Chapter 5
Luca
Dawn crept through the blinds as I stared at the untouched glass of whiskey on my desk. The club had emptied hours ago, leaving only ghosts of bass lines and desperate laughter. I hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Not with the memory of another night with her still fresh in my mind.
Six weeks of this charade, and I still hadn't mastered my own reactions.
Sienna.
I closed my eyes, but that only made it worse. Images flashed behind my eyelids—the defiant tilt of her chin, the curve of her waist beneath my hands, the sounds she made when I—
No.
I slammed my fist on the desk, the sharp pain driving away thoughts I had no business entertaining. This marriage was strategic. Nothing more. Over these past weeks, I'd let it become something dangerous, something that threatened the cold calculation I'd built my empire on.
Prison had taught me that feelings were liabilities. Want made you weak. And weak men didn't survive in our world.
My phone buzzed. Marco's name flashed on the screen.
"What?" I answered, my voice gravel-rough from lack of sleep.
"Boss." Marco's voice was tight, controlled. A warning. "You need to come downstairs. Something arrived for you."
"I'm busy."
"Trust me, you want to see this."
Something in his tone made me straighten. Marco didn't rattle easily.
"Five minutes."
I grabbed my jacket and headed down to the main floor. Cleaning staff scattered at my approach, eyes downcast.
Marco waited by the bar, his face impassive. At his side stood Angelo, my head of security. Both men wore the same grim expression.
"What?" I demanded.
Wordlessly, Marco slid a plain white envelope across the polished wood. No markings, no address.
"Where did this come from?" I asked, not touching it.
"Found it under the delivery entrance door this morning," Angelo said. "Checked the cameras. Nothing. Whoever left it knew the blind spots."
That narrowed the field considerably. Not many people knew the layout of my security system.
I slid on leather gloves and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet with a message constructed from letters cut from magazines.
LIAR AND WHORE PLAYING HOUSE. WONDER WHAT THE FAMILIES WOULD THINK IF THEY KNEW THE TRUTH? $100,000 OR EVERYONE FINDS OUT.
Cold rage settled in my chest. This wasn't just an attack on my reputation—it was an attempt to shatter the fragile peace between our families. If both sides believed the marriage was a sham, the alliance would crumble and we'd be back to open warfare within days.
"Who's seen this?" I asked.
"Just us three," Marco replied.
"Keep it that way." I folded the note and slipped it into my jacket pocket. "Angelo, I want every staff member who had access last night interviewed. Quietly."
Francesco appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath—odd, since he should have been monitoring the south perimeter. His phone screen was still lit in his pocket, the glow visible through the fabric.
"Boss, heard there was a situation. What do you need?"
Something about his eagerness struck me as off—Francesco was usually the last to volunteer for additional duties. Tonight he seemed almost... anticipatory.
"Start with your sector," I ordered. "Anyone acting unusual, anyone asking questions they shouldn't be."
"Of course." His eyes flicked to everyone’s hands, as if expecting to see something in them. Did he know about the envelope? "Anything specific I should be looking for?"
The question was reasonable. So why did it feel like intelligence gathering?
"Just keep your ears open," I said, deliberately vague. "Report back in two hours."
Francesco nodded, but lingered for a beat too long, as if hoping for more information. When none came, he straightened. "I'll start with the evening staff."
As Francesco turned to leave, I noticed him glance back, eyes still searching. When he realized I was watching, he quickly looked away, but not before I caught something calculating in his expression.
"Francesco," I called.
He stopped, shoulders tensing. "Yes, boss?"
"How long have you been handling the evening staff rotations?"
"About six months. Since Carmine was transferred." His answer came smoothly, but his hand moved to his pocket—a nervous tell I'd never noticed before.
Six months. Right around the time someone would have started gathering intelligence for a long-term operation.
As he left, Francesco's phone buzzed. He glanced at it quickly, then powered it off with deliberate haste. Most of my men kept their phones on during operations. Francesco's quick shutdown felt like someone avoiding unwanted calls.
I made a mental note to have Marco keep an eye on him.
"And the money?" Marco asked.
I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Nobody gets a cent. What I will pay for is the head of whoever wrote this."
Angelo nodded, already moving toward the exit.
"Someone's feeding them information," I said, pieces clicking together. "The blackmail notes, security probes—they're all designed to make us react predictably. Someone wanted us paranoid, wanted us making security changes they could observe and counter."
Marco's expression darkened as he followed my logic. "If they expose the marriage as a political arrangement instead of a legitimate union, both families lose face. The Morettis look weak for trading their daughter. We look opportunistic for forcing the arrangement."
"Worse," I said, the full picture crystallizing.
"The entire point of this marriage was to unite the families, end the feud, prevent a territory war.
If it's exposed as a sham—as coercion rather than alliance—the truce dies with it.
Giuseppe can claim his niece was taken against her will, that the Romano family violated the agreement.
The Moretti soldiers who accepted our leadership would have justification to rebel. "
"And the other families would see it as weakness," Marco added quietly. "Blood in the water. They'd move on our territories while we're fighting a civil war with the Morettis."
"Exactly. Whoever's behind this doesn't just want money. They want chaos. They want both families tearing each other apart so they can sweep in and claim what's left.
Marco's expression darkened. "You think this is all theater?"
"I think we're being herded. The question is toward what."
"But boss—" Marco hesitated.
"Say it."
Marco pulled out a small notebook—old school, leather-bound, the kind cops used to carry.
Twenty years in law enforcement before joining my organization had left him with habits that served us well.
He flipped through pages covered in his precise handwriting, consulting notes I knew he'd been taking since the moment we discovered the breach.
"The leak might be close. Someone who knows your schedule, your priorities—"
"Someone who knows about Sienna." My voice went deadly quiet.
"Should we tell your wife?" Marco asked once Angelo had left.
Wife. The word still felt foreign, even after six weeks. And yet, seeing it written next to "whore" had sent a flare of possessive fury through me that I hadn't anticipated.
"No," I said firmly. "She doesn't need to know."
"Boss, with respect, if someone's targeting your marriage—"
"I said no." My voice dropped to a dangerous register. "This is my problem to solve."
Marco's face remained carefully neutral, but I caught the skepticism in his eyes.
"You think I'm making a mistake," I said.
"I think the Moretti girl is a complication we don't need right now."
Complication. The word grated more than it should have.
"But since she's here, keeping her in the dark might make her vulnerable."
"Or it might keep her safe," I countered. "The less she knows, the less danger she's in."
"Have Dante and Vito meet me this afternoon," I said, changing the subject. "The Calabrese underboss has been asking for a meeting too. Set it for four. Here, in the VIP section."
"And your wife?" Marco asked. "She'll need to make an appearance soon. People are talking."
"I'll handle Sienna," I said, ignoring the flash of heat the statement provoked.
I'd kept her underground these past six weeks, telling myself it was for her safety.
And it was—partially. But another part of me, the part I didn't want to examine too closely, liked knowing exactly where she was.
Liked that she was mine alone, untouched by other men's gazes, unreachable to anyone but me.
Possessive. Jealous. Dangerous feelings I had no business entertaining.
"Just take care of security. I want to know who delivered that note before sunset."
Marco departed, leaving me alone. The club looked different by day—less glamorous, more stark. Reality without the softening effect of darkness.
Six weeks ago, this space had felt like victory.
My kingdom, reclaimed after two years in a cell and three years of brutal rebuilding.
I'd been twenty-three when I went to prison.
Twenty-five when I got out to find my father's empire carved up and sold off.
Twenty-eight now, with everything I'd clawed back piece by piece.
Proof I'd rebuilt from nothing.
I returned to my office, pouring over security reports and surveillance footage. Looking for the pattern I knew was there—the breach, the leak, the traitor in my ranks.
An hour crawled by. Then another.
I reviewed personnel files, cross-referencing schedules with the blackmail delivery times. Made calls to my territory captains, checking on operations, maintaining the appearance of business as usual while my world threatened to fracture.
By the time my phone buzzed with Marco's text, the sun had shifted, afternoon light slanting through the windows.
Meeting with Calabrese set for 4 PM. Ricci accepted immediately. Too eager.
I was still processing that when the phone rang. Unknown number.
"Romano," I answered.
"Congratulations on your marriage." The voice was smooth, cultured, instantly recognizable. Salvatore Ricci, underboss to the Calabrese family. "It seems to be working out well for both families."
My grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want, Ricci?"
"Just to confirm our meeting this afternoon." A pause, deliberate and weighted. "I'm looking forward to seeing how domestic life has treated you. Rumor has it the Moretti princess has settled into her role quite convincingly."
The implied threat hung in the air between us.
"Four o'clock," I said flatly. "Don't be late."
"Never. Oh, and Luca? Be sure to bring that lovely bride of yours. I'd very much like to meet la principessa who's tamed the infamous Don."
As the line went dead, I recalled Giuseppe Moretti's unexpected visit to Ricci's territory last month. The timing felt too convenient. Two old men, both with grudges against the current power structure. Both with reasons to want the Romano-Moretti alliance destroyed.
My phone buzzed again—Angelo this time.
"Tell me something useful," I said by way of greeting.
I leaned back in my leather desk chair, the office around me a study in controlled luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the empty club floor below, monitors displaying security feeds, my laptop open with personnel files already queued up.
From here, I could see everything. Control everything.
Or at least, I used to think so.
"That bartender you fired last week, Tony? He's been badmouthing you all over town. Bragging about knowing things that could 'bring down the mighty Romano.'"
"Tony?" I frowned, pulling up his file on my computer. "Anthony Vassallo?"
I studied Tony's employment history more carefully. The recommendation had come through a third party, but the signature belonged to someone who'd worked closely with Giuseppe Moretti's legitimate businesses.
I pulled up his references. There it was—his previous job had been at a restaurant owned by a shell company with connections to Moretti's money laundering operations.
The blackmail wasn't random opportunism. It was a coordinated probe, designed to test our security while gathering intelligence about our marriage. Giuseppe had been planning this for over a year.
"Put him under surveillance," I said. "I want to know who he's talking to."
"You got it, boss."
I hung up, everything beginning to fall into place. Tony had worked several events where Sienna and I had appeared together. He would have seen us when the public wasn't watching—the careful distance we maintained, the tension that simmered beneath our polite smiles.
But was he working alone? A bartender wouldn't have known the security blind spots. Wouldn't have had the nerve to blackmail me directly.
No, someone was using him. Someone with more knowledge, more resources. Someone close.
Rage, cold and focused, settled in my veins. I pulled out my gun, checked the clip, and holstered it beneath my jacket. Then I picked up my phone and called Sienna.
"Put on something appropriate for meeting a rival family," I said when she answered. "We have a situation."
"Good morning to you too," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Interesting way to greet your wife after disappearing before dawn."
Wife. The word hit differently coming from her lips. It was starting to sound less like a convenience.
"This isn't a social call," I said, more harshly than intended. "Someone knows about our arrangement, and they're making noise. We need to present a united front."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Someone knows it's convenient?"
"Yes." I didn't elaborate.
"Who?"
"That's what I'm going to find out." I checked my watch. "Be ready in an hour. We have a meeting with Salvatore Ricci at four."
"Ricci?" The recognition in her voice was immediate. "He's dangerous, Luca."
"I know exactly what he is." I hesitated, then added, "Wear something expensive. Something that says you're mine."
The possessiveness in my tone surprised even me.
Her soft intake of breath was audible through the phone. "I'm not yours."
"For today, you are. For today, we're madly in love and our marriage is exactly what everyone thinks it is."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Fine," she finally said. "One hour."
After she hung up, I sat back in my chair. The blackmail note felt heavy in my pocket, a tangible reminder of the threat looming over us.
The enemy wasn't just at the gates. They were already inside the walls.
And worse, they knew exactly where to hit me.