Chapter 22
BIANCA
The first thing I’m aware of is the pain.
It starts as a dull ache behind my eyes then spreads like wildfire through every nerve in my body.
My shoulder throbs where the bullet tore through muscle and sinew.
My thigh burns with a deep, grinding agony that makes me want to scream.
The graze along my scalp feels like someone’s holding a blowtorch to my skull.
But the physical pain is nothing compared to the rage.
It builds in my chest like molten lava, hot and consuming and absolutely devastating.
Every breath I take feeds the fire, making it burn hotter and brighter until I feel like I might explode from the sheer force of it.
They tried to kill me.
They tried to kill Alessandro.
They tried to turn me into a traitor then murder me for it.
“Bianca?” A voice cuts through the red haze of fury. Female, concerned, familiar. “Can you hear me?”
I try to open my eyes, but the fluorescent lights above me are like knives stabbing into my brain.
Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. The steady beeping of machines, the antiseptic smell, the rough texture of hospital sheets against my skin—it all crashes over me at once.
“Where—” My voice comes out as a croak, my throat raw and scratchy like I’ve been screaming.
Maybe I have been.
I clear my throat. “Where’s Alessandro?”
“He’s okay.” Bella’s face swims into focus above me, her hazel eyes bright with tears. “He’s in surgery, but the doctors say he’s going to be fine. He has two cracked ribs and a concussion and a bullet punctured his lung, but they got it out.”
Surgery.
He needed surgery because of what Dominic did to us.
The rage flares brighter, and I have to grip the bed rails to keep from launching myself upright despite the IV lines and monitors.
Kill them all, Giuseppe’s voice snarls in my head, so loud and vicious that I flinch. Hunt down every last Calabrese and paint the streets with their blood.
This was planned, Sophia’s voice whispers, colder and more calculating. This wasn’t just a trial. This was revenge. Use that.
Think, Matteo’s voice reappears, cutting through Giuseppe and Sophia’s voices. Analyze the situation. What did they really accomplish?
“The witness,” I rasp, trying to push through the chaos in my head. “Dr. Schuyler. Is she—?”
“Alive,” Bella says, leaning forward to grasp my hand. Her touch is warm, smooth, and comforting. “Barely. She’s in intensive care, but she’s alive. Thanks to you.”
Relief floods through me, but it does nothing to cool the inferno of rage burning in my chest.
We saved her.
We completed the mission.
We did what they asked us to do, and they tried to murder us for it.
Of course they did, Sophia hisses. They never intended for you to succeed. This was always about eliminating you.
“Where’s Da—Matteo?” I ask, because I need to see him.
I need to tell him what I’ve figured out, and what I’m going to do about it.
“Right here, sweetheart.”
His voice comes from the doorway, and when I turn my head to look at him, what I see makes the heart monitor chirp.
I’ve seen Matteo angry before. I’ve seen him cold, calculating, dangerous.
I’ve seen him make decisions that cost people their lives without batting an eye.
But I’ve never seen him like this.
His face is a mask of controlled fury so intense it’s almost frightening.
His blue-gray eyes—so much like mine—burn with a cold fire that promises death and destruction.
His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides.
He looks like he wants to burn the world down.
For the first time in my life, I’m actually a little scared of him.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is eerily calm despite the rage radiating from every line of his body.
“Like I want to kill someone,” I say honestly.
His lips quirk and he looks at me in a way I’ve never seen before.
Like he’s seeing something in me that he’s been waiting for, something that finally makes sense.
Good, Giuseppe roars in approval. Let him see what we really are.
Use his anger, Sophia suggests. Channel it. Direct it.
Be careful, Matteo’s voice warns. Don’t let rage make you stupid.
“The Calabreses set us up,” I say, pushing myself upright despite the shooting pain in my shoulder. “No, I’m okay, Bella… This whole thing—all four trials—it was never about testing my worthiness. It was revenge.”
Matteo nods, his lips pressed so tightly together they appear white. “We figured that out about thirty seconds after the shooting started.”
“For what?” I demand, though I think I already know the answer. “What did we do that was so fucking terrible they had to orchestrate an elaborate assassination attempt disguised as a trial?”
“Everything.” His voice is flat, emotionless, but I can hear the fury underneath. “Bella killed Johnny. Mario and Elena’s actions put Anthony in prison.
Giuseppe built his empire on the bones of their rivals.
We’ve been crushing the Calabreses for decades, and Dominic finally found a way to hit back.”
And now we crush them completely, Giuseppe snarls. No mercy. No survivors.
No, Sophia whispers. Now we use this. Turn it into an opportunity.
Now we think, Matteo’s voice cuts through both of them. What’s the smart play here?
I close my eyes, trying to process the three different approaches warring in my head while fighting through the pain and medication that’s making everything feel fuzzy around the edges.
“They wanted me to fail,” I say slowly, working through the logic. “But they also wanted me to succeed just enough to look like a traitor. Protecting a federal witness, working with the FBI—that was supposed to make me look weak and disloyal to the other families.”
“And when that didn’t work, when you actually pulled off the impossible, they tried to kill you and make it look like you died protecting someone who testified against our people.
” Matteo’s voice grows colder with each word and Bella glances at him.
“Either way, they destroy your reputation and eliminate you as a threat.”
The brilliance of it is actually impressive, in a sick, twisted way.
They created a scenario where my success would have been almost as damaging as my failure.
Except I didn’t just succeed—I excelled.
I saved the witness, completed the mission, and survived their assassination attempt.
I proved that I could handle impossible situations and come out stronger.
They underestimated us, Giuseppe growls. Now we show them what that mistake costs.
We show everyone what that mistake costs, Sophia agrees, but her tone is different.
More shrewd.
We make an example that consolidates our power.
We respond proportionally, Matteo’s voice cuts in. Don’t give the other families an excuse to unite against us.
I’m going to destroy the Calabreses. But I’m not sure how I plan on doing so yet. But I will.
“I want them gone,” I say quietly, and my voice carries a certainty that surprises even me. “Not just Dominic. All of them. The entire fucking family.”
Matteo studies my face carefully. “That’s a war, Bianca. A real war. Against a family that still has resources, allies, and connections.”
“Good.” The word comes out flat and cold. “I want them to know it’s a war. I want everyone to know what happens when someone tries to manipulate and murder a DeLuca.”
Yes, Giuseppe roars in approval. Let them all see what we’re capable of.
But do it smart, Sophia whispers. Make it look like justice, not revenge.
And protect what matters, Matteo’s voice adds. Don’t let anger make you reckless.
“I’m not angry,” I tell Matteo, and I realize it’s true. The rage is still there, burning just as bright, but it’s not controlling me anymore. It’s fueling me. “I’m focused.”
Matteo’s eyes lock onto mine and something passes between us—an understanding that goes deeper than words.
He sees what I’ve become, what I’m choosing to become, and for the first time since learning the truth about Giuseppe, I see approval in his eyes rather than worry.
“What do you need?” he asks simply.
The question sends a thrill through me because it means he’s not going to try to stop me. He’s going to help me.
Intelligence first, Matteo’s voice suggests. Know your enemies before you strike.
Allies second, Sophia adds. Make sure the other families see this as justice.
Then overwhelming force, Giuseppe finishes. Leave nothing but ashes.
“I need to know everything,” I say, my mind already working through the logistics. “Every Calabrese asset, every ally, every weakness. I need to know who they owe money to, who owes them favors, where they keep their cash, who their children go to school with.”
Matteo nods. “That can be arranged.”
“I need the other families to understand that this isn’t random violence.
This is justice for a direct attack on DeLuca leadership during an official trial.
” My voice is getting stronger, more certain with each word as I try to catch up with my brain.
“They need to see that we’re not just dangerous—we’re righteous. ”
“Also manageable,” he agrees.
Yeah, that too.
“And I need them all to understand that anyone who stands with the Calabreses, anyone who helps them or protects them or even fails to condemn what they did—they’ll be next.”
The promise in my voice makes even Matteo pause.
But when he meets my eyes again, I see something that might be pride.
“How long do I have to plan this?” I ask, my fingers tapping against the thin, scratchy hospital blanket.
“As long as you need,” he says. “But not too long. The other families are already talking, trying to figure out what happened and what it means for the balance of power. If we wait too long, they’ll start making their own alliances.”
Strike while they’re confused, Giuseppe demands. Before they can organize.
But not before we’re ready. Hasty revenge is often incomplete revenge, Sophia cautions.
Two weeks, Matteo’s voice suggests. Enough time to plan properly but not enough time for them to prepare.
“Two weeks,” I say, deciding to listen to Matteo’s voice. Giuseppe snarls in disapproval but I ignore him. “Give me two weeks to put everything together.”
“And Alessandro?” Matteo asks.
The mention of his name sends a fresh wave of fury through me.
They hurt him.
They put him in surgery, made him bleed, and could have killed him. All because he was protecting me, supporting me, loving me.
They hurt what’s ours, Giuseppe roars. That cannot stand.
Use his injury, Sophia says, her voice sly. Make it part of the narrative.
No, you need to keep him safe while you work, Matteo’s voice adds. Don’t let emotion compromise his security.
“Alessandro recovers,” I say firmly. “And then he helps me finish this.”
I’m going to need him.
Not just for the support or the emotional grounding, but because what I’m planning is going to require someone who understands both the old ways and the new.
Someone who can match my darkness without losing his thinking.
Someone who can love me even as I become something that might terrify everyone else.
“Dominic wanted to see what I’m really capable of,” I say, and my voice carries a promise that makes the hospital room feel smaller, more dangerous. “Now he’s going to fucking find out.”
They all are, the voices agree in unison, for once speaking with one voice instead of three.
They all are.
As I lie back against the hospital pillows, already planning the destruction of an entire crime family, I feel something I’ve never experienced before.
Not just confidence. Not just determination.
Purpose.
I know exactly who I am now.
Not Giuseppe’s daughter or Matteo’s heir or even Alessandro’s…well, whatever we are.
I’m something entirely new. I’m the woman who’s about to remind New York exactly why you don’t fuck with the DeLucas.
And I can’t wait to get started.