Chapter Fourteen
Gualtiero
Ella’s words follow me down the stairs.
I will never sleep with you again.
I almost smile. She said it with such conviction, chin lifted, eyes blazing with defiance.
She forgets I know her too well. Her body still responds to me the way it always has. A connection like ours doesn’t disappear just because she’s angry with me.
She will come around.
My thoughts are interrupted when I reach the foyer and see Emiliano walking through the front door, leaning on his cane. His leg must be acting up again. The old injury slows him down more on some days than others, though he would never admit it.
I pause and allow him to catch up.
“Milo has been taken care of,” Emiliano says. Then he adds dryly, “Or rather, he took care of himself.”
I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“When he saw Santino coming,” Emiliano replies, “he bit down on a cyanide capsule.”
I go still, my jaw tightening.
No man since I took control of the reins of la famiglia has taken the coward’s way out like that. Milo clearly knew his time was up and understood Santino’s methods of extracting information.
Bastardo.
Now we are right back where we started. No answers.
Ella identifying him as a mole earlier came as a surprise, one I expected would lead somewhere useful. I hate not getting information from him. It stalls progress.
My fingers curl into fists, the urge to wrap them around Milo’s throat and squeeze the life out of him myself almost overwhelming.
What lies is Molinaro feeding my men?
What promises could possibly make them forget their vows to la famiglia?
Neither Rocco nor Milo were the sharpest tools in the drawer. But even they should have understood one thing. There is no walking away from betrayal.
If I hadn’t caught them, Molinaro would never leave loose ends either.
Rocco was greedy. That much was obvious.
Milo, though? Maybe they had something on him.
I glance at Emiliano.
“His family?”
“Not existing anymore.”
I nod once. Santino would have handled it quickly.
I have never particularly liked this rule my great-great-grandfather wove into the fabric of la famiglia. Women and children are usually off limits. Except for this.
Betrayal is the highest offense.
Everyone knows the consequences. You betray us, and your entire bloodline suffers.
Milo knew the risk. And he took it anyway.
Which raises a far more troubling question.
Who else has?
After yet another shipment of ours has been tampered with, it’s becoming painfully clear that there are more traitors hiding among us.
Perhaps Milo’s example, his entire family wiped from existence, will serve as a timely reminder.
We continue down the corridor.
“Has Molinaro’s man been identified?” I ask. “The one with the low man-bun.”
Just thinking about him makes my blood run cold. Ella mentioning him earlier sent ice through my veins.
She may want nothing to do with my world, but even before we met she had been pulled into it without realizing it.
And that man came far too close to her. Twice.
There will not be a third time.
“Uberto narrowed it down to four possibilities,” Emiliano says. “Perhaps we can show Miss O’Neil their pictures. She might recognize him.”
“No.” The word leaves my mouth without hesitation. “We keep Ella out of this.”
Emiliano raises a brow but says nothing.
“Uberto can access the security footage,” I continue. “The cathedral, the café, the shop across the street. It should be easy enough for him.”
We reach my office, and I hold the door open for Emiliano. He steps inside slowly, his face tightening briefly with pain as he lowers himself into the chair opposite my desk.
“How is Miss O’Neil?” he asks. “Has she settled?”
I move to the bar cart and pour two glasses of whiskey before handing one to him.
“She will.”
That is all I say.
Of course I knew Ella wouldn’t be thrilled to have her life uprooted, but there was no other way.
She told me earlier I should have confessed my feelings before the end of her trip. As if that would have changed anything. She still would have left.
She would have suggested we keep in touch. Get to know each other better from afar.
Long distance.
The thought alone makes my jaw tighten.
That would never have worked for me.
I need her by my side. More importantly, I need her safe. And the only place I can guarantee that is here. With me.
She’s angry with me now, but she still wants me. That much was obvious earlier.
“Give it a few days,” Emiliano says, taking a sip of whiskey. “She’ll come around. What woman could resist what you have to offer?”
I almost laugh. My woman could.
While Ella enjoys the finer things in life, she isn’t driven by them. You cannot buy her affection.
But Emiliano would never understand that. His wife, and every mistress he has kept over the years, have always been satisfied with jewelry and expensive apartments.
“We tried to keep the news of her escape attempt contained,” Emiliano continues. “But there is no guarantee we succeeded.”
I stiffen.
“Soldiers gossip worse than women,” he adds dryly. “And your woman trying to run away does not look good.”
His gaze sharpens on me.
“She needs to be brought into line quickly. I’m sure I don’t need to explain what questions will arise otherwise. If you cannot master your own woman…”
…you cannot master anything else.
It suggests weakness. And weakness invites challenge.
Doubts about my ability to lead la famiglia would arise if Ella continues to misbehave.
Men begin to talk. Loyalties shift. Ambitious soldiers start wondering if the throne is still secure.
It is an antiquated way of thinking, but the old codes still run through our world like iron in its bones. They keep order. They keep men afraid of crossing lines that cannot be uncrossed.
I grind my teeth, fully aware of the expectations.
But Ella? Obedient?
She will have to learn her place. Defying me openly like that again is not an option.
I need my men’s respect and their fear. Both are currencies in this world. And neither can be allowed to weaken.
Still, hearing Emiliano spell it out irritates me.
The old mafia ways are ingrained in him. He doesn’t believe in monogamy, not even within marriage.
He has a wife who bore his heirs, just as tradition demands. But he has always kept mistresses. Even now, at seventy.
“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to manage my own household?”
I hold his gaze. He has the good sense to look away.
“Or do you need reminding that she escaped under your watch?”
A sheen of sweat forms on his forehead, and he retrieves a handkerchief to dab at it.
I say nothing else. How I handle Ella is none of his concern.
“Have you followed up with Alessandro and Giorgio? Is everything they need in place?” I ask, returning to the only topic we should be discussing. Business.
“I have, and it is. Though it would be good to have a representative in Rome to oversee things and make sure they stick to their side of the bargain.”
I tap my fingers against the desk. The thought had occurred to me as well. Ordinarily, it would be Emiliano’s responsibility, but with his declining health, he’s no longer the best option.
“Send Antonio,” I order. “After all, he wants your job when you retire. He can start proving he has what it takes.”
Emiliano inclines his head. “I’ll brief him on how to proceed.”
Antonio Accardi has ambition. He always has. Whether he has the discipline to match remains to be seen.
He has a temper too, though he has learned to keep it leashed. As consigliere he must be calm and controlled, the steady voice when others lose theirs.
Rome will be a good test. If he fails, the consequences will make the lesson memorable.
I check my watch and rise, effectively dismissing Emiliano.
He understands the signal immediately and pushes himself slowly to his feet, leaning on his cane. I adjust my jacket as he makes his slow exit.
Dinner time.
Anticipation drums through my veins.
Ella’s anger from earlier still lingers in my mind, her blazing eyes and stubborn defiance.
Will she obey and appear when she’s summoned?
Or will I have to hunt down my beautiful angel once more?