CHAPTER NINETEEN
The ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the Fazzari estate’s grand study ticked with a rhythmic, oppressive metronome.
For generations, these stone walls had housed the ruling family of the European underworld.
It was a fortress of isolation, surrounded by acres of rolling hills, ancient olive groves, and heavily armed perimeter guards.
Dante Fazzari stood by the tall, mullioned windows, staring out at the sprawling grounds. He was not admiring the view. He was calculating distance, time, and risk.
The practical reality of his situation was weighing on him like a physical stone in his chest. Cassia lived in the heart of Rome, working grueling eighty-hour weeks at Central Hospital.
He lived out here, secluded in the countryside.
The distance between the two locations was a logistical nightmare.
The recent ambush on the city streets had made one thing terrifyingly clear: the current arrangement wasn’t sustainable given everything happening around them.
"You are wearing a hole into the Persian rug, Dante," Concetta Fazzari observed from her high-backed leather wingchair. She set her porcelain teacup down, the delicate clatter cutting through the silence of the study.
The room was full. Zoran Valente was leaning against the mahogany desk.
Uncle Salvatore sat on the sofa beside his wife, Rosalia, while Dante’s sisters, Fina and Isabella, occupied the smaller armchairs near the hearth.
Aunt Nettie was lingering by the bookshelves.
It was a rare, informal gathering of the inner circle.
"I am thinking," Dante murmured, his voice tight, not turning away from the window.
"You are worrying," Concetta corrected smoothly. "About the doctor. About the commute."
Dante finally turned, his pale green eyes sweeping the room. "The commute is a vulnerability. Her apartment is a vulnerability. But she refuses to stop working, and I refuse to let her travel the city alone. We need a middle ground. A solution that makes sense for both of our lives."
"As it happens," Concetta said, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her dark eyes gleaming with a sudden, brilliant spark of inspiration, "we already own the perfect solution."
Dante frowned. "What are you talking about, Ma?"
"The Fazzari Industries tower," Concetta replied effortlessly.
"The ultra-high-end residential building we completed two years ago.
It sits precisely on the border of the city and the countryside.
It is a fortress disguised as a luxury high-rise.
We own the entire penthouse triplex. We practically never use it for anything at all. "
Salvatore sat forward, rubbing his grizzled jaw. "She makes a tactical point, Dante. The security infrastructure in that building is state-of-the-art. Private underground elevators, biometric locks, reinforced glass."
Concetta waved a dismissive hand at her brother-in-law. "Forget the tactical point, Sal. I am making a lifestyle point. After decades of living in this drafty, isolated estate, perhaps this family could use a change of scenery. A fresh start in a new space."
The suggestion hung in the air for three seconds before the room erupted.
"A high-rise?" Fina gasped, her dark eyes lighting up with instantaneous thrill. "In the city? We could actually be within walking distance of civilization?"
"Oh, thank God," Isabella breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. "I love this estate, but if I have to spend another winter staring at dead olive trees, I will lose my mind."
Aunt Nettie clapped her hands together, already buzzing with the prospect of new neighbors to gossip about, while Rosalia smiled softly at the idea of a modern kitchen.
The entire family, usually so entrenched in the stagnant traditions of their ancestry, mobilized behind the idea almost instantly.
It was a rush of collective excitement they hadn't felt in years.
"We can make the estate our summer home," Concetta declared, already mentally mapping out the logistics.
"A place for holidays and vacations. The tower will be our primary residence.
It is vastly closer to Central Hospital.
Which, Dante, will make it far easier for Cassia to eventually move in with us. "
Zoran, who had been watching the chaotic excitement with a broad grin on his scarred face, crossed his massive arms over his chest.
"That is a brilliant plan, Donna Concetta," Zoran drawled, his deep voice cutting through the chatter.
He looked at Dante, his dark eyes dancing with amusement.
"However, this entire grand strategy hinges on one tiny, insignificant detail: Dante actually managing to convince Dr. Thorn to move in the first place. "
The room quieted, turning their collective gaze toward the Don.
Dante didn't flinch. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers, a slow, confident smile curving his lips. "Of course I will find a way to convince her."
The sheer arrogant certainty in his voice was the spark that set the room off. The family dissolved into a chorus of raucous, unrestrained laughter.
"Oh, really?" Fina teased loudly, throwing a throw pillow at her brother, which he batted away effortlessly. "How do you plan to win over the Ice Queen, Dante? She threatened to stab Zoran with a scalpel last week just for breathing too loudly in her kitchen."
"Maybe you should buy her a fresh cadaver to experiment on!" Aunt Nettie suggested, cackling wildly at her own morbid joke. "That seems like the only gift she would actually appreciate!"
"Does she even like jewelry?" Isabella wondered aloud, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. "Maybe a ring? If you buy her a big enough diamond, she might actually let you carry her groceries."
"Maybe you should just propose outright," Uncle Sal chuckled, shaking his head. "Throw yourself on her mercy, nephew."
Dante stood in the center of the room, letting the chaotic, teasing laughter wash over him. He looked at his family—alive, joyous, transformed from the ghosts they had been a few months prior.
He waited for the laughter to die down just a fraction.
"I am going to propose to her," Dante said.
The words were spoken plainly. There was no bombast, no defensive sarcasm. It was a statement of irrefutable fact.
The room fell into a sudden, stunned silence. Fina’s mouth dropped open. Concetta froze in her chair.
"Are you serious?" Zoran asked, his voice dropping an octave, staring at his friend in complete disbelief.
"I am serious," Dante confirmed without a single heartbeat of hesitation. His pale green eyes were steady, burning with an undeniable fire. "Not yet. I know she isn't ready. But eventually. Without question. There is no version of the future, in this life or the next, where I ever let her go."
The silence held for one more second before the study exploded with excited, disbelieving cheers. Isabella shrieked, jumping up to hug Fina. Concetta pressed her hands to her mouth, her dark eyes shining with overwhelmed, joyous tears.
Zoran let out a booming roar of laughter that shook the glass in the windowpanes. He stepped forward, clapping a massive hand down on Dante’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
"Dante, please," Zoran gasped, wiping his eyes. "Please, I am begging you. Can we all be present for the proposal? Can you hide us in the bushes? I need to witness the exact moment she looks at the ring and calls you a moron."
The entire family found the idea endlessly, hysterically amusing. Dante rolled his eyes, thoroughly exasperated by the relentless teasing, but as he looked around the room, he couldn't help the bright, genuine laugh that tore from his own chest.
***
Later that week, the oppressive heat of the Roman afternoon had given way to a cool, breezy evening.
Cassia was standing in her small kitchen, wearing her faded grey sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt, chopping vegetables on a wooden block. The rhythmic thwack of the knife was the only sound in the apartment until Dante spoke from the living room.
He was sitting on her sofa, his long legs stretched out, watching her with the intense adoration he reserved only for these private moments.
"We are relocating," Dante said casually.
Cassia paused. She set the knife down and turned to face him, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She leaned her hip against the marble island, her pale blue eyes narrowing in immediate skepticism.
"Relocating?" Cassia repeated. "You mean the syndicate?"
"I mean the family," Dante corrected, standing up and walking slowly toward the kitchen. "We are moving out of the countryside. We have a high-rise building on the edge of the city. We are moving into the penthouse."
Cassia stared at him, genuinely bewildered. She knew how entrenched the Fazzari family was in their traditions. "Why on earth would you leave your ancestral estate behind after all these years? Your mother loves those gardens. Your uncle treats that stone fortress like it's a religious monument."
"The whole family is genuinely looking forward to the move," Dante explained, stopping a few feet in front of her. "It is time for a fresh start. A new space."
Cassia crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her brilliant, analytical mind was already running through the variables, searching for the missing puzzle piece. "Dante. Why?"
Dante didn't answer with words immediately. He stepped into her personal space, reaching out to gently tug the dish towel from her grip and toss it onto the counter. He looked down at her, his icy green eyes softening, giving her a look that made his meaning, unmistakably clear.
Because of you.
Cassia’s breath hitched. Her brow furrowed, caught off guard. "What do you think you are doing, Dante? You are moving your entire mafia dynasty... for my sake?"