Chapter 8

CHIARA

T he hospital was a maze of sterile white walls and the ever-present hum of machines.

The bright lights gave me a headache, adding to my malaise from the night spent tossing and turning.

It had taken a long time to settle after escaping the strange man following me.

Add to that my encounter with Rio and his hard, wet mouth, his stroking hands, and those devious fingers.

Needless to say, I was rattled.

I’d woken to my phone ringing out.

As I walked in, I replayed the message from the head nurse left on my phone.

‘Miss Tirone, we advise you and your family members to stop by the medical center as your father’s health is taking a turn for the worse.’

Thus, my rush to his bedside.

Olivio’s room sat at the end of the corridor, away from the noise and bustle of the central ward.

When I stepped in, I struggled to recognize him.

Each day I came by, he faded away.

The man who had once been brawnier, wider, more prominent in size than most, and who in the past dominated every room he walked into now lay frail and shrunken in the hospital bed.

His skin clung to his bones, and his eyes were sunken into his skull. It was as if he had been drained of everything that made him once so lethal.

‘ Ciao , papa,’ I murmured, pulling a chair beside him.

His eyes flickered open, and for a flash, there was a spark of recognition.

‘Chiara,’ he rasped, his voice a ghost of its former strength. ‘You came.’

‘Of course, I did,’ I said, forcing a smile. I came every other fucking day, come rain or shine. Even though I loathed each moment, doing it out of duty, out of some misplaced loyalty, which I hated even more.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked, setting my bag on a table and sinking into the chair beside him.

He gave a weak shrug. ‘Dying, I suppose,’ he muttered with a grim chuckle, then turned his head to face me. ‘Can’t believe that not one of my close friends bothers to visit.’

Friends? He’d none.

All the couples and individual companions that he’d socialized with for years disappeared after my mother died. Evidence of how much she’d been their social connection.

He argued with some, coming to blows with some of his fellow mobster acquaintances in recent years.

As he aged, he also regressed to childishness. At 76, his emotional maturity was 16.

He’d also burned so many bridges with his siblings due to his entitlement, lack of empathy, and judgmental attitude that they all refused to see him.

Other than a few loyal capos and my brothers, he’d no intimate confidants to turn to. Those who did call or come around feared the repercussions of dealing with him.

They worried about what he had on them, afraid of his threats or hoping to recoup their money in whatever deal he struck with them.

‘I’ve been thinking. About everything.’

Olivio’s utterance hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I guessed what was coming, and I was ill-prepared to hear it.

The heart monitor machine beeped, and oxygen hissed through the aircon vents as I braced myself.

‘I wasn’t the best father,’ he said, hushed and rough. ‘I put too much on you. I treated you like shit for years while Claudio -.’

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat as he omitted what we both didn’t want to say.

I wanted to tell him it was OK, that it didn’t matter anymore, but the truth was, it did. It still hurt, even now.

Olivio raised me in the heart of Naples’ underworld.

As his daughter, his underlings and shady mobster connections venerated me as a princess yet loathed, despised, and underestimated as a woman.

I’d navigated my world first as a spoiled young girl.

When puberty hit, my father’s callousness and my mother’s death stripped me of my innocence.

It’d led me to drugs to cope.

I’d become an addict, then into a pure survivor. Throwing myself into work day and night to avoid my brother’s resentment, our rival clans’ bullets, and the handcuffs of the police and anti-mafia investigators.

I’d cleaned up and attempted to reinvent my life.

Art and portraiture, in particular, helped me endure my darkest days.

I’d set up the Galleria with my meager savings.

Now, it was fundamental to our survival.

With most doors closed now to obtain cash flow, it now operated as a laundering operation, albeit a sophisticated one.

What began as an avocation to drag myself out of addiction had been handed to the family to help us survive.

Without my fuckin’ hard work to cover the bills, the Tirone famiglia would not have lasted these last five years.

So, while I was not a ‘made’ member and had never performed the blood ritual, I had a significant role to play.

For so long, my father had used intimidation to force my hand.

Now, weak and ailing, he’d realized how pivotal I’d been, working in the shadows, doing my thing with quiet focus.

‘I should’ve seen you for who you are,’ he continued, his hand trembling as he reached for mine. ‘You’re the strong one, Chiara. The one who ought to take over. The business should go to you.’

My breath caught in my chest. ‘Papa, I don’t know—‘

‘You’re the only one with the brains and guts to handle it,’ he said, his tone firm despite his condition. ‘Not my two loser sons.’

‘Claudio has been the one running things. He won’t like it if you hand the business to me.’

‘Enough,’ my father said, his voice weak but final. ‘I’ve made my decision. The lawyers have my wishes in writing. It’s watertight and done.’

I tilted my head, dread going through me. ‘He’ll come after me.’

‘So be it,’ Olivio snarled, his lips twisted in a cruel twist. ‘Get your gun handling skills sharpened or hire some help. You’re smart enough to know what to do.’

There it was.

More proof that to Olivio, all I’d ever be was fodder, fed to the lions to be pulled apart.

For a moment, my deep-set wrath and loathing for this man rose like bile, coating my tongue.

How easy would it be right now to grab a pillow, stuff it over his face, and suffocate him?

If it weren’t for the hospital’s security cameras aimed at his bed, I’da contemplated it.

His eyes narrowed on me, sensing my disquiet. ‘Tell me you won’t let my legacy go to ruin. That the Tirone name will live on,’ he growled.

‘ Va bene, papa ,’ I sighed, conceding. Too tired to fight a dying man.

He scrabbled for my hand, and I gave it to him.

‘Do you forgive me for my madness when you were younger?’ he whispered.

I studied him for a beat. ‘The past is in the past.’

Therapy helped, but although I’d reconciled myself with his brutality, I’d never forgiven, and neither would I ever forget.

However, now was not the time to address my hatred for him.

So, instead, I smiled.

He widened his cracked lips in a jagged response. ‘ Sei una brava figlia .’

A good daughter, indeed.

With that, he drifted off to sleep.

I sat by his side as he napped fitfully.

Staring at him, I attempted to make sense of the freakin’ predicament he was putting me in. I soon came to the realization he’d not long to live, and I’d need to plan for whatever hell was coming my way.

I made a few calls and left messages.

My phone rang, and I glanced at the ID—Claudio.

I hesitated, bracing for what I guessed this conversation would entail. But ignoring him would only make things worse.

With a sigh, I picked up.

‘Why the thousand and one calls, Chiara?’ he snapped without so much a greeting.

‘When are you coming to see your father?’ I asked, also doing away with niceties.

Claudio scoffed, loud and belligerent down the line. ‘What’s the use? The old bastard hates me, and the doctors can do nothing for him.’

I closed my eyes, biting back my immediate response. ‘They’re doing everything they can. You know that.’

‘I fuckin’ don’t care,’ he shot back. ‘He left Aldo and me with a mess to clean up. When I do come by, all he does is berate me for trying my best while singing your praises.’

‘You need to come today,’ I interrupted, my patience fraying. ‘It might be your only chance to speak with him before -‘

I didn’t have it in me to say the words.

My brother cursed under his breath.

‘Fine. I’m on my way now.’

‘About time,’ I clipped and hung up without waiting for his response.

An hour later, the hospital door swung open.

Claudio barged in, his face flushed from walking through the maze of corridors, an exercise his hefty bulk was unused to.

He was the kind of man whose appearance belayed the slick arrogance that seemed to ooze from his every move.

He had the look of someone who tried too hard—expensive, tailored suits that didn’t quite fit his stocky frame. Shirts that strained against his pasta-girthed chest. A swagger larger than life, even though he lacked the discipline to keep in shape.

His hair, slicked back with too much gel, clung to his scalp unnaturally, as if each strand was fighting to escape the suffocating pomade.

He carried himself with a bravado that he hoped compensated for his lack of real courage. His dark eyes darted around, assessing everything with a suspicious glint.

Despite the facade of wealth and control, Claudio’s body language screamed insecurity. His fingers were always tapping on some surface, his foot was always swinging, and he never seemed to sit still.

When he entered a room, he expected people to fall in line. His temper flared fast and hard when they didn’t, revealing the spoiled, entitled brat he’d always been.

On sighting him, I rose to my feet, turning off my phone where I’d been sorting through my inbox.

‘What the hell, Chiara? You going to leave me with him?’

I nabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulders. ‘I’ve said my peace. Now it’s your turn.’

It’d also been hours spent at my father’s side. I was done for the day.

My brother inched in front of me. ‘Have you approved the last batch of art sales we put through? Or were you too busy playing the dutiful daughter?’

‘Claudio, not now,’ I clipped, standing to face him.

‘You’d better be headed to your precious gallery to make it happen,’ he demanded, his eyes burning with fury.

My showroom downtown was the primary display space.

I also had a secure storehouse at the Naples port, which enjoyed exclusive customs regulations. It was where we stored artworks indefinitely without incurring taxes, tariffs, or duties.

Two years ago, Olivio and Claudio, realizing my gallery’s opportunities, forced me to put up my artwork as collateral.

Allowing my father and brothers to borrow against their rising sales price to keep our family enterprise afloat.

Their thoughtless abuse of my business had been the nail in the coffin of any filial love for my family. I hated them for hijacking my passion and exposing me to ruthless loan sharks.

Because if word got out and shit went down regarding their fuckin’ deals, I’d be the first with my head on the chopping block.

‘You know what?’ I growled, leaning in. ‘I’m getting sick and fuckin’ tired of your shit. Your emergency is not my crisis.’

‘It soon will be,’ Claudio snarled. ‘The Barbieri Syndicate is sick and fuckin’ tired of waiting for their loan repayments, and I’ve notified them the delay is because of you, little sister.’

I jolted. ‘You did what?’

‘I instructed them to come direct to you, given how much you’ve delayed your remittance. You can deal with their ruthless brutes if you so wish. They probably have men on you already.’

‘I hate you,’ I rage whispered at him.

That’s when he rammed me, throwing me on the wall.

One hand banded over my neck as he pushed me against the blue-green paintwork.

‘Don’t fuck with me, sorella . Free up that cash, and I won’t haunt you. Keep hedging, and I’ll cut your pretty face up myself.’

My heart leaped into my mouth, my pulse off the charts.

The room was thick with tension. Claudio’s glare burned into me, but I refused to back down.

‘You have until the end of the month,’ he growled.

I clenched my fists, my temper flaring. ‘Go to hell, Claudio,’ I snapped, my voice hard.

‘Will you do it?’ He snarled.

I hesitated, then as his grip on my carotid tightened, I groped for my bag, digging deep in it.

In a flash, I had a dagger at his throat.

I’d leveled up since Rio’s intrusion, upgrading from an old can of pepper spray to a sharp-as-all-hell dagger.

My fratello gasped, shocked, as my eyes flamed, and I pushed it into his skin.

One of his hands flew up in surrender. ‘ Indietro, cazzo !’

‘No, you back off, loser,’ I hissed, pushing the blade under his nose.

He stepped back, easing his grip on my neck, both hands raised.

Taking a shaky inhale, I straightened my dress, hiking my tote bag higher on my shoulder, ignoring the burn on my nape.

I flashed the knife at him. ‘Don’t you ever fucking touch me again!’

Without another word, I turned and left the room, my heart pounding with anger.

‘Chiara, pagare i soldi ! Pay up, or we lose everything.’

I ignored him, powering on, needing to clear my head and escape the suffocating strain and treasonous family.

Sliding the blade into my palm to hide it, I swung past the nurses, who stared at me with mild interest as I strode past, cloaked in scorching rage.

Outside, I chose to walk home instead of taking a cab.

I needed the exercise and fresh air to purify me.

I wandered through the park, my thoughts racing.

The wind was cool, the trees swaying in the breeze, but it did little to calm the storm inside me.

And then I saw it.

The same black car I’d spotted for weeks parked off the footpath, its engine idling.

I gasped, hand on my chest.

I picked up my pace, glancing back over my shoulder.

The vehicle moved slowly, keeping a deliberate distance but always there.

My pulse quickened. Was I being paranoid?

Maybe.

But each face I passed now appeared suspicious.

Every glance seemed like it was aimed at me.

When I reached home, I ran, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I slammed the door behind me, locking it tight, my heart racing.

Was I losing it? Or was something more sinister at play?

Flinging my bag into a chair, I ran into my office and logged into my computer.

With a sigh between gritted teeth, I googled once more for Ciprioni Security.

No such firm came up in the search results.

I tried typing in his name again.

Still nothing.

I searched for a list of all protection firms in Naples.

Nada.

With a cry of pure frustration, I shut my laptop and entered the kitchen.

I found a bottle of red and opened it, pouring a generous amount.

Kicking off my shoes, I sat on my lounge chair, staring at the view of a darkened city. My chest heaving with dread, fear, and worry.