Chapter 14
Isla
Icouldn't sleep.
The guest room was beautiful—cream silk sheets, soft lighting, a bathroom bigger than my entire old apartment. Everything whispered of wealth and taste and a life I'd never imagined living.
But it felt like a cage.
I rolled over for the hundredth time, checking my phone. 11:47 p.m. Leo had been asleep for hours, exhausted from the excitement of his "adventure." He'd been so happy about the trains, about his new room, about Cassian.
Cassian, who'd threatened to take my son if I didn't comply.
Cassian, who'd looked at Leo with something raw and unguarded in his eyes.
Cassian, whom I still didn't truly understand.
I threw back the covers and pulled on the silk robe I'd found in the closet—another item that had mysteriously appeared in my size. Everything here felt borrowed, temporary, like I was playing a role in someone else's life.
Maybe warm milk would help. Or checking on Leo one more time, reassuring myself he was real and safe and still mine.
I padded barefoot into the hallway, the plush carpet silent beneath my feet. Leo's door was cracked open, nightlight casting soft stars across his sleeping face. He clutched his dinosaur, lips slightly parted, completely at peace.
My beautiful boy. Oblivious to how complicated his world had just become.
I was turning toward the kitchen when I heard it—Cassian's voice, low and hard, coming from down the hall. Not from his locked office, but from one of the other rooms—the guest bathroom, maybe, based on the echo.
Another phone call. I'd heard him on the phone earlier when we'd first arrived, discussing security. But this sounded different. More urgent. Darker.
I froze, my hand on Leo's bedroom doorknob.
"Situation at the docks is escalating." His voice was different from his usual business tone. Cold. Controlled. Dangerous. "Matteo's making his move tonight."
Tonight? This morning, Cassian had said Matteo was "circling," asking questions. Now he was making a move?
Who was Matteo? And what kind of move?
I should have walked away. Should have gone to the kitchen, given him privacy.
Instead, my feet carried me closer.
"I want eyes on him. Every person he talks to, every deal he tries to make. If any of our people switch sides, I want to know immediately."
Our people. Not employees. Not workers. People.
My hand found the wall for support as I stopped just outside the bathroom door. Through the gap, I could see Cassian's shadow on the wall, pacing.
"No," Cassian continued, his voice dropping lower. "No blood unless he draws first. I don't want to give him ammunition. But if he crosses that line, if he touches what's mine—then you put him down. Permanently."
The floor tilted beneath my feet. Put him down. Permanently.
"The shipment from Tuesday needs to be moved. Matteo knows about the Brooklyn location." A pause. "Use the secondary warehouse. And Marco? Make sure the dock workers understand—loyalty to the Barone family means loyalty to me. Anyone who forgets that learns what happens when you betray your don."
Don.
The word echoed in my head.
Don. As in… mafia don?
The word hit me like ice water. I'd heard it before, in movies, in true crime documentaries. Mafia bosses. Crime families. Violence wrapped in Italian suits and blood loyalty.
"Keep me updated. And double the security here at the Morrison. No one gets near this building without full clearance." His voice shifted, became almost gentle. "I have more to protect now than just myself."
He meant Leo. He meant us.
The door handle started to turn.
I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Cassian stood there, phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes widened fractionally when he saw me, surprise flickering across his features before his expression hardened into something unreadable.
"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with me. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. "Isla."
"Don." The word came out as an accusation. "You said don."
His jaw tightened. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." My voice shook despite my attempt at control. "Blood. Shipments. Putting people down permanently. What kind of oil executive talks like that?"
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Then something shifted in his expression—resignation, maybe. Or the calculation of a man deciding how much truth to reveal.
"Come with me," he said, gesturing toward the living room. "Not here. Not outside Leo's door."
I followed on numb legs, my heart hammering against my ribs. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to whatever revelation was about to shatter my carefully rebuilt world.
Cassian moved to the bar and poured himself a scotch. His movements were controlled and precise, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw.
He didn't offer me a drink. Just drained half the glass in one swallow before turning to face me.
"You want to know what kind of executive talks about blood and shipments?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "The kind who isn't just an executive."
The admission hung between us, heavy with implication.
"Then what are you?" I demanded, though part of me already knew. Had known, maybe, since the moment I'd heard that cold authority in his voice.
He set the glass down with careful precision. "I run Barone Industries. The oil business is legitimate—surprisingly profitable, even. But I also run something else. The Barone family."
"I don't understand—"
"Yes, you do." His eyes held mine, unflinching. "You heard me on the phone. You heard the word. Don."
The word settled between us like a death sentence.
"You're—" I couldn't make myself say it.
"Head of the Barone crime family," he finished for me. "The oil empire is the public face. What people see, what the media reports. But underneath?" He gestured vaguely. "Territory. Operations. Business that can't be conducted in boardrooms or shareholders' meetings."
My legs gave out. I sank onto the nearest chair, my mind racing through every interaction we'd had, recontextualizing everything through this new lens.
The business dinner with Vincent Calabrese. The "shipping concerns." The way people deferred to him with something that looked like fear. The security that seemed excessive for a CEO.
It all made horrible sense now.
"You're a criminal," I whispered.
"I'm a businessman who operates outside conventional boundaries when necessary."
"That's just a pretty way of saying criminal." I looked up at him, this stranger who was my son's father. "Do you kill people?"
The question hung in the air. I wanted him to laugh, to tell me I was being dramatic, to explain it all away.
Instead, he held my gaze and said, "Only when there's no alternative."
The honesty was worse than any lie could have been. At least a lie would have given me something to cling to, some way to pretend this wasn't real.
"Oh my God." I pressed my hands to my face. "Oh my God, Cassian. And you brought Leo into this? Into your world?"
"I brought you here to protect you." He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming even in the vast space. "There are people who would use you to get to me. Matteo—my cousin—wants what I have. The territory, the business, the power."
"What does that have to do with us?" My voice shook.
Cassian pulled out his phone, turning the screen toward me. A grainy image filled the display—a photo taken from across the street.
Of me. And Leo.
My blood turned to ice.
It was us leaving our old apartment building. Leo's hand in mine, his dinosaur backpack on his shoulders. The photo was slightly blurred, clearly taken from a distance with a zoom lens.
"When was this taken?" My voice came out strangled.
"Before I brought you here. Before you were under my protection." He zoomed in on the date stamp. Three days before we'd moved. "Matteo's been watching you. Watching him."
I grabbed the phone from his hand, staring at the image. My son. Someone had been photographing my son.
"How long?" I could barely force the words out.
"At least a week. Maybe longer." Cassian took the phone back, his movements controlled. "That's why you're here. That's why you can't leave. Because the moment I let you walk out that door, you become a target."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The implication hung in the air—we already were targets.
"You made us targets by claiming us!" My anger flared, hot and desperate. "If you'd just left us alone—"
"I made you protected." His voice was level, maddeningly calm. "Matteo was circling before I even knew Leo existed. The moment you walked into my office, you put yourself in his crosshairs. He researches everyone close to me, looking for leverage."
"So, this is my fault?" The accusation burned.
"This is reality." He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to back away. "Matteo knows about Leo now. Not because I told him—because he watched. Investigated. And now he's deciding whether a two-and-a-half-year-old boy is useful leverage against me."
Each word hit like a physical blow. Someone had been watching my son. Taking photos. Deciding whether he was useful.
"How do we stop him?" The question came out as a whisper.
I stood on shaking legs, needing distance, needing air. "What have you done? What world have you dragged us into?"
"A world where Leo will have my name, my protection, my legacy." His expression softened slightly. "But also a world with risks. That's why you're here. Where I can keep you safe."
"Safe." I laughed, the sound broken and bitter. "You want me to feel safe with a mafia boss? That's your definition of safe?"
"Safer than anywhere else in this city." He reached for me, but I jerked away.
"Don't touch me."
Pain flashed across his face, quickly masked. "Isla—"
"Did you plan to tell me?" The question burst out of me, fury mixing with fear. "Or were you just going to let me figure it out eventually? Let me wake up one day and realize my son's father is a criminal?"
"When it was necessary," he said carefully. "It's necessary now."
"Because I overheard you!" I gestured toward his office. "That's not honesty, Cassian. That's damage control."
"You're right." The admission surprised me. "I should have told you before. Before I brought you here, before I asked you to trust me with Leo's safety."
"Trust." The word tasted bitter. "How can I trust you now?"
"Because everything I've done has been to protect him. To protect you both." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration cracking through his controlled facade. "The security, the move, all of it. I'm trying to keep you safe."
"From what? From who?" A new terror crystallized. "That man you mentioned on the phone. Matteo. Who is he?"
Cassian's expression darkened. "My cousin. We grew up together, learned the business together. But he wants what I have—the territory, the power, everything. And he's not patient about getting it."
"And if he finds out about Leo?"
"He'll use him." Cassian's voice was flat, certain. "As leverage. As a weakness to exploit. That's why I moved you here. Why I need you where I can protect you."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. "This is insane. All of this. I thought—I thought you were just a businessman. Ruthless, maybe, but legal."
"The oil business is legal. Profitable, even." He moved to the window, staring out at his city. "Everything else exists in the shadows. But it's real, Isla. And now that you know, you have a choice to make."
"What choice?" I asked hollowly.
"Stay. Let me protect you and Leo. Accept that this is who I am and what I'm capable of." He turned back to face me. "Or leave. Take Leo and run, and spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering when Matteo or someone like him will find you."
"That's not a choice. That's a threat."
"It's reality." His voice softened. "I know you're scared. I know this isn't what you wanted. But I'm asking you to trust that I'll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe. Even the ugly things. Especially the ugly things."
I stared at him, this man who'd fathered my child, who'd held me in Miami like I was precious, who now admitted to killing people when "necessary."
"I need time," I said, my voice breaking. "I need to think."
"Take all the time you need." He stepped back, giving me space. "But understand—you're not leaving this penthouse. Not until the situation with Matteo is contained."
"So I'm a prisoner."
"You're protected." His eyes held mine. "There's a difference."
I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I need to check on Leo."
"Isla."
I paused at the doorway but didn't turn around.
"I know you're afraid," he said quietly. "But everything I've told you tonight—the business, the risks, all of it—I'm trusting you with that information. That means something."
"What does it mean?" I asked without looking back.
"That I'm not trying to own you. I'm trying to protect you." His voice dropped lower. "And maybe, eventually, you'll understand the difference."
I didn't respond. Couldn't. I just walked away, my footsteps silent on the carpet, leaving him standing alone in that vast living room.
I slipped into Leo's room and sank into the chair beside his bed. He slept peacefully, unaware that his father was a criminal. That we were trapped in a penthouse with a man who killed people. That our lives had just become infinitely more complicated and dangerous.
I reached out and touched Leo's curls, soft beneath my fingers.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry I brought you into this."
But even as I said it, I knew the truth. I hadn't brought Leo into Cassian's world.
Cassian had always been part of Leo's world. From the moment of his conception, my son had carried Barone blood.
And now we'd both have to live with what that meant.