Chapter 12
Cesare
Bianca stumbled getting out of the second vehicle. Giulio caught her elbow, steadying her against his bulk.
"Guest room three," I ordered. "Post a guard outside. She doesn't leave, doesn't make calls, doesn't speak to anyone without my permission."
"Understood, boss."
Luxury prison. The penthouse had enough space for that—rooms that became cells with the right security.
Paola followed Bianca with her eyes, expression unreadable. She'd saved her sister this morning. I still didn't know if that was strength or stupidity. Maybe both.
Piero appeared at my shoulder as we stepped into the elevator. "Matteo arranged for Dr. Chen. Discreet, on payroll, doesn't ask questions."
"Good. Get him here fast."
The elevator opened into the penthouse. Someone had turned on lamps—soft light against the predawn darkness outside. The city was waking up below, oblivious to the war being waged.
Dr. Chen arrived fourteen minutes later, medical bag in hand, face carefully neutral. He'd treated enough bullet wounds and knife fights for the family to know better than to comment on a beaten woman in my guest room.
"She needs stitches, possibly a broken rib," he said after his initial examination, disappearing back into the room with practiced efficiency.
I poured espresso in my office, standing at the window. The city was waking up—delivery trucks, early commuters, the machinery of normal life grinding forward.
Nothing about my life was normal anymore. Not that it ever really had been. But for a moment, with Paola… I couldn’t allow myself to imagine a future where I, or anyone connected to me, wasn’t under threat. Not as long as I was the Don.
Piero entered without knocking. "What do we do with her after she's patched up?"
"Keep her here. Under guard. Until we figure out our next move."
"She's a liability. Viktor knows we have her and your father-in-law is demanding a meeting. The families are already questioning your judgment."
I drained the espresso, welcomed the burn. "I know."
"Then why keep her? Paola saved her, yes. But that means something to Paola, not to our enemies. We could send her back to Europe–back to wherever she’s been hiding."
"No. We make it mean something to them too."
Piero's silence spoke volumes. He disagreed but wouldn't push. Not yet.
I checked my watch: 6:45 a.m. Giovanni had demanded we arrive by nine. That left less than two hours, and the Hamptons was just as far away.
Paola appeared in the doorway, changed into soft pants and a sweater that made her look younger, more vulnerable. Beautiful and complicated and mine.
"Are you going?" she asked.
"To see your father? Yes. I have to."
"Let me come with you."
"No. He specifically said alone. And after last night, and this morning—" I gestured vaguely at everything. "You need rest."
"I need answers." Her voice sharpened. "He denied knowing about the substitution at the anniversary celebration. Threw me under the bus to save himself. I want to hear him explain that to my face. I want to know who’s plan this really was."
Her anger was justified. Also dangerous. "Paola—"
"I'm coming with you, Cesare. Don't try to protect me from my own father."
I recognized that tone. She'd made up her mind. And honestly? I didn't want to face Giovanni alone either.
"Fine. But I do the talking. You observe. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Before we left, I gathered my inner circle one more time—Piero, Giulio, Rocco, Matteo. They assembled in my office, faces showing the same exhaustion I felt.
"Status on the police situation?" I asked Rocco.
"Handled. Called in favors with our contacts in the department. The shots fired call is being reported as a false alarm. No investigation."
"Viktor?"
"Didn't file a complaint. Probably doesn't want police attention on his building either."
One less problem. A small mercy.
"The documents?"
Rocco produced the metal briefcase Bianca had brought. "Everything's here. I'll go through them systematically, determine what's real and what's forged."
"Priority one. I need to know exactly what leverage Viktor thinks he had."
"Understood."
Piero added, "What about the families? After last night’s disaster at the anniversary celebration, they're watching. Waiting for you to make another mistake."
"Then I won't make one." I checked my watch again. "Giovanni wants a meeting in two hours. I'll deal with him first. Then we address the families."
"And Viktor?" Giulio asked.
"Viktor is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, we contain the immediate damage."
Everyone dispersed to their tasks. Paola and I headed to the elevator.
We drove to the Hamptons in tense silence. The sun rose—pink and gold streaking across the horizon, promising a beautiful day that felt like a mockery.
We'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. The anniversary celebration felt like a lifetime ago.
"Are you okay?" I broke the silence.
"I saved the sister who tried to destroy me. Broke into a rival Don's penthouse. Gambled our lives on a bluff." She stared out the window. "So no, I'm not okay."
Fair. "You were brave through it all."
"Or stupid."
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
A ghost of a smile. "Your family motto?"
"Should be."
More silence. Manhattan gave way to highways, then the manicured wealth of the Hamptons.
"What do you think my father wants?" Paola asked quietly.
"To save himself. That's all Giovanni has ever wanted. He has to know they’ll catch him in a lie eventually."
"Will you give him that? The ability to save face?"
I considered. "Depends on what he's willing to give in return."
"And if he gives nothing?"
"Then he becomes another enemy to manage."
The words hung heavy between us. Paola's relationship with her father was already destroyed. This meeting might bury it completely.
We passed through the Hamptons—wealth insulating itself from the world's ugliness. The Lombardo estate appeared ahead, imposing even in daylight.
We pulled up at 9:12 a.m.—twelve minutes late, but close enough.
The estate looked different in the early morning light. Tired, once we got closer. The gardens that had seemed elegant at the wedding reception now showed overgrowth at the edges. Money here, but fading. Old wealth clinging to relevance.
Giovanni needed this alliance more than he'd admitted. His empire was already crumbling.
I caught Paola eyeing the building distrustfully. “Do you miss it?” I asked, curious.
“This?” She glanced back at the opulent but overgrown gardens. “I never really knew this place. Or this part of him, I guess. We stayed with our mother until…” She shook her head. “He always had secrets. This place was one of them, I guess.”
A servant met us at the door—Maria, the older woman who'd been at the wedding. She'd aged ten years in six weeks.
Her eyes widened. "Miss Paola. I didn't know you were—"
"Where's my father?" Paola cut her off. No patience for pleasantries.
"In his study. He's expecting you."
We walked through the house and I noticed details: outdated furniture, paintings that should be in storage, the subtle signs of a declining fortune.
We reached the study. Giovanni's voice called, "Come in."
He sat behind his desk like a king on a throne. Or tried to appear so.
But I saw through it: the man was scared, desperate, grasping for control he no longer possessed.
He didn't offer us seats. This wasn't a friendly meeting.
"You've made a mess, Cesare," he started without preamble. "The anniversary celebration was a disaster. Viktor Kozlov is circling. The families are questioning your fitness to lead."
"And you made it worse by denying you knew about the substitution."
"I was protecting myself. As any smart man would."
"You threw your daughter to the wolves. Both of them, actually."
Giovanni's eyes flicked to Paola, cold and dismissive. "Paola understands business. Sometimes sacrifices must be made."
Paola's voice turned to ice. "I understand you're a coward who values his reputation more than his children."
Giovanni's jaw tightened. "Watch your tone, girl."
"Or what? You'll force me into another marriage? Drug me again? Oh wait—you already denied doing that publicly."
"I did what was necessary," Giovanni said flatly. "Bianca came to me the night before the wedding. Hysterical. Said she couldn't go through with it, that someone was threatening her. That she'd die if she married you."
“Viktor.”
Giovanni grunted in assent. His lips twisted into a bitter grimace. “He’d already gotten to her long before then. I tried to tell her that without a strategic marriage she’d never be able to achieve the life she wanted. She told me she’d run anyway. And that she had a plan.”
My hands clenched. "So you drugged Paola instead."
"I let Bianca talk me into drugging her, yes.
We had hours before the ceremony. The alliance couldn't fall apart—Viktor was already watching for weakness.
I needed a Lombardo daughter at that altar.
" His expression hardened. "Paola was the logical choice.
Identical twins. No one would know the difference. "
"Except I'm not Bianca," Paola said, her voice shaking with rage. "I had a life. A career. Friends. You took all of that from me."
"You had a mediocre life teaching art to children. Now you're the wife of the most powerful Don in New York. I gave you an upgrade."
The confrontation crackled with years of resentment and fresh betrayal. I watched, let Paola have this moment. She'd earned it.
"I didn't call you here for a family therapy session," Giovanni snapped. "I called because I have a solution to your Viktor problem."
My interest sharpened. "What kind of solution?"
"Viktor wants territory. Power. Give it to him."
"We've been through this. I'm not surrendering half my empire."
"Not your empire. Mine." Giovanni moved to his desk, pulled out documents. "I'm retiring. Effective immediately. My businesses, my territory, my connections—I'm signing them over."
"To who?" Though I suspected.