Chapter 8 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
The silence that follows Bianca’s exit is deafening.
I stand in the wreckage of her study, glass crunching under my feet, trying to process what I just witnessed.
The fight between them was brutal enough, but it was more than that—it was a complete dismantling of nineteen years of love and protection.
And in those final moments, when Bianca’s voice turned cold and calculating, when she smiled with that particular brand of cruelty…
I saw Giuseppe DeLuca looking back at me.
Not just in her words or her actions, but in the set of her jaw, the way she tilted her head when she went in for the kill.
The satisfaction in her eyes when she watched Matteo crumble.
It was chilling and familiar in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand.
Matteo is still standing where she left him, staring at the doorway like he’s seeing a ghost.
His face is ashen, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.
For a moment, he looks every one of his thirty-nine years and more—a man who’s just watched his greatest fear come to life.
Then his eyes find mine, and the devastation transforms into something far more dangerous.
“Get out.” His voice is quiet, deadly.
I don’t move. “Matteo—”
Antonio clears his throat uncomfortably. “Maybe I should—”
“You too.” Matteo’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Now.”
Antonio doesn’t need to be told twice.
He backs out of the room quickly, probably grateful to escape before the real violence starts.
The sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway leaves us alone with the wreckage and the fury crackling between us.
“You son of a bitch.” The words come out low, controlled, but I can hear the rage building underneath. “My daughter was falling apart, and you took advantage of her.”
“She’s not a child, Matteo,” I point out. It’s the wrong thing to say.
“She’s nineteen!” The composure snaps like a broken wire. “Nineteen years old and emotionally devastated, and you—”
He lunges at me without warning, his fist connecting with my jaw hard enough to snap my head back.
Pain explodes through my skull as I stumble backward, catching myself against her desk.
“You fucking predator!” He comes at me again, wild with grief and rage, swinging with the kind of desperate violence that comes from a man who’s lost everything. “She trusted you! I trusted you!”
I duck the next punch and grab his wrist, trying to control him without seriously hurting him. “Matteo, stop—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to stop!” He breaks free and drives his elbow into my ribs, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. “She was vulnerable and you took advantage!”
This time when he swings, I don’t try to restrain him.
My fist catches him across the cheekbone, splitting the skin and sending him staggering backward into the bookshelf.
Books cascade to the floor as he bounces off the wood and comes at me again.
“How long?” He tackles me around the waist, driving us both to the ground among the broken glass and scattered photographs. “How long have you been planning this?”
We roll across the floor, each of us trying to get the upper hand.
His knee drives into my stomach, and I return with an elbow to his ribs that makes him grunt in pain.
The careful control we’ve both maintained for years is gone, replaced by raw violence and years of suppressed tension.
“I wasn’t planning anything!” I manage to get him in a headlock, but he drives his elbow back into my solar plexus, forcing me to release him.
“Bullshit!” He spins around and catches me with a right cross that opens a cut above my eye.
Blood streams down my face as I lunge forward, tackling him back to the ground. “I’ve seen the way you look at her!”
We’re both breathing hard now, blood and sweat making our grips slippery as we grapple among the debris.
His shirt is torn, my knuckles are split and bleeding, and there’s glass embedded in my shoulder from when he slammed me into the ground.
“She needed comfort!” I pin him for a moment, but he bucks me off and scrambles to his feet.
“She needed protection!” He kicks out, catching me in the ribs as I try to stand. “From people like you!”
The accusation hits harder than anything going on right now.
I surge to my feet and catch him with an uppercut that snaps his head back, followed by a left hook that sends him crashing into the remaining bookshelf.
“I’ve bled for this family!” The words explode out of me as I advance on him. “I helped you find her when Mario took her!”
He wipes blood from his mouth and comes at me again, his movements becoming more desperate, less controlled. “And this is how you repay that trust?” he hisses.
His fist catches me in the mouth, splitting my lip, but I manage to grab his arm and use his momentum to slam him against the wall.
Plaster cracks behind his head, and for a moment we’re face to face, both of us breathing hard and bleeding.
“I’ve earned the right to love her,” I say through gritted teeth.
There’s something in his expression—not forgiveness, but something that cuts through the blind rage. But he’s not done fighting yet.
He drives his knee up toward my groin, and when I block it, he breaks free and catches me with a haymaker that sends me staggering backward.
I trip over the debris and go down hard, my back hitting the edge of the desk.
“Love her?” He advances on me, blood running from his nose and a cut on his forehead. “You think this is love?”
I roll to the side as his foot comes down where my head was a second before, then sweep his legs and send him crashing to the ground beside me.
We’re both exhausted now, our movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated.
“She kissed me first,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
He tries to get up, but his legs give out and he slumps against the overturned chair. “She’s traumatized. She wasn’t thinking clearly.”
The words hang in the air, and I realize what I just said.
What I just tried to do.
Christ, I’m blaming a nineteen-year-old girl who just had her world destroyed for my own lack of control.
“Fuck.” I push myself up to a sitting position, my ribs screaming in protest. “I should have pulled away. She was vulnerable and I took advantage of that. There’s no excuse for what I did.”
We sit there in the wreckage, both of us bleeding and breathing hard, the immediate fury finally burning itself out.
The fight has left us both battered and exhausted, but something has shifted between us.
The violence has purged some of the poison, leaving behind something more honest.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Matteo says finally, his voice hoarse from exertion and emotion.
“I think I do.” I wipe blood from my split lip. “I saw her face during that fight. I saw Giuseppe looking back at me.”
He flinches like I’ve hit him again. “She’s not him.”
“No, she’s not. But she’s his daughter, and pretending that doesn’t matter isn’t protecting her anymore.” I struggle to my feet, every muscle in my body protesting. “She’s going to embrace that darkness whether we like it or not.”
“And that doesn’t terrify you?” He remains slumped against the chair, looking older than I’ve ever seen him before. It’s almost terrifying to see Matteo DeLuca look human.
“It should.” I run a hand through my disheveled hair, wincing at the large lump near my temple. “But it doesn’t. If anything, it makes her more herself, not less.”
Matteo stares at me for a long moment, his battered features impassive. “You’re serious about this,” he finally says.
“Dead serious,” I respond, lips quirking at the pun but then hissing as the movement stretches the cut on my lower lip.
“You understand what you’re saying? You’re talking about loving someone who just proved she’s capable of real cruelty.”
I stare at him incredulously. “Are you serious right now? You’re lecturing me about loving someone capable of cruelty? You killed your own wife, Matteo. Bianca’s mother. You’ve ordered executions, torture, countless acts of violence. And you’re worried about Bianca being cruel?”
He winces, but I’m not done. “Every person in our world is capable of cruelty. The difference is whether they use it as a tool or let it consume them. You of all people should understand that.”
I think about Bianca’s face during the fight, the delight when she hurt him, the way she dismantled their relationship piece by piece.
He’s not wrong—there was something genuinely frightening about watching her embrace that darkness.
But there was also something magnificent about it. Something powerful and uncompromising that made every protective instinct in me roar to life.
“I understand perfectly what I’m saying.” I lean against the desk for support. “I won’t let her become Giuseppe, but I won’t try to save her from who she’s choosing to become either.”
“And if she chooses wrong?”
“Then I’ll be there to help her find her way back.” The words come out with more conviction than I feel. “But she has to make the choice herself. No more lies, no more protection from uncomfortable truths.”
Matteo closes his eyes, and I can see the exhaustion weighing on him. “The Families meeting—”
“I’ll be with her.” The decision feels inevitable, like something I’ve been building toward for years without realizing it. “She’ll reject your guidance right now, but she might accept mine.”
“You realize what you’re volunteering for?” His voice is incredulous. “If she goes into that meeting determined to prove she’s Giuseppe’s daughter…”
“She could start a war.” I finish the thought he doesn’t want to voice. “She could destroy everything you’ve built.”
“And you’re willing to let that happen?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications.
Am I willing to let Bianca burn down everything Matteo has built if that’s what she chooses?
Am I willing to support her even if it means watching her become something monstrous?
“I’m willing to love her enough to let her choose,” I say finally. “Even if I don’t like the choice she makes.”
Matteo studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable despite the blood and bruises.
Then, slowly, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
“You really think she’ll listen to you?” There’s sadness in that question.
Not too long ago, Bianca would listen to him.
I have to tread carefully.
I’m talking to a broken man here and I don’t want to set him off again. “I think she’s going to reject anyone who tries to control her right now,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But she might accept someone who’s willing to stand beside her without judgment.”
He nods slowly, like he’s come to some internal decision. “Fine. You want to love Giuseppe’s daughter? You want to see what she becomes when she stops fighting her nature? Then you get to deal with the consequences.”
Wait, where the hell is this going? “What—”
“No.” He holds up a hand, wincing at the movement.
“You’ve made your choice. Now live with it.
But understand this—if you hurt her, if you take advantage of her vulnerability again, if you let her destroy herself because you’re too fascinated by her darkness to actually protect her…
” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I will end you. Slowly.”
The threat should terrify me.
Instead, I feel something like relief.
Because underneath the anger and betrayal, I can hear what he’s really saying: he’s willing to let me try.
He’s willing to step back and let me be what Bianca needs, even if it goes against every protective instinct he has.
“Understood,” I say quietly.
“Good.” He gingerly gets up and starts toward the door, then stops. When he turns back, his voice has taken on the cold authority of Don Matteo DeLuca. “But don’t think for one goddamn second that I’m staying away from that meeting.”
My mouth dries. Fuck. That is not good. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you think it is or not. She may hate me right now, but she’s still a DeLuca. I won’t let her drag our name through the mud because she’s hot-tempered and doesn’t understand how this world really works.” The rage is returning but he’s tempering it well.
That makes him even more terrifying.
Matteo DeLuca’s control is legendary.
I can see the logic in it, even if I don’t like the implications. “She’ll see it as you not trusting her,” I point out.
“She’ll see it as me doing my job.” His voice is getting stronger, more certain.
“The other families will be looking for any sign of weakness, any excuse to challenge our position. If she goes in there alone and emotional, they’ll tear her apart and use it as justification to question DeLuca leadership entirely. ”
“And if she sees your presence as interference?”
“Then she’ll have to deal with it.” He wipes blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ve spent twenty years building alliances, maintaining the balance of power in this city. I won’t let one night of hurt feelings destroy everything because she wants to prove a point.”
The hard truth of it settles between us.
Bianca may want to handle this herself, may see it as her chance to prove she doesn’t need protection, but the stakes are bigger than her personal vendetta.
“You realize this could backfire completely,” I say. “She could see you showing up as the ultimate betrayal.”
“Maybe.” He limps toward the door, favoring his left leg. “But I’d rather have her hate me and alive than love me and dead. The Families don’t play games, Alessandro. If they smell weakness, they’ll move against us. All of us.”
He pauses at the threshold, looking back at me with something that might be regret.
“You better pray you’re right about her. Because if she becomes what I think she’s becoming…” He looks back at me, his eyes haunted above the bruises. “God help us all.”
With that, he walks out, leaving me alone in the completely destroyed study with broken glass, blood on the walls, and the weight of what I’ve just committed to.
I’ve volunteered to love a woman who might be transforming into something monstrous.
I’ve promised to support her choices even if they lead to war and destruction.
I’ve agreed to stand beside Giuseppe’s daughter as she embraces the darkness in her blood.
And despite the terror that should be flooding through me, all I feel is anticipation.
Because tomorrow night, I’ll find out what Bianca DeLuca is capable of when she stops pretending to be something she’s not.
And I’ll be right there beside her when she does.