Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

" I have no idea what you're talking about," I say to the Carabinieri officer seated across from me. I'm sitting at Renzo's kitchen island, wrapped in his bathrobe, his scent lingering on the fabric and oddly giving me comfort in the midst of this nightmare. The kitchen is sleek and modern, with dark marble countertops and gleaming stainless steel appliances that reflect the harsh overhead lighting. The island, topped with polished black marble, which is cold beneath my palms, is large and imposing, and I feel small and vulnerable sitting with these strangers, stark naked under Renzo's robe. The agent in charge won't let me get dressed; he's trying to make me feel unsafe, and it's working.

But I refuse to let him see it. I was born a Giordano, and I'm now a Valdici. Even if I wanted to speak to the cops, I couldn't. Forget Renzo—my mother would kill me. She'd cut out my tongue and stab me in the heart, and she wouldn't hesitate because that's what happens to traitors.

An army of Carabinieri officers swarmed the house and was currently tearing through every room, searching for anything they could use against Renzo. They claim he killed someone, and while I know for a fact he's killed many, this man they claim he'd killed wasn't one of them. They dragged him out of here over an hour ago, and since then, I've been stuck in this chair. I asked to call my family, but they took my phone and told me to sit tight. It's all bullshit—meant to intimidate. I know it, and they know it, but I'm too tired to argue.

They have a warrant so they're allowed to search. Tony and Ralf stayed behind at the wedding, and I don't know any of Renzo's men except the butler, who I only glimpsed when Renzo carried me across the threshold, and then once more when they pulled me into the kitchen. As for the rest of the security team, I have no idea where they are. They must have sent a call out by now. It's my job to wait, and I pray someone shows up soon. I just want this nightmare to end. In the meantime, I'll just act like a stone wall in response to their questions.

The officer talking to me now, Vincenzo Droppo, exchanges whispers with another officer. I sigh, recognizing the game. As a princess of the Giordano organization, I've been through this before. They came for my father once when I was twelve and home on summer vacation. My mother sat me down in the living room and drilled it into my head to remain silent, no matter what. I was allowed to say two words: "No comment." That was it. I sat in stony silence the entire day, not moving, not fidgeting, my mother's threat of punishment hanging over me. She would have killed me if I slipped up.

Droppo turns his attention back to me, his eyes sharp and calculating. " Signora Valdici, lei è sua moglie ? — "

"English," I cut him off, my tone is biting. "I haven't lived here full-time since I was five." My Italian is passable, but if I'm going to be questioned by the police, it's going to be in a language I have full command of.

Droppo's jaw tightens, but he continues in my preferred language. "You're his wife. You must know something." His eyes linger on the open vee of my robe, and I catch the flicker of desire he's trying to hide. He's not bad-looking—gray eyes, light brown hair, and the kind of build that suggests he spends time at the gym. But his position and his smug attitude disgust me.

"Mrs. Valdici," he says, and the title sends a jolt through me. I'm not used to being a Mrs. let alone a Valdici. It settles on me like an ill-fitting dress.

I cut him off again. "Captain Droppo, I have no idea who Pietro Russo is. And as for my husband's dealings, I've been married for ten hours. We haven't exactly had the time to share all the details of our lives."

It's not the full truth. I know exactly who Russo is. He turned up dead in an empty field outside of Milano last week. A capo for one of the 'Ndrangheta families. It was big news, and my father had been digging for information. What the hell would a 'Ndrangheta mob boss be doing this far north? And now they're trying to pin his death on Renzo.

Droppo stares at me, his eyes narrowing. He's trying to unnerve me, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't working. I want to close my robe, cover up under his probing gaze, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Weakness isn't an option. I've never been allowed to be anything but strong. I'm mafia royalty. Men like Droppo don't get to make me feel small. If Ralf and Tony were here, they'd have cracked his skull for even thinking of staring at my chest. Cop or not.

Droppo leans back against the stove, arms crossed, his expression hard. "Mrs. Valdici, I'm sure you know more than you're saying. We know who your parents are, and we know Russo was considered a family enemy. You need to give us something, or we'll arrest you as an accessory after the fact."

There it is—the threat my mother had always warned would come. When they threaten you, shut them down. "I want to speak to my lawyer. Avvocato ."

Droppo's mouth twitches in frustration. He's made a mistake, and he knows it. I'm not under arrest. He can't legally hold me.

"Return my phone," I demand, voice cold and steady. His mouth opens, but I cut him off. "Now."

Droppo's expression hardens further. "Mrs. Valdici?—"

"Maybe you didn't hear me," I say, leaning forward, my eyes locked on his. "I want my phone. You have no right to take it from me or look at it. It's not listed on the warrant." They'd left me alone long enough to read through it, and I may not understand all the legalese, but I know enough.

A loud crash sounds from the living room, followed by muffled voices. I grit my teeth, imagining the officers "accidentally" breaking things on purpose. "Now," I repeat, my patience fraying.

The noise in the foyer grows louder, and suddenly, Renzo's consigliere, Angelo, storms into the kitchen. His presence radiates authority. " Sono l'avvocato della Signora Valdici ," he announces, his voice clipped. "You will stop questioning her now."

He grabs my arm, pulling me up from the stool with surprising force. "You will allow her to go upstairs and get dressed in private," he orders, shoving me toward the door. I hurry out, relief mingled with indignation. As I start up the stairs, it hits me—I have nothing to wear.

I turn back, hesitant. "Um, Angelo?"

"What?" he snaps as he walks into the foyer, his focus glued to his phone as he types furiously.

The sharpness in his tone catches me off guard. I'm not used to being spoken to like this, except by family. It takes me a moment to recover. "I don't have any clothes here other than my wedding dress. I didn't pack anything."

He snorts, not even looking up. "Figure something out. Be quick about it." He stalks away, barking orders at the butler. In any other situation, he'd be dead for talking to me like that. The casual disrespect sends a chill of unease through me. Angelo has a reputation for being temperamental, but I never expected this kind of disdain. I try to brush it off, telling myself he's just stressed, but his attitude leaves me unsettled. Men in la famiglia often dismiss their women in public but not so much in private. Angleo's attitude is going to need an adjustment if he's going to be around me more.

I push that thought aside and walk into the main bedroom. Heading straight to the walk-in closet, I grab the first thing I find—Renzo's sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. I take them to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

The bathroom is luxurious—polished marble, chrome fixtures, a deep soaking tub that looks inviting but completely out of reach right now. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, hair disheveled, eyes wide with indignation and frustration. Okay, maybe a touch of fear as well. I look like a stranger in this life. A new bride reduced to sweatpants and panic. This was not how my wedding night was supposed to go. I wanted to at least get fucked by my husband, not fucked over by the police. The timing couldn't be worse.

I hold the sweatshirt to my nose. Renzo's scent wraps around me. It offers me comfort although I'm not sure why it should. I wish he was here to deal with this. I take another deep breath and then square my shoulders. Time to stop hiding. Dressed in Renzo's clothes, I make my way back downstairs. Angelo is on the phone, pacing, his face set in a scowl. The butler stands off to the side, his posture rigid, his expression carefully blank. I nod at him, and he nods back, a silent acknowledgment of the chaos we're in.

Angelo hangs up, turning to me with a look that's somewhere between anger and exasperation. "They're arresting Renzo for Russo's murder. Idiots. Your mother is on her way. They won't arrest you, no matter what they say, so keep quiet. Say nothing. Once they're gone, clean up. Renzo won't want to see this mess."

"Clean up?" I snap in a sharp tone. "What the hell do I look like? A maid? When is he getting out?"

Angelo's glare darkens. "How the fuck should I know? His lawyers are working on it."

"I thought you were his lawyer," I challenge, refusing to back down.

"I'm one of them, but I'm not handling this. Now stop asking questions."

I straighten, stepping into Angelo's personal space, daring him to disrespect me again. I can't let this slide. If Angelo doesn't respect me, no one will. I'm not just anyone—I'm a Giordano, and I'm Renzo's wife. If I don't assert my authority now, I never will. "Watch your fucking tone." My hiss is low and lethal. "You take orders from me, Angelo, not the other way around."

His face flushes with anger, and he leans in, his breath hot on my face. "Listen, you little?— "

I slap him hard across the cheek, the sound echoing in the foyer. "That's your first and only warning. You pull that shit again, and I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do."

Angelo staggers back, his eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out.

"Now," I continue, my voice fucking frosty, "find someone to clean up this mess. I don't do housework."

My insides are shaking, but I keep my expression cold and unmoved. Showing weakness now would be a death sentence.

"You heard her," my mother's voice cuts the tension like a knife as she strides into the foyer. The room feels even colder in her presence. She's all sharp edges and steely resolve. "Deal with the Carabinieri and clean this place up. Renzo won't want to see it like this when he gets back." She grabs my arm, guiding me out the front door with a firm grip.

"Well done," my mother says once we're outside. The night air is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heated tension inside. Her rare praise sends a jolt through me—it's the first time in years she's said anything kind. "That was smart, putting Angelo in his place. You're going to need him. He has to respect you."

I slide into the backseat of her car, my hands clenched in my lap, trying to steady the tremor running through me. "Why will I need Angelo?" I whisper.

She sits beside me, her expression hardening. "Because he knows the business inside and out, and if you're going to take over, you need him."

I blink at her, stunned. "Take over? What the hell are you talking about?"

My mother lets out an exasperated sigh. "I thought you understood. With Renzo in jail, you need to step up as the head of the family."

I stare at her, disbelief crashing over me. "You've lost your mind. Renzo will be out in a day or two. This is ridiculous."

Her eyes narrow. "I will let your disrespect pass because of this situation but do not push me. "

My nails dig into my palms as frustration boils inside me. "Mother, with all due respect, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Renzo's marriage to you solidified our family's position. The Valdici and Giordano union makes us the most powerful in the north. Renzo can't lead from a jail cell, and his brothers aren't strong enough to command the other families. That leaves you. You will have to work twice as hard because, as a woman, they won't naturally respect you, but you can do this, Mia. You don't have a choice."

My heart is a sledgehammer against my ribs and every instinct screams at me to run. "This is insane. I don't know how to run a family. I don't even know how to be a wife."

"You will do this, Mia," my mother insists, her voice cold and unyielding. "Our family's future depends on you. The future of all the families rests on your shoulders."

I feel like I'm suffocating, trapped between the weight of her expectations and the looming reality of what she's asking me to do. I don't know a thing about running a mafia empire. All I want is to go back to the U.S., to Aunt Isobella, the only person who ever truly cared for me. But that's not an option. I've been dragged into this world, and now there's no escape.

My mother grips my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Do not fail us, Mia. You are the head of the family now."

The enormity of it all pressing down on me makes it hard to swallow. I have no idea how I'm going to do this, but I know one thing: I can't afford to fail. Not with the eyes of every family on me. Not with my mother watching my every move.

The Carabinieri finally clear out, and my mother shoves me back out of the car. Angelo is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his posture stiff, his expression guarded. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "We need to talk," I say, my voice carrying a strength I don't quite feel yet.

Angelo hesitates, then nods. I follow him to his car, my heart hammering in my chest. "What's going to happen with Renzo?" I ask once we're inside.

Angelo rubs his temples, looking beat down. "I don't know, Mia. They've arrested him so they must have some evidence. They won't want to let him out on bail since it's murder. He might be in there a long time."

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I don't have a choice. "Then I am taking over as head of the family."

Angelo's head snaps in my direction. "You're what?"

"Taking over. I'm the only link between the two families. If I don't step up someone else will, and we'll lose all power. Tell Renzo when you see him that I will step in and manage everything."

Angelo stares at me but I don't care. My mother has left me no choice. I pull on the door handle and get out of the car. I go up the steps and enter the house, my house now. I close the door behind me and lean on it. Less than twenty-four hours ago I was a young bride-to-be. Now I'm the new mafia queen. God help me.