I drag a hand through my curls, fingers shaking with restrained frustration. I've handled hits, negotiations, and full-on betrayals without breaking a sweat. But this? This one thing? I’ve ducked it like a coward for years. Made excuses. Took on extra responsibilities to avoid this exact moment.
And Sammy knows it.
He’s always known it.
“I know, Sammy,” I say, voice tight but steady. “I’ll do my job. You know I will.”
Because I always fucking do.
Seventeen years ago carved a hole in me that I didn’t know how to patch. What I felt… what Ilost... it gutted me. Back then, I lashed out at everything. Drank too much. Slept too little. Burned through people like matches just to feelsomethingagain. My father said cutting ties with him was necessary, that it was protection. That I’d thank him one day.
Sammy never said a word. But I could see the truth in his eyes—he disagreed. He just didn’t stop it.
I spiraled. Crashed. Tried to disappear. But my family wouldn’t let me. They pulled me out, inch by inch, bone by broken bone. They gave me a reason to stand again. And when I did? I stood harder. Meaner. Sharper.
Now they say I’m cold. Calculated. A ruthless bitch with a knife for a tongue and a smile you shouldn’t trust. Maybe they’re right.
But I survived. And I’m not broken anymore.
Sammy stands, moves around the desk, and plants himself on the edge in front of me. Calm. Controlled. But I see the way his eyes flick toward Luca and Armand, still lounging on the couchlike this is some fucked-up play. Armand’s grinning, amused by the show. Luca’s tense, jaw is tight, like he’s bracing for an explosion.
Sammy leans in close. “Gabriella, this isn’t about reliving the past. You’re there to renegotiate the contract. Observe how they operate. Who’s moving product? What alliances are shifting? We need eyes—youreyes. And you’re the only one I trust for this.”
Then he crouches down in front of me and takes my hands—my cold, clenched, kill-a-man-if-you-have-to hands—into his. And just like that, I’m not consigliere. I’m not the woman everyone fears.
I’m just his little sister again.
“You need closure,” he says softly. “You need to move on. You deserve that. You deserve peace, Lil’ Bit.”
That name. Thatfuckingname. It cuts deeper than any knife.
My throat tightens, something cracks in my chest, but I don’t let it show. Not fully. Just enough for the heat in my glare to simmer instead of boil. Just enough for my shoulders to loosen the tiniest bit.
“My entourage…” I mutter, smirking as I pull one hand free and raise a brow. “You make it sound like I travel with backup singers and a damn body double.”
He chuckles. Really chuckles. “You kind of do.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t move without my people anymore. Loyal. Lethal. Mine.
But he knows the truth.
It’s not just about protection. It’s not about appearances. This trip? It’s personal. There’s no return date because even he doesn’t know if I’ll come back the same, or at all. We both know what lies on the other end of this road.
And still, he’s asking me to walk it.
That flicker in my chest—weak, disobedient, alive—flares up again. That buried voice, the one I’ve smothered under years of silence, starts whisperinghisname.
I bite it back.
Ihatethis. Hate that I still feelanythingafter all these years. After all the destruction. After everything I became to bury him. But this isn’t about feelings. This isn’t about love or loss or the ghost of who I used to be.
This is aboutus. The family. The business. The empire. So I’ll do what I do best. I’ll armor up. I’ll show up. I’ll take their measure, make my moves, and protect what’s ours. And if the past has the audacity to reach for me? I’ll burn that motherfucker to the ground. Let the ashes fly and the bodies fall. Just pray they don’t land on the wrong head.
Because if they do?
Well. Collateral damage has never been something I lose sleep over.
Two
