32. A Dangerous Proposition
A Dangerous Proposition
Damian
The moment we pull into the warehouse, I can feel the tension coiling around us like a noose.
The space is vast, industrial—high ceilings, exposed beams, the lingering scent of oil and metal. Four SUVs are already parked inside, lined up neatly as if marking territory. In the center of the open floor, a table sits with chairs arranged around it. A battlefield disguised as diplomacy.
Antonio and Dante are already seated, waiting. Two of their men sit on either side, their expressions unreadable, their bodies stiff.
I bring my own fleet to a slow stop, my men already on alert as the vehicles idle, the faint rumble of engines filling the otherwise quiet space. No one moves at first.
Then I step out.
Enzo follows, his posture rigid, his hand resting lightly at his hip—always ready. Behind him, my men move in formation, spreading out just enough to remind everyone that we didn’t come alone.
And then there’s Nichole.
The second she steps out, I feel every single set of eyes lock onto her.
Antonio’s gaze immediately softens. Relief flickers across his features, brief but undeniable. For a moment, I see something real—a man who truly cares for her, who maybe even loves her in his own way.
But then I see Dante.
And his reaction is nothing like Antonio’s.
His dark eyes narrow, his jaw flexes, and there’s a dangerous edge in the way he looks at Nichole, then at me. It’s not concern. It’s something else entirely.
Hatred.
Rage.
A storm waiting to break.
I keep my expression unreadable as I guide Nichole forward, my hand firm at her lower back. We move toward the table, the space between us and them shrinking to nothing.
The air is thick.
Heavy.
One wrong move, and this whole damn thing could go up in flames.
Antonio leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His expression is neutral, unreadable—but I know better. He’s measuring, weighing every possibility before he speaks.
I don’t wait for him to start.
“You wanted a sit-down,” Antonio says, his voice level. “So talk.”
I don’t hesitate. “This war ends tonight.”
A tense beat of silence follows.
Dante scoffs under his breath, shaking his head, but Antonio’s expression doesn’t change. He watches me carefully, waiting, calculating.
Then, before I can say anything more, Nichole speaks.
“I left because I wasn’t safe,” she says, her voice steady.
Every pair of eyes shifts to her, but she doesn’t shrink beneath the weight of their stares.
She continues, her gaze flicking toward Antonio. “Someone tried to poison me that night at the estate. The drink wasn’t meant for that woman—it was meant for me. I didn’t know who I could trust. I didn’t know if I had anyone left at all.” She takes a slow breath. “So I called Damian. And I left.”
Antonio exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He knows. He’s known this was a possibility.
Dante, however, leans back with his arms crossed, his lips twitching. Not a trace of surprise.
I see it. Nichole sees it. Antonio sees it.
“Do you know who did it?” I ask Antonio. There is a long pause.
When Antonio finally speaks, his voice is clipped. “We’re looking into it.”
I let out a sharp chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s funny.” I tilt my head, resting my arms against the table, my voice calm, casual—but laced with something lethal. “Because the moment I heard what happened, I already knew who was behind it.”
Then I look right at Dante.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t flinch.
But I see the fire ignite behind his eyes.
The moment my eyes lock onto Dante’s, the air in the warehouse shifts.
A slow, taunting smirk tugs at his lips, but I see it—the flicker of tension in his jaw, the slight tightening of his fists against the table. He wasn’t expecting me to call him out this directly.
Antonio exhales sharply, his gaze flicking between us before settling on his son. “Dante.” His voice is steady, but I catch the warning beneath it. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Dante doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes locked onto mine with pure, unfiltered hatred. “You’ve got some nerve,” he murmurs. “Walking in here like you have any say in what happens in our family.”
“Answer the question,” Antonio presses.
Dante leans back in his chair, dragging his tongue across his teeth before finally speaking. “No.”
Nichole stiffens beside me. I don’t have to look at her to know she sees right through the lie.
Antonio studies his son carefully. He doesn’t believe him either.
I tap my fingers against the table. “That’s funny.
” My voice is smooth, but the sharp edge beneath it is unmistakable.
“Because the moment Nichole told me what happened, I knew. And now, after seeing the way you’re looking at me?
At her?” I let out a short chuckle. “You might as well have confessed.”
Dante’s smirk fades.
A slow, dangerous heat rises between us, crackling like the precursor to a storm. He leans forward, his voice dropping into something deadly.
“You think you know me, LaCampanella?” His tone is almost amused, but there’s venom beneath it. Something unhinged. “You think because you’ve had her for a few weeks, you understand how this family works? How I work?”
I don’t blink. “I know enough.”
His jaw flexes. “Then you know that if I wanted her dead, she’d be dead.”
Nichole sucks in a breath.
Antonio slams his fist onto the table, the sharp crack echoing through the warehouse. Everyone stills.
“That’s enough,” Antonio growls. His eyes darken as they shift back to Dante. “You’re going to tell me the truth, son. Did you do this?”
Dante’s gaze flicks to his father, his expression almost bored. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I already told you. No.”
A blatant lie.
Antonio knows it. I can see it in the way his nostrils flare, the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
But Dante is his blood.
And that’s the difference between him and me.
Because if one of my men betrayed me like this? They wouldn’t be sitting at this table.
Antonio leans back, inhaling deeply before exhaling through his nose. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight. “Then we’re done here.”
I feel Nichole tense beside me. She knows what’s coming next.
I nod once, slow and deliberate. “I guess we are.”
I step back from the table, my movements slow, measured. My men mirror me, staying close, keeping their eyes locked on Antonio’s men. Nichole rises beside me, but I don’t take my eyes off Dante. This meeting was a waste of time.
Antonio exhales, rubbing a hand down his face, and for a split second, I think he’s going to let this go. Let her go.
Then his sharp, calculating gaze snaps back to me.
“You think you’re taking her with you?” His voice is deadly calm. Too calm. “Think again.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, guns are drawn.
Antonio’s men pull their weapons first, the unmistakable sound of safeties clicking off filling the air like the precursor to a storm. My men follow instantly, their barrels raised, unwavering.
It happens in seconds.
One wrong move—one accidental twitch—and this entire warehouse will turn into a bloodbath.
Nichole stiffens beside me, her breath hitching, but I don’t take my eyes off Antonio.
I take a single, calculated step forward. “This is how you want it to go?” My voice is low, even, but lethal.
Antonio doesn’t answer right away. His expression is unreadable, his gaze flicking between me and Nichole. There’s conflict there. A hesitation that tells me this isn’t easy for him.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because Dante is smirking.
That bastard is leaning back in his chair like he’s enjoying every second of this, like he’s just waiting for someone to snap the thread and send us all into hell.
Enzo shifts beside me, his jaw tight. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “No one walks out of here if we start shooting.”
Antonio must know that too, but he doesn’t lower his gun.
He can’t.
Because this isn’t just about Nichole anymore. This is about power. About making a statement. If he lets me walk out of here with her, it sends a message that he’s lost control. That I’ve won.
And he won’t allow that.
But he doesn’t realize—I don’t lose.
I meet his gaze, steady, unyielding. “Lower your weapons, Antonio. This doesn’t have to end like this.”
“You think you can just take what’s mine?” His voice is sharper now, breaking through the cold detachment he was holding onto. “You think I’ll just sit back and let you steal her from me?”
Nichole flinches at his words, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
“She’s not yours,” I say, my tone turning to steel.
Antonio’s nostrils flare, his grip on the gun tightening. The space between us thickens with the weight of what’s about to happen.
One second. Maybe two. That’s all we have before someone pulls the trigger.
“Put the guns down,” I order, my voice steady, cold.
“Lower your weapons,” Antonio commands at the same time, his voice louder, sharper. No one moves.
The tension coils so tight it’s suffocating. The standoff is seconds from imploding, and we all know it. I can hear the breaths being held, the trigger fingers tightening, the weight of a decision that can’t be undone.
Beside me, Nichole stands frozen, her eyes darting between me and Antonio. She’s scared, and for the first time, I see it break through the mask she’s been holding onto.
Enzo’s stance is rigid, his finger dangerously close to the trigger. My men shift slightly, waiting for my signal, for any indication that we won’t be walking out of here in one piece.
And then there’s Dante.
He’s not just waiting for chaos—he’s ready to start it himself.
His gun is aimed right at me, his hand steady, too steady, his fingers itching to pull the trigger.
I see it. That flicker in his eyes. The moment he makes the choice.
This is it.
A half-second more, and someone will fire—
“I’M PREGNANT!”
Nichole’s voice cuts through the chaos like a gunshot of its own.
Everything stops.
The weight of her words slams into the room, slamming everything into an unnatural stillness.
Every single person freezes.
Dante’s smirk vanishes. Antonio’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Enzo stiffens beside me, his breath sharp.
The silence is crushing.
The world tilts, shifts—everything different now.
And I know—this war just took a turn no one was expecting.
Antonio’s face is unreadable. His eyes, normally sharp and calculating, seem lost in a moment of stunned disbelief.
His lips part slightly before he finally speaks. “What did you just say?”
Nichole swallows hard, her voice steady but softer this time. “I said I’m pregnant.” She takes a breath, and her next words land like a thunderclap in the silent warehouse. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”
For a moment, everything feels suspended in time.
Nichole turns, looking around at the men with their guns still drawn. “Please. Put the guns down.”
Antonio’s eyes flicker with something almost imperceptible—something dangerous, something protective, something torn.
Then, slowly, he gives the order.
“Lower your weapons.”
One by one, his men obey, lowering their guns but not holstering them completely.
I glance at my own men, and with the barest tilt of my head, they follow suit.
Everyone except Dante.
He doesn’t move.
His gun is still raised, his grip tight, his knuckles white with tension.
The shock of the moment has frozen him in place. His eyes are locked on me, burning with something untamed, something feral.
Antonio notices. “Dante.” His voice is sharp, a command with no room for argument. “Put the gun down.”
Dante’s grip doesn’t falter. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to keep himself from doing the one thing he’s been waiting for an excuse to do.
Antonio’s voice hardens. “Now.”
Dante’s jaw tics. Seconds drag on. Then, with stiff, reluctant movements, he finally lowers his gun.
But his eyes never leave mine.
Antonio exhales, long and slow, before turning back to Nichole. His voice is quieter now, laced with something that almost sounds like doubt. “Are you sure?”
Nichole doesn’t hesitate. “I’m 100% sure.”
Antonio leans back in his chair, processing.
That’s when I speak.
“Antonio, this has to stop.” My voice is firm, steady. “For the sake of your grandson. Your future heir.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, Dante snaps.
“I am the future head of this family!” he shouts, his voice reverberating off the warehouse walls.
Antonio doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he lifts a single hand, silencing him with nothing more than a simple gesture.
Dante’s chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. He’s seething. But he doesn’t speak again.
A heavy, suffocating silence falls over the room.
Antonio’s jaw is clenched so tightly I can see the tension threading through his shoulders. This news just shifted the entire playing field.
But he can’t make a decision. Not yet.
Finally, he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need time.” His voice is lower now, the exhaustion of the moment settling in. “This is… a lot to process.”
I don’t argue. I expected this.
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “For now, we call a ceasefire.” His eyes flicker between me and Nichole, then back to me. “That’s the best I can give you right now.”
I nod, my voice calm but firm. “Agreed.”
But there’s still one issue left on the table.
“She’s not going back to the estate,” I state, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Antonio lifts his gaze, sharp, calculating. “Excuse me?”
“With the baby, she’s even more of a target now,” I continue, keeping my expression unreadable. “She doesn’t feel safe there. And after what happened with the poisoning? Neither do I.”
Antonio’s brows pull together, and I can see the immediate protest forming in his mind.
But I press forward before he can speak.
“If someone close to you was willing to take a shot at her once, they’ll try again. And until you find out who that is, you can’t guarantee her safety at the estate.”
Antonio’s nostrils flare slightly, but he doesn’t argue. Because he knows I’m right.
Silence stretches between us, the tension thick as he weighs his options. I can see the struggle in his expression—the instinct to keep her close, to have her where he can see her. But logic wins.
“Fine,” he finally says. His voice is tight, reluctant, but firm. “She stays with you. For now.”
Beside me, Nichole lets out a quiet breath.
I nod. “Good.”
Antonio leans back, his gaze flicking toward Nichole before settling back on me. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
“The sooner, the better,” I reply smoothly, pushing my chair back.
I don’t wait for further discussion. I stand, my men following my lead. Nichole rises beside me, and as I guide her toward the exit, I don’t miss the way Dante’s eyes burn into my back.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.