Declan
Morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, and for a moment I don't remember where I am. Then I feel her.
Elena is curled against my side, her head on my chest, one hand resting over my heart. Her breathing is slow and even, her body warm and soft against mine. We're both still naked under the sheets, and the intimacy of it, the simple fact of waking up with her like this, makes my chest tighten.
Last night changed something between us. I'm not naive enough to think all our problems are solved. There's still so much I don't understand about her, and her about me, but we took a step forward.
And I'm not going to fuck it up.
I run my fingers through her hair gently, careful not to wake her. She makes a soft sound in her sleep and shifts closer, and something in my chest cracks open. This woman, this complicated, infuriating, beautiful woman, is mine. My wife. My partner.
If I can just figure out how to keep her.
Her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, like she's not sure where she is or how she got here. Then her gaze focuses on me, and I see the memory of last night wash over her face. "Morning," I say quietly.
"Morning." Her voice is rough with sleep. She doesn't pull away, but I can feel the tension creeping back into her body. The walls starting to rebuild.
"Stay," I say before she can move. "Just for a minute."
She hesitates. Then, slowly, she relaxes against me again. "Okay."
We lie there in silence for a while. I keep running my fingers through her hair, and gradually I feel her tension ease. This intimacy is new territory for both of us. We've had sex. We've fought. We've hurt each other. But this is different.
"I need to tell you something," I say finally. "The attack on the shipment—the one that killed my men. It wasn't random. I don’t believe it was, anyway." I meet her eyes. "Someone knew exactly when and where we'd be. Someone gave them that information."
Her expression shifts, strangely like confirmation of something she already suspected. "You think there's a spy."
"I know there is." I tell her about how the night went in greater detail, and what I was told was said, about the Irish and the Italian alliance. When I'm done, she's quiet for a long moment.
"If the problem was the Irish and Italian working together, why didn't they attack the Capetti men too?" She frowns. “The Irish and the Italians don’t typically work well together; it’s true. That’s been true since before you took over. But I don’t think they’re telling the whole truth.
You said the attack was because someone doesn’t like the Irish and Italians cooperating.
But if that's true, they would have targeted both sides.
Not just yours." She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself.
"It doesn't make sense, Declan. If someone wanted to stop the alliance, they'd want to make both families look weak.
They'd want to create distrust on both sides.
This gives you an outward threat to look at, not closer to home. "
Fuck, she's right. I was so focused on the immediate threat, on the loss of my men, that I hadn't thought that far into it yet.
"The new capo," she continues. "Dante Moretti. The one who defected from my… my father’s house. Have you questioned him?"
"Not since he wanted to join up with us. He came to me," I say slowly. "Said he believed in what I was trying to do. That he wanted to be part of building something different. I wanted to believe that someone from your world saw value in what I'm trying to do."
She reaches out and touches my face. The gesture is so unexpected and gentle that I freeze. "I can understand that. But you need to question him," she says quietly. "Or send him away. Something about this doesn't feel right."
"You think he's the spy."
"I think you should find out." She drops her hand. "Before more of your men die."
I don’t want to believe that, but she's right. If Dante is feeding information to the Capettis, if he's the reason my men were ambushed, then I've been a fucking fool. I brought the enemy right into my organization because I was desperate to prove I belonged.
"I'll talk to him," I say.
"Today."
"Today," I agree.
She nods and starts to pull away. But I catch her hand, holding her in place. "Elena."
"What?"
"Thank you." I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "For helping me see what I was missing."
Surprise flickers across her face. "You're my husband," she says quietly. "Your enemies are my enemies now."
The words settle between us. Even after everything that's happened, even with all the walls still standing between us, she's on my side. Or at the very least, she acknowledges that our sides are the same, and that’s a start.
I pull her down and kiss her, slow and deep. When I pull back, her breathing has quickened. "I have to go," I murmur, even though every instinct is screaming at me to stay, pull her against me, and spend the day learning every inch of her body. "But tonight—"
"Tonight," she whispers.
I kiss her once more, then force myself to ignore my hardening cock and get up and get dressed. Because she's right. I need to deal with Dante Moretti.
Before anyone else dies.
—
I head over to Lachlan’s a little while later.
We go to sit in the kitchen to talk over coffee, and I can’t help but notice, like I do every time I’m here, how comfortable it all feels.
The kitchen is bright and sunny, with copper pots hanging from a rack and fresh flowers on the counter.
Adriana's touch, I assume. The woman who made Lachlan give up everything.
"She's at the market," Lachlan says, reading my mind. He pours two mugs of coffee and hands me one. "So you can stop looking around like you're afraid she's going to appear and lecture you about your life choices."
"She did that once."
"You deserved it." He leans against the counter, studying me. "What happened?"
Despite everything, I smile. I've missed this easy back-and-forth, this friendship that's survived everything life has thrown at us. I spent a decade without my best friend, and now I don’t see him nearly as often as I’d like to. "I slept with Elena."
Lachlan snorts. "About fucking time."
"It's complicated."
"It's always complicated with you." He takes a drink of his own coffee. "What happened?"
I give him the gist of what happened. “She wanted me to stop at the end. Not…” I wave a hand.
“Make sure she wasn’t going to get pregnant.
Which seems odd. That’s the whole thing these mafia bastards expect, right?
For us to pop out kids as soon as possible?
That’s what she would have been told she’s supposed to do. ”
Lachlan shrugs. “The two of you just consummated things. I don’t know, maybe it shows she trusts you enough to let you know she’s not ready yet.
You’re right, most men she might have married wouldn’t have listened.
She probably wouldn’t have even said anything.
The fact that you’re not the typical man she would have been matched with means she felt safe enough to tell you that, so I wouldn’t worry about it.
She’s probably just nervous about having kids with a man she’s not even sure she wants to be married to yet. ”
That assessment stings, but I can’t exactly fault it. “You’re probably right.”
“And maybe she’s nervous about the whole thing. Modern medicine is great and all, but it’s still dangerous. And mafia men tend to see their wives as disposable. Maternal mortality is just... accepted. The cost of producing heirs."
My stomach drops. "Jesus."
“So maybe she’s scared of getting pregnant. But if she is, she’ll tell you in her own time. Just go buy a box of condoms. That’ll probably mean more to her than all the fancy dinners in the world.”
“Are you serious?” I stare at him. “So it’s just… get married, get pregnant, produce an heir. And if you die in the process, well, that's just how it goes."
“Yeah.” He frowns. “It’s fucked up. Like I said, give her time to come around to the idea of kids, and she’ll trust you a lot more.”
“Hell, we don’t have to have them at all.” I shake my head. “We’ll wait as long as she needs."
"That's good."
"There's something else," I say. "The attack on the shipment.
Elena pointed out something I missed." I tell him about her logic, how the attack should have targeted both sides if the goal was to stop Irish-Italian cooperation.
And about her suspicion of Dante Moretti.
Lachlan listens without interrupting. When I'm done, he's frowning.
"She's right. If someone wanted to stop the alliance, they'd want both families to distrust each other. Attacking only your men doesn't accomplish that."
"So what does it accomplish?"
"It makes you look weak. It makes you look like you can't protect your own people." He pauses. "And it gives the Capettis plausible deniability. They can claim they were victims too, that they lost the shipment just like you did."
"But they didn't lose men."
"Exactly." He sets his mug down. "You need to question Dante Moretti. Today."
"That's what Elena said."
"Then your wife is smart." He smiles thinly. "Be careful, Declan. If he is a plant and he's been feeding information to the Capettis, then they know too much about your organization. Your weaknesses, your plans, your vulnerabilities. They could be planning something bigger."
The thought makes my blood run cold. "I'll handle it."
"I know you will." He claps me on the shoulder. "And give her time. Let her come to you. Don't push."
"I won't."
"Good." He walks me to the door. "And for what it's worth? I think you two are going to be okay. You just need to trust each other."
The word echoes in my head as I drive back to the penthouse. Trust is what got my men killed. Trust is what let a spy into my organization. Trust is dangerous in this world.
But maybe, it's also the only thing that can save us.
—