Chapter 27 Liana
"The shipment from Rotterdam arrives Thursday," I say, looking at the detailed manifest displayed on my tablet. "We need to clear customs by Friday morning or we lose the delivery window and incur penalties."
Antonio, one of Papa's oldest and most trusted associates, nods with the confidence of decades of experience. "I'll handle it personally."
"Good." I make a note on my tablet with quick, efficient strokes. "And the issue with the labor union?"
"Resolved. They agreed to our terms after some negotiation."
"Excellent work." I look around the polished conference table at the assembled group. Ten men, all of them twice my age, all of them watching me with varying degrees of respect and skepticism. "Anything else we need to address?"
"Actually," Antonio clears his throat uncomfortably. "There's been some unusual activity at the port. Thought you should know."
"What kind of activity?" I set down my tablet and give him my full attention.
"The Benedetti operation. One of their main warehouses failed inspection yesterday. Shut down completely by the city."
I keep my face carefully neutral, giving nothing away. "Which warehouse specifically?"
"The one on Pier Seven. Safety violations, apparently."
Pier Seven is only two docks away from our main operation, close enough to monitor.
"That affects us how?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.
"It doesn't. Not directly. It's strange timing. That's the second Benedetti warehouse to close this week."
I make a note on my tablet, filing the information away. "Keep me informed if it impacts our operations in any way. Otherwise, it's not our immediate concern."
The meeting continues through the agenda—distribution schedules, maintenance budgets, staffing issues that need resolution. All things I've been training for my entire life, absorbing through observation and careful study.
When the meeting ends, I gather my things. My bodyguard appears at my elbow immediately, his presence both protective and unobtrusive.
"Where to next?" he asks quietly.
"Papa's office for a brief check-in. Then lunch."
"Yes, ma'am."
We walk through the port, past towering shipping containers and busy loading docks. Workers nod respectfully as I pass. Some call out greetings by name. They know who I am now—not just Dominic Costa's daughter, but his second-in-command. A person with real authority.
“Miss Costa!”
I turn to see one of the dock supervisors jogging toward me, slightly out of breath. "Yes?"
"Just wanted to let you know—that supplier you asked about last week? The one the Benedettis use for their Mediterranean routes?" He's breathing hard from the run. "He switched companies. Signed with the Marcellos this morning."
I stop walking, processing this information. "What?"
"Yeah. They offered him significantly better terms. Better rates, better protection. He couldn't refuse." The supervisor shrugs. "Thought you'd want to know since we were considering using him too for the expansion."
"Thank you for letting me know," I manage, keeping my voice steady.
He nods and jogs back to his post.
I stand there for a moment, my mind working through the implications. The Benedettis' Mediterranean supplier just switched to the Marcellos. That's the third supplier this week that I know about. Plus, two warehouse closures that seemed suspicious.
"Everything okay?" Alessandro asks quietly, his trained eyes scanning for threats.
"Fine." I start walking again, my pace slightly faster. "Just business."
But my mind is racing, connecting dots I'm not sure I want to connect.
This isn't coincidence. This pattern is too deliberate, too systematic.
Someone is methodically dismantling the Benedetti operation piece by piece.
And I have a pretty good idea who that someone is.
Papa's office is on the second floor of the main administrative building. I knock once and enter without waiting for permission. He's on the phone, his back to me as he looks out the window. Holds up a finger—one minute.
I sit in the leather chair across from his desk and wait, trying to organize my thoughts.
"Yes, I understand," Papa says into the phone. "Keep me updated on any developments." He hangs up and turns to face me. "How was the meeting?"
"Productive. Antonio's handling the Rotterdam shipment personally."
"He's reliable." Papa leans back in his chair, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Liana." His tone is gentle but firm. "I've known you your entire life. I can tell when something's bothering you."
I hesitate, then decide there's no point in avoiding it. "The Benedettis. Their operation is falling apart rapidly."
"I've noticed that too."
"You knew?" I sit forward. "You've been monitoring it?"
"Hard not to notice when it's happening this close to our operations." Papa pulls out a file from his desk drawer and opens it. "In the past four days, they've lost two major warehouses, four significant suppliers, and three important shipping contracts. Their cash flow is essentially gone."
"Who's doing it?" Though I already know the answer.
Papa looks at me steadily, doesn't answer immediately. We both know.
"Santino," I say quietly, the name feeling strange in my mouth after days of not saying it.
"Most likely, yes."
"Why?" I ask, though part of me already knows that answer too.
"Why do you think?" Papa closes the file carefully. "He failed to protect you. Now he's systematically eliminating the threat that hurt you."
"By destroying their entire operation. Not just weakening them—destroying them completely."
"Seems that way."
I stand abruptly, needing to move. Walk to the window and look out at the port stretching below us.
"Santino Marcello is doing what he should have done from the beginning," Papa says thoughtfully. "Protecting you. Even if you don't want his protection. Even if you'll never know the full extent of what he's doing."
"I don't need his protection."
"Maybe not. But he needs to give it." Papa's voice carries understanding. "It's his way of making amends. Of proving—to himself, if no one else—that he can do better."
"It doesn't change anything about what happened."
"Doesn't it?"
I turn to face him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that actions speak louder than words, Liana." Papa stands and walks over to me. "The man failed you. Terribly. Catastrophically. But now he's trying to make it right. In the only way he knows how."
"By starting a war with the Benedettis."
"By finishing one they started." Papa's eyes are serious. "They took you. They hurt you. They threatened our family. Santino is ensuring they can never do it again. To you or anyone else."
"I don't want him to do this for me," I say finally, though I'm not sure it's entirely true.
"What do you want?" Papa asks simply.
What do I want?
I wanted the engagement over. Done. Finished. Achieved.
I wanted to run the family business. Accomplished.
I wanted to prove I didn't need a man to protect me. Demonstrated beyond doubt.
So why am I not satisfied?
"I don't know," I admit quietly, honestly.
Papa puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Then maybe you should figure that out. Before it's too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To decide if Santino Marcello is worth a second chance."
He leaves me there alone in his office with that thought. I sink back into the chair, my mind spinning. Santino is destroying the Benedettis systematically and deliberately.
For me.
I should be angry about this. He's acting without my permission, making decisions that affect my safety without consulting me.
But I'm not angry.
My phone buzzes against the desk. A text from Gia.
Gia: Heard about the Benedetti warehouses closing. Santino's doing this, isn't he?
Me: Looks like it.
Gia: How do you feel about that?
Me: I don't know.
Gia: Liar. You know exactly how you feel. You're just scared to admit it.
I stare at the message, my sister's words hitting uncomfortably close to truth. She's right, as usual. I do know how I feel. I just don't want to acknowledge it.
Because admitting it means admitting that I still care despite everything. That despite the three hours, despite the betrayal, despite all of it—I still have feelings for Santino Marcello.
Me: I have to go. Meeting in ten minutes.
Gia: Running away from feelings. Very mature.
Gia: But I love you anyway. We'll talk tonight.
I pocket my phone and stand, needing to escape the weight of these thoughts. Alessandro is waiting outside the door, professional and patient.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yes. Let's go."
We head to lunch at a small restaurant near the port, one of Papa's longtime favorites. I order mechanically, trying to focus on the menu, on the food, on anything except the fact that Santino is out there somewhere right now, systematically destroying an entire crime family for me.
"Excuse me, miss?" The waiter approaches with a deferential expression. "A message was delivered for you."
He hands me a folded piece of paper, expensive stationary that feels heavy in my hands.
Roberto Benedetti has forty-eight hours to leave the city. After that, his family is done. You'll never have to worry about them again. - S
He didn't sign his full name. Didn't need to. I know exactly what this message means.
Santino isn't just eliminating a business threat.
He's giving me a timeline. A promise. A guarantee.
Forty-eight hours. Then it's over. Then I'm safe.
I fold the paper carefully and slip it into my purse, my heart pounding.
"Everything okay?" Alessandro asks from his position, his trained eyes catching my reaction.
"Fine." My voice is steady even though my heart is racing. "Everything's fine."
But it's not fine. Nothing is fine.
Because Santino just sent me a message. Just told me exactly what he's doing and why.
I don't know what to do with that information. Don't know how to feel about it.
I eat my lunch mechanically, the food tasteless, my mind elsewhere. The afternoon passes in a blur of more meetings, more decisions, more pretending I'm focused on work when all I can think about is that note in my purse.
Forty-eight hours.
By the time I get home to the estate, darkness has fallen completely. Mama and Gia are in the living room, looking up expectantly when I enter.
"Long day?" Mama asks with concern.
"Something like that." I don't elaborate.
I head upstairs to my room, closing the door behind me and finally allowing myself to breathe.
Pull out the note. Read it again, studying every word.
Roberto Benedetti has forty-eight hours to leave the city. After that, his family is done. You'll never have to worry about them again. - S
He's doing this for me, not to win me back. The note doesn't say anything about getting back together. Doesn't ask for forgiveness or a second chance.
Just that I'll be safe. That's all.
I pull out my phone and stare at his contact information, my thumb hovering over the call button. But I don't press it.
I don't know what I'd say to him. Thank you? Stop? I forgive you? I don't forgive you?
All of it. None of it. Everything in between.
I still care about him.
And that scares me more than the Benedettis ever did.