The car door opens as I approach, and Bruno's strong hands pull me inside. The vehicle lurches forward before I'm fully seated, tires spinning on the wet gravel as we race toward the main gate.
"Drive," I gasp, pulling out my phone with shaking hands. "Drive faster."
I dial Salvatore's number as we clear the estate walls. The phone rings once, twice, three times. Behind us, I can see headlights giving chase, Uncle Emilio's men mobilizing to bring back their escaped prisoner.
"Answer," I whisper into the storm. "Please answer."
The phone continues to ring as we disappear into the Roman night, carrying me toward a future I can't see, away from a past I can never escape.
27
SALVATORE
The numbers on the shipping manifest blur together as I lean back in my chair, cigar smoke curling toward the vaulted ceiling of my strategy office. Gianni sits across from me, his thick fingers drumming against the mahogany table while Tano stands by the window, eyes scanning the grounds below. We've been discussing the coastal routes for two hours, mapping out every detail of our expansion into Costa territory.
"The dock supervisor won't be a problem," Gianni says, sliding a photograph across the table. "He has three daughters. Understands motivation."
I nod, stubbing out the cigar. The man's face stares up at me from the glossy paper—middle-aged, soft around the edges, the kind who folds under pressure. "And the harbormaster?"
"Different story. Old blood. Loyal to Emilio since the seventies."
Tano turns from the window. "We could make it look accidental. Boat engine failure. Happens all the time."
The phone rings on my private line before I can respond. The shrill sound cuts through the evening air. Only four people have this number, and two of them are in this room.
I answer without looking at the caller ID. "Yes."
"Salvatore." Her voice hits me immediately—breathless, ragged, wrong. Fear threads through every syllable. "Salvatore, I need?—"
"Rosaria." I sit forward, hand tightening around the phone. Gianni and Tano both go still. "What happened?"
"He found me. Emilio found me at the apartment." The words tumble out in a rush. "He said he'll kill me. He said I'm dead to the family."
My vision narrows. The room tilts sideways for a moment before snapping back into focus. "Where are you now?"
"Bruno has me. We're in the car. He pulled me out of there when Emilio's men started moving in. We're coming to you now."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by rage so pure it makes my hands shake. "Good. Bruno did the right thing."
"Salvatore, I can't?—"
"You're safe now. Do you understand me? You're safe."
I hear Bruno's voice in the background, muffled but clear. "Twenty minutes out, Boss."
"I'll be waiting," I tell her and hang up.
Gianni looks at me expectantly. "Orders?"
"Clear the house. Both of you. Now."
They don't ask questions. Gianni closes his laptop while Tano moves toward the door. Within minutes, I'm alone in the office, the silence pressing down around me. I pour three fingers of whiskey and drain the glass in one swallow. The burn does nothing to calm the storm building in my chest.
Emilio Costa is a dead man. He doesn't know it yet, but he's already breathing on borrowed time.
I walk to the window and stare out at the circular drive. The fountain in the center catches moonlight, water cascading from tier to tier in an endless loop. My grandfather built this estate in 1923, carved it out of nothing with blood and determination. Three generations of DeSantis men have stood at this window, watching for enemies at the gates.
Tonight, I'm watching for something else entirely.
