Chapter 15
The moment Alessandro disappears out the door, the world tilts. The noise. The screams. The overturned tables. The glittering shards of glass across the floor. All of it blends together until there’s nothing left but the echo of gunfire in my ears and the ghost of his kiss on my lips.
Beside me, Gia pushes up from the floor, smoothing her hair back with shaky hands even though she still has her gun raised.
“Motherfuckers ruined my date,” she mutters.
Nico growls, “Good! Sit still.”
Gia glares but obeys. Rocco and Alessandro are gone. Chasing danger. Chasing bullets. Chasing death. And I’m here. Surrounded by fear and broken glass. My chest tightens, and for a split second, panic claws up my throat.
What if he doesn’t come back?
What if I never see him again?
What if my last words to him were… nothing at all?
A tremor shudders down my spine.
Nico stands, scanning the restaurant, gun out. “Alright. We’re leaving,” he announces. “Now.”
I shake my head instantly. “No.”
His gaze snaps to me. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Elena,” Nico warns, “this place isn’t secure. Rocco isn’t here. The Boss isn’t here. We don’t know who’s outside or what’s waiting—”
“I am not leaving my husband.” My voice comes out stronger than I expect. Firm. Certain.
Nico blinks in surprise.
Gia grins. “Oh, I like her.”
Nico shoots her a look. “This is not the time.”
I push myself to my feet—even though my knees tremble. “I’m staying here until Alessandro comes back.”
Nico holsters his gun long enough to rub the bridge of his nose. “I promised Alessandro I’d keep you safe.”
“You can,” I say. “But I’m not running away while he’s out there risking his life. I won’t.”
“El—”
I lift my chin. “I stay.”
For the first time since I married Alessandro, I feel something sharp and burning in my chest. Not fear.
Strength.
Nico studies me for a long moment, weighing my resolve. Then he exhales heavily, muttering something in Italian I can’t make out. He taps something on his phone and I hear Rocco answer.
“Rocco, status?”
Static. Shouting. Distant echoing footsteps.
Then Rocco’s voice: “Still pursuing. Two targets. Alessandro is behind me.”
Nico’s jaw tightens. “Understood,” he replies. “I’ve got the girls.”
He lowers his hand and looks at me with resigned acceptance.
“Fine,” he says. “We stay. But we do it my way. You don’t move unless I tell you.”
I nod.
My heart is pounding too hard, my thoughts racing too fast, but I stay where he places me—back behind a shielded part of the dining room, away from broken glass and panicked guests.
Gia plops into a nearby chair, crossing her legs. “Well,” she huffs, “this night took a turn.”
I stare at the doorway. At the dark street beyond it. Every beat of my heart whispers his name.
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
And for the first time, I understand: I’m not afraid of his violence. I’m afraid of losing him.
Time stretches in strange ways when you’re scared.
I feel like I’ve been sitting here forever — pressed against the wall Nico guided me to, hands twisting in my lap, the scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air.
But when I glance at the clock above the bar, only twenty-seven minutes have passed.
Twenty-seven minutes since Alessandro disappeared through that door.
Twenty-seven minutes since my heart followed him.
Gia is sitting on a broken chair nearby, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling her phone like she’s annoyed the shooters interrupted dessert. Nico stands in front of us, broad and immovable, blocking anyone from getting near.
But all I can do is stare at the doorway.
Come back. Please come back. My fingers twitch, and I glance at Gia.
She still hasn’t put away her gun. She holds it easily.
Confidently. Like she’s done this a thousand times.
I look down at my own shaking hands. I don’t want to be a burden.
I don’t want Alessandro to have to protect me every second.
I want to stand beside him one day… not behind him.
I need to learn to shoot, I think suddenly.
Like Gia. Like someone who won’t crumble when danger comes. Another tremor runs through me.
Not because of fear this time—
because of resolve.
I’m not sure when I made that decision. But it settles inside me like a stone.
“Hey,” Gia says quietly. “You okay?”
I nod, but I don’t think I fool her. Before she can say more, a hand lands on my shoulder. I gasp and jump up so fast Nico nearly pulls his gun. But the man standing beside me isn’t a threat.
It’s Dante Moretti. The Don.
I didn’t even see him walk in — which frightens me more than the gunfire did.
He crouches down so we’re eye-level, his expression both sharp and gentle in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
“Elena,” he says softly, “are you hurt?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’m… I’m okay.” But that’s not what I need to know. “Where is Alessandro?” My voice cracks. “Is he okay?”
Dante’s eyes soften. “He’s fine,” he assures me. “One shooter got away, but Rocco and Alessandro took the other.”
Took him where?
He doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to. I swallow hard, gripping my hands to hide the shaking. Dante stands slowly.
“Nico is going to take you home. You’ll be safe there.”
“No.” The word escapes before I can stop it.
Nico tenses.
Gia’s eyebrows shoot up.
Dante tilts his head — not offended, just watching me carefully.
I force my eyes to meet his. “I don’t want to go home,” I say quietly. “I want to go to Alessandro. I need to see for myself that he’s okay.”
For a heartbeat, he studies me.
And I know this is the moment —
the one where he decides whether I’m the quiet shadow everyone thinks I am…or something more. Something that belongs in their world.
Dante sighs, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You’re going to get along great with my future wife,” he mutters, almost to himself.
I blink.
But he nods once — firm and decisive. “Fine,” he says. “You can go to him.” Then he stands and nods once, firm and final. “Come on,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
Relief crashes into me so sharply it knocks the air from my lungs.
He leads me through the ruined restaurant, past overturned tables and broken glass, out into the night where black SUVs wait like silent sentries.
“Stay close,” he says as he guides me toward the lead vehicle.
I do. Because I’m done being left behind. Done being sheltered. Done being a shadow.
I am Alessandro Moretti’s wife.
And wherever he goes—
I go.