Chapter 10 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
“The girl needs a partner.”
Don Vitelli’s words cut through the silence following Bianca’s declaration, and I watch Bianca’s eyes flash with anger.
Her teeth grind together, and I can practically feel the fury radiating from her at the suggestion that she can’t handle this alone.
“Someone to ensure she doesn’t go rogue,” Alberto Marconi adds with the kind of casual dismissal that makes my own temper flare. “These trials require…supervision.”
“I’ll do it.” Matteo’s voice cuts across the room before anyone else can speak. “As head of the DeLuca family—”
“No.” Bianca’s voice is ice-cold. “Absolutely fucking not.”
The room erupts again.
“You don’t get to make that choice—” Matteo starts, his voice controlled but dangerous.
“Like hell I don’t!” Bianca shoots back, rising from her chair. “You lost the right to make choices about my life. Period.”
“She has a point,” one of the other dons interjects. “Given the…family complications—”
“There are no complications.” Matteo snarls, his hands completely still on the table. “Like I said two years ago, she’s my daughter in every way that matters.”
“Except the ways that actually matter,” Dominic Calabrese says with obvious satisfaction, leaning back in his chair like he’s watching dinner theater. “Biology, blood, the fundamental truth of what she is—”
“Careful, Calabrese.” Matteo’s voice doesn’t rise, but if looks could kill, Dominic would be six feet under. “You’re walking a very thin line.”
The shouting escalates, multiple conversations happening at once as alliances form and dissolve around the table.
Matteo argues with anyone who questions his authority over Bianca.
Several dons are backing his claim while others side with Dominic’s position that the family dynamics are too compromised.
And through it all, Dominic sits there with that smug fucking smile, clearly delighted by the chaos he’s orchestrated.
I’ve disliked the man for years, but watching him manipulate this situation while Bianca stands there being discussed like a piece of property makes my blood boil.
“I’ll do it.”
My voice cuts through the argument, and suddenly the room falls silent again.
Every eye turns to me, and I can feel the weight of their assessment.
“I volunteer to be Bianca’s partner for the trials.”
“The Ricci family has proven their loyalty,” Matteo says carefully, giving me a sharp look of understanding rather than opposition. “But the partnership dynamic—”
“I’m not claiming authority,” I interrupt. “I’m offering partnership. There’s a difference.”
“A significant one,” Don Vitelli observes, eyes studying me with new interest. “The Ricci family has maintained alliance with the DeLucas for years. Your reputation is…substantial.”
“This is ridiculous,” another don protests. “He’s clearly compromised. Everyone knows about his feelings for the girl—”
“What feelings?” Bianca’s voice is sharp.
The room goes quiet again, and I can feel everyone watching for my response.
This is the moment where I either confirm their suspicions or deflect, where I either make this situation infinitely more complicated or find a way to navigate through it.
“The feeling that she deserves a fair chance to prove herself,” I say carefully. “Without family politics clouding the judgment of her abilities.”
It’s not a lie, exactly, but it’s not the whole truth either.
Still, it seems to satisfy most of the room, except Bianca.
I can feel her gaze boring into the side of my head, but I ignore her.
“He has a point,” Marconi says slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ricci has no familial stake in the outcome. His reputation for competence is unquestioned. And he has experience with…difficult situations.”
“This is insane,” Matteo mutters, but his tone suggests grudging acceptance rather than genuine protest.
He knows that if it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.
Someone who might not have Bianca’s best interests at heart.
“The partnership would be temporary,” Vitelli clarifies. “Limited to the duration of the trials. Ricci would ensure she follows protocol while providing tactical support.”
“And if she fails?” Dominic asks with obvious hope.
“Then she fails,” I say simply. “But she’ll fail on her own merits, not because she was sabotaged or set up for failure.”
The debate continues for another ten minutes, but I can feel the tide turning in my favor.
The logic is sound—I’m experienced, unbiased enough to satisfy most concerns, and strong enough to handle whatever challenges the trials might bring.
Finally, Vitelli calls for a vote.
“All in favor of Alessandro Ricci serving as partner for the trials?”
Hands rise around the table.
Not unanimous, but enough.
“Motion carried.” Vitelli’s gaze moves between Bianca and me. “The first trial will take place in three days. You’ll receive details tomorrow morning. This meeting is adjourned.”
Relief floods through me as the formal pronouncement settles over the room.
I’m officially assigned as Bianca’s partner, which formalizes my protective role while keeping me close during what’s sure to be a dangerous period.
Whatever challenges the trials bring, at least I’ll be there to help her face them.
The dons begin filing out, their conversations shifting to private discussions and side negotiations.
But Matteo remains seated, his eyes fixed on Bianca with an expression that’s carefully controlled but determined.
“Bianca,” he says as she moves toward the door. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” She doesn’t even look at him, her voice flat and dismissive.
“Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I said no.” This time she does turn, and the coldness in her eyes would freeze hell. “You’re not my father, so stop acting like it.”
Matteo doesn’t even blink. “I am your father.”
“Save it.” She cuts him off with a gesture that’s pure dismissal. “I’m done taking orders from you, and I’m done pretending we’re family.”
The words are designed to cut, and I watch Matteo’s hands grip his wine glass tighter.
But his expression remains impassive, authoritative, even as I know the rejection is tearing him apart inside.
Bianca walks away, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she heads for the exit.
She doesn’t look back or show any sign that his obvious pain affects her at all.
I start to follow her, but movement in my peripheral vision makes me pause.
Dominic Calabrese is still seated at the table, his wine glass cradled in his hands as he watches the entire scene unfold with obvious fascination.
There’s something disturbing in his expression, something that suggests he’s filing away every detail of this family breakdown for future use.
The way his eyes track Bianca’s exit, the slight smile that plays at the corners of his mouth as he watches Matteo’s carefully maintained composure—it all screams of a man storing ammunition for later battles.
I make a mental note to keep a very close eye on Dominic Calabrese.
Whatever game he’s playing, it extends far beyond just testing Bianca’s worthiness.
He’s looking for weaknesses, fractures he can exploit, ways to destabilize the entire DeLuca power structure.
And right now, the fractured relationship between Matteo and Bianca is the biggest weakness he could ask for.
The instructions arrive at my hotel suite the next morning, delivered by a courier who disappears before I can even tip him.
The envelope is heavy, expensive paper with the kind of formal seal that screams old-world authority.
Bianca arrives twenty minutes later, her knock sharp and impatient.
When I open the door, she’s wearing dark jeans and a black sweater that hugs her curves in ways that make concentration difficult, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail to show off the angular planes of her face.
She looks so much like Giuseppe at this moment.
“Let’s see what they want,” she says without preamble, brushing past me into the suite.
I hand her the envelope, watching as she breaks the seal with steady fingers.
Her eyes scan the contents, and I see something shift in her expression—not fear, but a kind of cold anticipation that makes my blood run both hot and cold.
“What does it say?”
“Vincent Torrino,” she reads aloud. “Former Vitelli lieutenant who’s been feeding information to the FBI for the past six months.
Location: his social club in Queens. Timeline: execution must occur within seventy-two hours.
” She looks up at me, her steel-blue eyes unreadable.
“It has to be public. Witnesses are required to send a message about the consequences of betrayal.”
The details are as brutal as I expected.
Not just a quiet elimination, but a public execution designed to terrify anyone else who might be considering disloyalty.
The kind of psychological warfare that Giuseppe would have approved of.
“There are specifications,” she continues, scanning the rest of the document. “Multiple witnesses, clear evidence of family justice, maximum psychological impact while maintaining plausible deniability for law enforcement.”
“Choreographed intimidation,” I murmur, taking the papers from her. “They want theater as much as they want death.”
“Can you handle that?” The question comes out sharper than she probably intended, but I can hear the underlying tension.
She’s asking if I can watch her kill someone, if I can help her plan something this brutal, if I can support her transformation into something darker.
“Can you?” I counter.
For a moment, something vulnerable flickers across her face.
Then it’s gone, replaced by that cold determination I’m beginning to recognize as her default when facing something that scares her.
She shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Our working dynamic establishes itself over the next two days, and it’s both easier and more difficult than I anticipated.
Easier because Bianca is brilliant—she grasps concepts quickly, asks the right questions, and adapts strategies without ego or defensiveness.