CHAPTER TWELVE
The scent of roasted espresso and sea salt, which had been the defining anchor of Zina’s existence for the past few months, hung in the cramped apartment above the bakery.
A few days had passed since the violent siege within the Moretti estate, and the fragile quiet of the coastal morning felt surreal.
Alessandro Moretti sat at the small, worn wooden table in the upstairs kitchen, his towering, broad-shouldered frame dwarfing the modest furniture.
Across the scarred surface of the wood sat Roxana and Meryam.
The two surviving matriarchs of the fallen Kazan empire wore simple, faded clothing, yet they possessed a quiet, unbreakable dignity that commanded the room.
They looked at the Don of Milan not with the inherent terror most civilians held for him, but with the steady, calculating appraisal of royalty evaluating an allied king.
Sandro rested his large forearms on the tabletop, his green-grey eyes serious and stripped of his usual ruthless guard.
"I know the truth about what happened," Sandro began, his low baritone filling the small space, leaving absolutely no room for ambiguity.
"Zina told me everything. She told me about the massacre in the East, and she told me about the men who are actively hunting Reza.
But before we discuss the logistics of what comes next, I need to look both of you in the eye and say this with clarity: the Moretti family had absolutely nothing to do with the slaughter of your family.
We did not authorize the strike, we did not fund it, and we did not harbor the men who executed it. "
Roxana did not flinch. Her elegant, aristocratic face remained perfectly composed, though the corners of her mouth softened into a faint, knowing expression. She reached across the table, placing her cool, elegant hand over Sandro’s much larger one.
"We are already aware of that, Alessandro," Roxana said, her voice smooth and devoid of any accusation.
Sandro blinked, a rare flicker of surprise breaking through his ironclad composure. "You knew?"
"My daughter possesses a brilliant mind," Roxana explained, the quiet pride of a mother shining through her dark eyes.
"She figured it out long ago. I suspect within a matter of days after that incident in the square, she had already pieced together the architecture of your syndicate and realized you were not the architect of our ruin.
And in that same breath of time, she had already begun falling in love with you. "
Sandro stared at her, the words striking him squarely in the chest.
"She fought it, naturally," Roxana continued, offering a sad, knowing smile.
"She fought it because of the ghosts she carries and the duty she owes to our family.
But Maman and I watched it happen. We both knew that Sherezine would never, under any circumstances, surrender her heart to a man who possessed no integrity.
The weapon her father forged in her is far too sharp to be deceived by a monster.
Because she loved you, we knew in our hearts that you were innocent. "
Sandro swallowed hard, genuinely, and deeply touched by the sheer magnitude of the trust woven into her words. To be absolved by the very women who had watched their entire world burn to ash was a grace he had never anticipated.
Beside Roxana, Meryam leaned forward. The elderly woman’s scarred, weathered hands trembled slightly as she reached out, her fingertips gently brushing against the sharp angle of Sandro’s jaw.
Tears pooled in the deep creases of Meryam’s eyes, reflecting the agonizing, bottomless depths of the grief she carried for her murdered sons and grandsons.
"You brought the light back to her eyes," Meryam whispered, her voice fracturing, thick with an emotion so raw it made the air in the kitchen feel heavy.
"After surviving such a slaughter... after losing Emir, Farzin, and Rostam...
to witness my Zina find a reason to breathe again means more to me than I have the words to express. "
A single tear slipped free, cutting a path down Meryam's wrinkled cheek, but she offered a fragile, breathtakingly beautiful smile.
"To see her finding a true life after the end of our world, and to see that the man holding her heart is a man who will stand between her and the fire... it warms the coldest parts of my soul. There is still a mountain of grief, Alessandro. There always will be. But you... you are something genuinely good amidst the ashes. For the first time since the night we lost our sons, Zina’s horizon is not painted with loss, survival, and revenge. "
Sandro closed his eyes, absorbing the matriarch's blessing. When he opened them, the fierce, unyielding fire of the Don had returned, burning with conviction.
"I swear to you on my life," Sandro vowed, his voice a low, vibrating oath that carried the full weight of his empire.
"I will protect all of you. And I will protect Zina with every ounce of power I possess.
She is my life now. If anything happens to her, I do not believe I would survive it. I would not want to."
Roxana nodded, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears, her grip tightening on his hand. "We believe you."
"Which brings me to the reality of our situation," Sandro continued, his tone shifting seamlessly from a devoted lover into a tactician preparing for war.
He pulled his hand back, sitting up straight.
"You cannot stay in this apartment a single night longer.
You are packing your belongings immediately.
All of you are moving into the Palazzo Moretti. "
Roxana’s spine stiffened instantly. The maternal warmth vanished, replaced by the calculating matriarch of the Kazan syndicate.
"Sandro, no. We are deeply grateful for your protection, but we cannot move into your fortress.
If the mercenaries hunting Reza discover that the Kazans are sheltering under the Moretti roof, we will drag our war directly into your home.
We will be putting your mother, your sister, and your entire family in the crosshairs of an execution squad. "
"I absolutely refuse to entertain that argument," Sandro countered instantly, his jaw setting into a stubborn, unbreakable line.
"Alessandro, you must be reasonable—" Meryam tried to interject.
"I am being reasonable," Sandro interrupted, his voice rising just enough to command the room without shouting.
"As far as I am concerned, this is no longer simply your war.
Zina is my world. She is the center of my entire universe.
How exactly am I supposed to sit in my estate and do nothing while the woman I love is sleeping above a glass-front bakery, waiting for assassins to find her? "
He leaned closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the table, his eyes locking onto Roxana’s.
"And it is not only about Zina. Reza is twelve years old.
He is innocent. He did absolutely nothing to deserve being hunted by monsters, and I cannot simply ignore the fact that someone is tracking a child.
Protecting Zina means protecting the people she loves.
That means protecting you, Roxana. And you, Meryam.
And Reza. Keeping you safe is my responsibility now, because you are a part of her, and she is a part of me. "
Roxana opened her mouth to argue the tactical logistics, but Sandro cut her off with a definitive shake of his head.
"What would I do if something happened to her because I chose to respect your pride over her safety?
" Sandro asked, his voice dropping into a desperate, raw whisper.
"The thought is physically impossible for me to accept.
So, the decision is already made. You are moving into the estate today, and I am going to make sure you are guarded behind walls of stone and steel. That is the end of the discussion."
Roxana looked at the devotion burning in Sandro’s eyes. She realized in that moment that arguing with the Don of Milan was a completely futile endeavor when it came to her daughter. She looked at Meryam, who gave a slow, yielding nod.
"Very well," Roxana conceded softly, a sigh escaping her lips. "We will pack our things."
***
By nightfall, the remnants of the mighty Kazan dynasty were officially relocated into the sprawling, heavily fortified architecture of the Palazzo Moretti.
The logistical arrangement of their living quarters had been meticulously orchestrated by Sandro before they even arrived.
They were given a sprawling suite of interconnected rooms in the east wing of the estate.
The space was breathtakingly luxurious, featuring vaulted ceilings painted with Renaissance frescoes, rich silk tapestries, and heavily reinforced, bulletproof windows that overlooked the manicured cypress gardens.
More importantly, the east wing was located on the exact same floor as Sandro’s private suite, positioned directly on the opposite side of the grand corridor.
The rest of the Moretti family—Lucia, Rosa, and Sandro's sister Francesca—primarily occupied the lower and western floors of the estate. This structural division granted Zina and her family a necessary degree of privacy, buffering them from the daily operations of the syndicate, while remaining intimately close to Sandro’s elite security detail.
The arrangement suited Sandro perfectly.
He wanted Zina within arm's reach, and he was no longer interested in pretending otherwise.
The days of maintaining polite, respectful distances for the sake of appearances were over.
As far as the Don was concerned, if the woman he loved was going to live inside his home, she was going to be as physically close to him as the architecture permitted.
Meanwhile, a chaotic psychological shift was echoing through the rest of the Moretti family.