, arms crossed, his distaste evident. “You’re pathetic,”
he muttered. “Sniveling over a dead man.”
A man stepped forward from the corner and shoved Cosimo back a step. “Keep your hands to yourself, stronzo. Touching wasn’t part of the deal,”
he sneered.
Cosimo ignored him. His voice rasped with anger. “You were there. Fausto died that night. I don’t believe in coincidences. I want to know!”
His voice rose in anguish.
I almost felt sorry for him. I would have if I weren’t zip-tied to a damn chair. I would have if his brother hadn’t attempted to assault me. I willed my expression to stay blank. “I don’t know anything about your brother. I’ve already told you this.”
I infused as much conviction into the statement as I could.
Peering over at Sean, I searched for any signs of life, but he remained still on the concrete. Moving my hands experimentally, I tried to see if there was any way I could rub them against the edge of something like they do in the movies, but apparently, my kidnappers saw those too. Feeling defeated, I eyed Cosimo, who agitatedly paced the space, rubbing a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.
Vallone scoffed. “Look at you, allowing her to play you like a fool.”
He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over him with a leering and unsettling curiosity. “You’re weak, Cosimo. That’s why Fausto’s dead.”
Cosimo spun on his heel, fury igniting in his eyes. “Shut your mouth.”
Vallone merely smirked. “Have I hit a nerve?”
I sat quietly, my heart racing, observing their power struggle unfold. Whatever Cosimo sought, whatever answers he needed, he was too close to this—and Vallone understood it.
I took a slow breath to steady myself. If I wanted to survive this, I had to be smarter and more controlled. The real danger wasn’t Cosimo’s anger.
It was Vallone’s interest.
Cosimo exhaled sharply, redirecting his glare back at me. “You got into his car.”
The words sent a chilling jolt through my veins. My breath caught, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. “That’s ridiculous.”
His eyes darkened as he leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. “I have footage, Francesca. You, in Fausto’s car that night.”
My stomach lurched, but I kept a carefully neutral expression. “It wasn’t me.”
Cosimo’s jaw twitched. “All I know is that my brother left that club with you. Hours later, he was dead.”
I stayed silent. Any response I gave would have been the wrong one.
Vallone chuckled, the sound grating. “See? She’s not afraid of you, Cosimo. She knows you won’t do what’s necessary.”
He turned to me, his smile as sharp as a razor. “But I will, stronzo.”
A chill slithered down my spine. Whatever game Cosimo was playing, I had a sinking feeling that Vallone was about to change the rules. Cosimo didn’t even see it coming. His face was turned toward me, his eyes angry yet still filled with the questions he had right up until the moment Vallone pulled the trigger.
“Giovanni, if you please.”
Don Vallone waved his gun toward the zip ties as if he hadn’t just fired it and it was entirely safe to wave the weapon around.
The same man who had pushed Cosimo away from me earlier stepped forward and cut the zip ties without a word, allowing them to fall away as I struggled to shake out my arms and restore feeling to my wrists.
Blood surged back into my hands in sharp, stinging waves, but I didn’t have the luxury of reacting. My gaze flickered to Cosimo’s body, his eyes wide, frozen in shock, before they went glassy. Blood seeped from the hole in his forehead, dark and final. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to stay still, refusing to give Vallone the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Now that the distraction is behind us,”
Vallone murmured, slipping his gun back into its holster, “we can finally have a real conversation.”
“Let me check on Sean. Let’s see if …”
I began to slide my gaze back to my bodyguard, whose condition seemed unchanged. It looked like he was breathing, which was something I could hold onto. He was alive. For now.
“Not until we have our conversation.”
His gaze remained fixed on mine, resolute.
I swallowed hard, my tongue as dry as sandpaper. “Why?”
My voice barely managed to scratch out the word, but I steadied myself and tried again. “Why did you kill him? Didn’t you do this for him? Wasn’t he on your side?”
I was confused about Cosimo and filled with guilt. Perhaps I should have tried to tell him the truth. Maybe he would have been reasonable. Would that have been too unlikely? Perhaps he was just a tortured soul trying to put his brother’s memory to rest. Would that have been so terrible?
Vallone snorted and stepped closer. “He was an annoyance — a desperate man trying to salvage his family’s crumbling empire with half-baked schemes. He thought he could bargain his way into control. That’s not how this world works. He was stupid.”
His dark eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement. “He was useful, though. I should thank him for his sacrifice.”
My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Sacrifice?”
I spat. “What exactly did he give you?”
Vallone’s smirk deepened. “Guarantees.”
He stepped closer, compelling me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “Cosimo was prepared to promise the Oliveto’s submission in exchange for ten minutes alone with you.”
The Olivetos were allied with the Commission against him. Removing an entire mafia from the board without a shot fired was significant. For ten fucking minutes?
The words hit me like a slap. My mind reeled, struggling to grasp the gravity of what he was saying. “You expect me to believe that?”
I whispered. “Cosimo is dead now, so the deal doesn’t stand.”
“Doesn’t matter,”
he said with a casual shrug. “But it doesn’t change the facts. Cosimo sold out his family name for a slim chance of getting answers from you. And look where that got him.”
His foot nudged Cosimo’s lifeless hand, his mouth curling in distaste. “Pathetic. The Oliveto name dies with him. Dishonored. Destroyed. Fausto is already dead.”
He grinned at me wolfishly. “And now Cosimo. Their mafia is finished.”
My breath came in slow, measured inhales as I tried to keep the panic at bay. I knew Vallone wasn’t telling me this for no reason. He wasn’t just going to kill me, right? There was a reason that I’d been cut loose. He wanted something. Whatever it was, I had a sinking feeling I wouldn’t like it.
“I was curious about Cosimo’s interest.”
He looked at me again. “So I investigated you. Imagine what I discovered.”
I squared my shoulders, injecting strength into my spine. “I couldn’t care less.”
A slow, almost lazy smile spread across Vallone’s face. “Did you know that I knew your mother?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “She and I were very close once, a long time ago.”
My pulse thundered as I stared at him in dread.
“I had to double-check, of course, but …there is no doubt about it.”
His hawk-like eyes peered at me as I tried to put the pieces together.
White noise filled my ears. It couldn’t be. My mother wouldn’t be so callous as to sleep with Vallone. Would she?
Then he said it.
“You’re my daughter.”
The world tilted. My ears rang, drowning out the sounds of the warehouse, the shifting men in the background, and the distant drip of water. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Vallone studied me, his head tilted slightly, as though he found my shock amusing. “Now,”
he murmured, “let’s talk about what comes next.”
I forced a breath past my lips, my voice barely stronger than a whisper. “You’re lying. “
He let out a low chuckle as he reached into his coat. I tensed, expecting another weapon. Instead, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to me—a DNA test. I couldn’t even begin to ask where he had obtained a sample of my DNA, but the test confirmed that Emilio Vallone was my biological father.
“You almost killed my husband. Was it you who hit me in the head?”
Suddenly, I was furious.
“No, that was Cosimo.”
He looked suddenly a little perplexed.
“I’ll tell you what’s next. You’ll give me your phone and let Sean and I go.”
I’d had enough of this nonsense and surprises. My head hurt, and Sean needed medical attention.
“You’re…”
“What? I’m fucking what?”
I hurled the DNA test onto the floor in anger.
“Not a disappointment,”
he said, handing me his phone.