Twenty minutesinto the drive back to the city, I'm second-guessing my decision to leave Sofia at the safehouse. She's been too quiet, too compliant, and that basement confrontation is still playing on repeat in my head—the way she looked at me, the way she almost...
Fuck. I need to focus.
I spoke to Gianna before I left, made sure she understood that Sofia was her responsibility while I'm gone. "Watch her," I told her. "Don't let her out of your sight."
"She's not going anywhere, Dante," Gianna had assured me. "Elena and I will keep an eye on her."
Still, leaving Sofia behind makes my chest tight with unease. The safehouse has a full security detail—eight capos rotating shifts around the property—and I've got the camera feeds routed to my phone so I can check in remotely. This meeting better be quick.
The fact that whatever Vito needs to discuss can't be said over the phone, given our current situation with potential wiretaps and surveillance, has me on edge. Emergency meetingsusually mean bad news, and with the Costellos breathing down our necks, I can only imagine what fresh hell is waiting for me.
Half an hour into the drive, the steely gray sky darkens as the storm looms on the horizon, lightning cracking across the sky. The windshield wipers struggle to keep up with the torrential rain, and I have to slow down as visibility drops to almost nothing. Other than the occasional car pulled off to the shoulder with hazards flashing, the roads are mercifully clear.
I hit a particularly nasty pothole, and the car jolts hard enough to rattle my teeth. For a second, I could swear I hear something from the backseat—a small sound, like someone shifting or breathing—but when I glance in the rearview mirror, there's nothing there.
Just my imagination. The stress of this whole situation is making me paranoid.
I make it back to New York City gridlock in record time, the familiar chaos of Manhattan traffic somehow reassuring after the quiet isolation of the safehouse. By the time I park and make my way up to the RRE conference room, my shirt is soaked from the brief sprint through the downpour.
Marco and Rafa are already there, deep in heated conversation when I enter. They both look up as I take my usual position behind Vito's chair.
"—counter attacks to the most recent bombing in the financial district," Marco is saying. "They're targeting our expansion specifically."
"Of course they are," Rafa snaps. "They want to send a message that we can't protect our own territory, let alone expand into theirs."
If I was called back here and away from the person I'm supposed to be protecting to discuss attack strategies, I'm going to be pissed. They could hold one of those meetings without mepresent. I'm here to enforce internal orders for Don Vito, not to hold hands while they brainstorm what needs to be enforced.
Vito enters the room, his expression grim. The tension radiating off him is palpable.
"Dante, tell me my wife stayed at the compound," he says without preamble.
"She did," I confirm. "Enzo didn't tell her about the meeting until after I left, as you instructed."
"Good," he nods, taking his seat. "Because we have a problem."
Yeah. No kidding.
"Kieran changed his mind. Rather than the end of the quarter, we have until the end of the week."
I step back as if the words physically hit me. End of the week. That's four days. Four fucking days.
"No." The word comes out cold, sharp, before I can stop myself.
Shit.
If Vito wasn't suspicious of something between Sofia and me before, he certainly will be now. The Don isn't to be interrupted when new demands are explained to the inner circle; everyone is meant to remain calm, emotionless, reactionless. Not only have I reacted, but my reaction calls my devotion to the family into question.
Vito's eyes narrow as he turns to look at me. "Excuse me?"
I force my expression back to neutral, trying to salvage the situation. "I meant no disrespect, boss. I was just... surprised by the accelerated timeline."
"Surprised." Vito repeats the word like he's tasting something bitter. "And why would you be surprised, Dante? This affects the family's strategy, not your personal concerns."
Marco clears his throat. "There's more. Kieran isn't just moving up the timeline—he's also sent confirmation that he knows exactly where we're keeping Sofia. He included photos."
My blood turns to ice. "What kind of photos?"
"Surveillance shots. The safehouse. Sofia in the garden yesterday. You escorting her inside." Marco slides a manila envelope across the table. "They've been watching us."
