Chapter 8
Simon’s eyes snap to Elena, and I move without thinking—stepping in front of her, blocking every inch of her from his line of sight.
“Don’t fucking look at her.” My voice comes out low, sharp, vibrating with a fury I haven’t felt in years.
Simon jerks his gaze away instantly. Good. He knows better. I stay between them, feet planted, every muscle coiled tight. I hate that he looked at her.
I turn my glare on Simon. “Let’s try this again. Why did the port charge more?”
“They didn’t, sir.”
The room tightens around us.
“So again you are calling my wife a liar?” His head snaps up again—toward her—and I step forward, shoulders squared. “I said, don’t look at her.”
My tone leaves no room for misunderstanding. If he looks again, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.
Simon stares down at the floor, voice shaking. “I—I wasn’t lying. The port didn’t charge more. That’s why I called you. I couldn’t find the discrepancy.”
“So you brought me confusion instead of answers?” I ask, circling him slowly. “Do you think that helps me?”
“N-no, sir. But I didn’t want to bring you half the picture. I was still digging. I swear it.”
I study him. Simon’s been with us for years. He’s smart and loyal. He’s not perfect, but he’s not sloppy enough to skim money off the top, not stupid enough to cross Dante. Still… something isn’t adding up.
“Listen to me,” I say quietly, crouching so I’m eye level with him. “You’ve been with our family too long for me to believe you’d pull a stunt like this.”
He nods frantically.
“But if I find out differently—” I lean in until my voice is barely a whisper. “I will take you out myself.”
He pales, throat bobbing. “I—I understand.”
I stand. “Good. Because I’m personally holding you responsible for finding out who changed the numbers.”
“I’ll find out, sir. I swear it.”
“You have twenty-four hours.”
He practically launches out of the chair.
I glance back at Elena. She’s silent. Still.
Wide-eyed. And I hate that she’s seen this part of me so soon.
She doesn’t say a word as we walk through the warehouse and back to the car.
I keep her close, my hand hovering behind her back without touching her.
Once we’re inside the SUV, the door shuts and silence drops heavy between us.
Fuck.
I rake a hand through my hair. I shouldn’t have let her stay in that room. I shouldn’t have let her see me like that. Not yet. Not this soon. Not when she’s already been taught to fear men with power.
“I shouldn’t have brought you in there,” I say finally, my voice tight. “I shouldn’t have let you see that. I don’t want you scared of me.”
She turns her head slowly, brows pulling together. “Scared of you?” she repeats softly.
I meet her gaze. She studies my face for a moment, searching for something.
“You let him live,” she says simply. “Why?”
That floors me more than anything she’s said so far.
“You’re not bothered by what you saw?” I ask carefully.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I know what this life is. I just… don’t understand why you spared him.”
I exhale slowly.
“Simon has been with our family for years,” I explain. “He’s loyal. He works hard. Something about this doesn’t smell right, so I’m giving him a chance to redeem himself.”
She nods, considering that.
“But don’t mistake that for weakness,” I add. “I have someone tailing him. If he’s lying—if he tries to run, if he covers for someone else—I’ll handle it myself.”
She doesn’t flinch. Not once.
“You will never gain respect,” I continue, “if your men think you’ll go off half-cocked and kill them without the full picture. Loyalty doesn’t come from fear alone. It comes from fairness.”
Her eyes soften then she nods. I take her hand as we pull away from the warehouse. The SUV pulls into the driveway. I open my door, then hers.
As she steps out, I reach for her hand without thinking, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Thank you for the help,” I say quietly. “I mean that.” Her fingers tighten around mine—just slightly—but enough to feel. “I need to make some calls,” I add. “I’ll find you soon for lunch.”
She nods, her hand slipping from mine like she’s reluctant to let go and I hate the feeling of losing her warmth.
And as she walks inside, I realize something I didn’t expect to feel this early:
I want more moments with her. More sparks. More truths. More of her. And I’ll burn down every ghost her father left behind if that’s what it takes to see her light up…starting with her clothes.
The moment Elena disappears down the hallway, I force myself toward my office. My first call should be to Dante. He needs to know about the warehouse, about the pricing changes, about Simon. But my fingers don’t dial Dante’s number. They dial Gia’s.
Gianna Moretti, Dante’s sister. My cousin.
One of the only people in this world who knows exactly who I am underneath the duty and the discipline.
She answers on the third ring. “Cousin,” she sings, light and amused. “What can I do for you? Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying married life?”
Normally I’d throw a sarcastic comment right back at her, but not today.
“Gia, I need a favor.”
Her teasing tone drops instantly. Because Gia knows I don’t ask for favors. Ever. If I need something, I go to Dante or handle it myself.
“Anything,” she says, voice hardening with purpose.
And damn, that makes my chest warm.
My father tried his entire life to drive wedges between me, Dante, and Gia. But blood meant something different to us. We chose each other.
“I need you to come take Elena shopping.”
Silence.
So long that I pull the phone from my ear to check if the call dropped. It didn’t.
Finally, “You hate your wife so much you’re trying to get rid of her already?”
That pisses me off instantly.
“I don’t hate her, Gia.”
My jaw clenches. “She needs clothes.”
A beat. Then incredulous laughter.
“She came from the head of the Russian Bratva. You’re telling me she arrived with nothing?”
“They never let her pick her own clothes.”
The words come out harsher than I intend. Another pause.
“What?”
Gia’s voice isn’t shocked anymore. It’s angry. Protective. Volcanic.
“Never,” I confirm. “She told me she hates everything she owns. Every shirt. Every color. I don't even think she knows what she likes because she’s never been allowed to choose.”
Gia’s breath comes through the line sharp and fast.
“Say no more,” she snaps. “I’ll be there after lunch.”
“I need you with her,” I say quietly. “I trust you to help her figure it out.”
“You can count on me,” she says, her voice fierce. “And Alessandro?”
“Yes?”
“I’m proud of you.”
That hits harder than it should. But I don’t have time to unpack it. Because the moment I hang up, Dante’s name flashes across my screen — like he felt I was trying to avoid him.
I answer. He listens to the warehouse report without interrupting, then lets out a low whistle.
“You think Simon’s clean?”
“I think something’s off. But yeah. Instinct says he’s not the one.”
“Good,” Dante says. “Oh yeah… Isabella said yes last night.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
“You didn’t like watching me walk down that aisle without you doing it too, did you?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I can hear his grin.
We talk for another minute before hanging up.
I exhale, rubbing my face. Then I head for Elena’s room. I knock once. No answer. I knock again—harder this time. Still nothing. Dread curls through my stomach. The house is safe, but that doesn’t mean I like not hearing her voice.
I bang my fist against the door. “Elena—”
The door flies open. And I forget how to breathe.
She stands there in nothing but a towel, wrapped tight around her chest, her skin still glistening with droplets of water.
Her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, tendrils falling loose around her face.
Her eyes are wide. Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed.
Fuck.
“What the fuck, Elena?”
The words rip out of me before I can stop them. I step inside instantly, guiding her back with a hand at her waist and slamming the door shut behind us.