Chapter 12 Alessandro #2
“Or maybe I failed her.” He covers his face with his hands. “Maybe I should have told her the truth from the beginning, should have prepared her for what she might become instead of trying to shield her from it.”
It’s something I’ve thought of myself, but I’m not about to tell the man that. “You did what you thought was best,” I say neutrally.
“I did what was easiest. What allowed me to pretend she could be normal, that Giuseppe’s blood didn’t matter, that love and protection could overcome genetics. I thought with enough love I could prevent her from turning into Mario.” His voice is muffled by his hands. “I was naive.”
“You were human.”
He looks up at me then, and the desperation in his expression is almost physical. “Will you at least try to keep some part of her intact? Some piece of the person she was before all this started?”
The request hits me harder than it should.
He’s asking me to save his daughter’s soul while helping her win trials that require her to abandon it.
He’s asking for the impossible.
“I’ll try,” I lie, because it’s what he needs to hear.
But I don’t want to save the person Bianca was before.
I want the woman she’s becoming—dangerous, powerful, unafraid of the darkness inside her.
I want someone who can stand beside me as an equal, who can match my own capacity for necessary violence.
I want Giuseppe’s daughter, not Matteo’s.
And that makes me exactly the kind of man who shouldn’t be trusted with her transformation.
Matteo nods, seeming to accept my promise even though we both know it’s meaningless. “The second trial instructions should arrive soon.”
“Any idea what they’ll ask for?” I ask, hoping to get some insider information.
“Something worse than execution. Something that will test whether she’s willing to cross lines even I wouldn’t cross.” His voice turns bitter. “Dominic Calabrese is designing these trials personally. He wants to break her, prove she’s unfit for leadership by pushing her past her breaking point.”
“And if she doesn’t break?”
“Then he’ll have created exactly the kind of monster that can destroy the DeLuca family.” Matteo stands, straightening his jacket with hands that still aren’t quite steady. “Either way, he wins.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle.
“Alessandro?”
I look up. “Yeah?”
“When this is over—when whatever’s going to happen has happened—I want you to remember that she was good once.
Before Giuseppe’s blood took over, before the trials, before any of this.
She was kind and intelligent and capable of love.
” His voice breaks slightly. “Remember that person existed, even if no one else will.”
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with the weight of his request and the uncomfortable truth about my own motivations.
The envelope arrives at my office the next morning, delivered by the same anonymous courier service the Families use for sensitive communications.
This time, the paper is heavier, more expensive—a signal that what’s inside carries significant weight.
I call Bianca immediately. “The instructions are here.”
“I’ll be right over.”
She arrives within forty-five minutes, wearing dark jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt.
Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and there’s something different in her posture—more confidence, more authority.
Like killing Vincent Torrino awakened something that was always there, waiting.
I hand her the envelope without preamble.
She breaks the wax seal with steady fingers, her expression neutral as she reads.
But I watch her eyes, see the moment when something shifts—not fear, but calculation.
“Multiple targets this time,” she says, settling into the chair across from my desk. “Seven soldiers who betrayed the Calabrese family by selling information to rival crews. They’re holed up in a warehouse complex in Red Hook, heavily armed and expecting trouble.”
“Coordinated operation,” I observe, taking the papers from her. The intelligence is detailed—floor plans, guard rotations, weapons inventory, escape routes. “This isn’t an execution. It’s a tactical assault.”
“Timeline is forty-eight hours. The warehouse is part of an active shipping operation, so civilian workers will be present during normal business hours. We need to eliminate the targets while avoiding collateral damage.” She leans back, and there’s something almost predatory in her stillness.
“They want to see if I can handle complex operations, not just single kills.”
I study the documentation, noting the challenges.
The warehouse complex is massive—three connected buildings with multiple levels, dozens of potential hiding spots, and limited sightlines.
The targets aren’t sitting ducks like Torrino was; they’re armed, paranoid, and positioned defensively.
“This is going to require careful planning,” I say. “Precise timing, coordinated entry points, contingencies for when things go wrong.”
“When things go wrong?” Bianca’s eyebrow arches. “You mean if they go wrong.”
“In operations like this, something always goes wrong. That’s why successful crews plan for complications rather than hoping for perfect execution,” I remind her.
She waves a dismissive hand. “We hit them hard and fast. Overwhelming force, maximum casualties in minimum time. Clean sweep.”
The casual brutality in her voice makes my stomach clench. “That’s not strategy, Bianca. That’s just violence.”
“Sometimes violence is the strategy.” She stands, moving to the window that overlooks the city. “Giuseppe didn’t build his empire through careful planning and risk assessment. He built it by being more ruthless than anyone else.”
And there it is—the Giuseppe influence surfacing exactly as Matteo predicted.
I can practically hear his harsh voice in her words, see his brutal pragmatism in her posture.
“Giuseppe also made enemies who eventually brought him down,” I point out carefully. “Overwhelming violence works in the short term, but it creates long-term problems.”
“Does it? Because from what I can see, the DeLuca family is still standing. Still powerful. Still feared.” She turns back to face me, and there’s something cold in her blue eyes that makes me remember exactly whose daughter she is.
“Maybe the problem isn’t Giuseppe’s methods.
Maybe the problem is that Matteo’s been too soft to use them properly. ”
The criticism of Matteo hits harder than it should, partly because there’s truth in it that I don’t want to acknowledge.
Matteo’s careful approach the last few years has kept the family stable, but it’s also made them vulnerable to challenges like the current situation with the Families.
“Matteo’s methods kept you alive,” I say quietly.
“Matteo’s methods kept me protected. There’s a difference.” She moves back to the desk, spreading out the warehouse plans. “Protection is for children, Alessandro. I’m not a child anymore.”
I watch her trace potential entry points with her finger, noting how she favors the most direct routes—straight through the front, maximum confrontation, minimal subtlety.
Every instinct I have is screaming warnings about this approach.
“These men aren’t going to line up to be shot,” I tell her. “They’re armed, they’re desperate, and they have nothing to lose. A frontal assault gets people killed.”
“Yes. Them.” Her smile is sharp, vicious. “That’s the point.”
Does she even hear herself? I’m surprised my jaw isn’t on the floor. “I’m talking about us getting killed, Bianca. You charge in there guns blazing, and we won’t walk out alive.”
“We will if we’re better than they are.” She meets my gaze directly, unflinching. “Are you saying you don’t think we’re better than they are?”
The challenge in her voice is unmistakable, and I realize she’s testing me—not just my tactical judgment, but my confidence in our abilities, my willingness to support her choices even when they contradict everything I know about successful operations.
“I’m saying being better doesn’t make us invincible,” I reply evenly. “It just means we’re more likely to survive if we plan properly.”
“Fine.” She pulls out a pen and starts marking the warehouse plans. “Here’s the plan. We hit them at midnight when the civilian workers are gone. I take the main entrance, you cover the back exit. We work our way through systematically until they’re all dead.”
Jesus Christ, she’s acting like a fucking child. I want to pull my hair out. “That’s not a plan, that’s a suicide mission.” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice anymore. “You’re talking about walking into a killing field with seven armed men who know we’re coming.”
“I’m talking about showing the Families that I don’t need anyone’s protection.” Her voice is sharp, defensive. “That I can handle whatever they throw at me without hiding behind careful strategies and contingency plans.”
“There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid!”
The words come out harsher than I intended, and I watch her face close off completely.
The temperature in the room seems to drop as she straightens to her full height, every line of her body radiating offense.
“Excuse me?” Bianca asks softly.
The look in her eye is identical to the one Matteo wears before he kills someone, but I am beyond the point of caring. “You heard me. This isn’t about proving you’re capable—it’s about satisfying some need to prove you’re as ruthless as Giuseppe was. And that’s going to get us both killed.”
“Don’t.” Her voice turns deadly quiet. “Don’t you dare lecture me about what this is or isn’t about. You don’t get to psychoanalyze my motivations.”
“Someone has to, because you’re not thinking clearly.” I stand as well, moving around the desk to face her directly. “You’re so focused on proving you can embrace violence that you’re ignoring basic sense.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Basic sense—according to who? You? Matteo?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“You want to know what I think? I think you’re both so terrified of what I’m becoming that you want to keep me locked in the same careful, controlled box that’s kept the DeLuca family stagnant for the past decade. ”
“Stagnant?” The accusation stings because it echoes criticisms I’ve heard from other families, suggestions that Matteo’s measured approach has made the DeLucas predictable, vulnerable. “Is that what you call maintaining power and stability?”
She tosses her head, ponytail swishing behind her.
“I call it playing it safe while other families get stronger and bolder.” She starts pacing, her movements sharp and agitated.
“The Calabreses wouldn’t have dared challenge us if they thought we were truly dangerous.
They see weakness, Alessandro. They see a family that’s lost its edge. ”
“And you think charging into a warehouse like some kind of berserker is going to restore that edge?” I ask in disbelief.
She’s smarter than this, I know she is.
“I think showing them that Giuseppe’s daughter is exactly as ruthless as he was will make them think twice about testing us again.
” She stops pacing, fixing me with a stare that’s purely Giuseppe—cold, calculating, absolutely certain of her own rightness.
“I think it’s time to remind everyone what the DeLuca name really means. ”
The conviction in her voice is both thrilling and terrifying.
She believes completely in what she’s saying.
She sees her transformation not as a loss of humanity but as a return to the family’s true nature.
And part of me—the part that’s attracted to her darkness, that finds her embrace of violence intoxicating—wants to support her completely.
But the rest of me knows this approach is going to get us killed.
“What you’re talking about isn’t strategy, Bianca,” I say carefully. “It’s revenge. You want to hurt people because you’re angry, not because it serves any purpose.”
“Maybe revenge and tactics aren’t mutually exclusive.” She crosses her arms, defensive and stubborn. “Maybe the best way to handle our enemies is to make them suffer enough that others won’t want to become our enemies.”
“That worked for Giuseppe for a while.” I point out. “Right up until someone put a bullet in his head.”
The words hit their target, and I watch her flinch involuntarily. But instead of backing down, she doubles down on her position.
“Giuseppe died because he got old and careless,” she shoots back. “Not because his methods were wrong.”
Oh, so now we’re re-writing history? I shake my head. “He died because he made too many enemies and not enough allies. Because people feared him more than they respected him, and fear only works until someone decides they have nothing left to lose.”
“Fine.” She scowls at me. “Then I’ll make sure they have everything to lose. I’ll make sure the consequences of crossing the DeLucas are so severe that no one will risk it.”
We stare at each other across my office, and I realize this conversation has moved far beyond tactical planning.
This is about fundamental philosophy, about what kind of leader she’s going to become and whether I can support her choices even when they contradict everything I know about survival in this world.
“You’re asking me to help you become something that might destroy you,” I say quietly.
“I’m asking you to help me become what I’m supposed to be.” Her chin lifts in that defiant gesture that reminds me so much of Giuseppe. “The question is whether you’re brave enough to do it, or whether you’re going to try to control me like everyone else has.”
And there it is—the accusation that cuts deepest because it forces me to confront my own motivations.
Am I trying to protect her from her own nature, or am I trying to control her because watching her embrace this amount of darkness makes me uncomfortable?
“This isn’t about control—”
“Isn’t it?” She moves closer, her eyes blazing with anger and challenge. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing what Matteo did—trying to convince me that my instincts are wrong, that I need to be someone gentler and more careful than what I am.”
“Your instincts are going to get you killed!” I exclaim hotly.
“My instincts are the only reason I’m still alive!
” The words explode out of her, raw and furious.
“My instincts told me not to trust Matteo’s lies.
My instincts told me to embrace what Giuseppe made me instead of fighting it.
My instincts are what let me pull that trigger without hesitation when the Families were watching for weakness. ”
She’s not wrong about any of it, and that’s what makes this conversation so goddamn impossible.
Her transformation has made her more powerful, more dangerous, more capable of surviving in our world.
But it’s also making her reckless in ways that could destroy everything.