Chapter Twenty-Four

Dante

The scent of leather-bound books and old paper greets me like an old friend as soon as I push open the heavy double doors of the Vitelli conference room. Bookshelves of rich mahogany line the walls, and a large fireplace crackles in the background.

A long, polished woodgrain conference table, designed to seat twelve, forms the centerpiece of the room. Built into its surface are secure laptops—our sole connection to the outside world. A dozen high-back, black leather chairs surround the table, each assigned to a specific capo.

Only one seat has swapped owners since the capos gathered here three years ago. Nico's seat is now positioned where Father once sat as Don.

I find that my earlier intuition was spot-on. My brother is sitting at the head of the table, a glass of amber liquid in front of him. Except that his laptop is closed. And he's not alone.

Sophie is in Nico's lap, dressed in one of his shirts, and her face is buried in his neck. I can't see their lower halves, but from the way my brother's head is thrown back and the dazed, ecstatic look on his face, I know his wife is doing something incredibly erotic to him.

"Sorry to interrupt," I snort, leaning against the doorframe, not in the least bit sorry.

They jerk apart. Sophie looks more than a little guilty, but Nico only smirks and pulls her back in for another kiss.

"Guys, look, just say the word. I can come back in two minutes," I tease.

"Shit timing, fratellino, " Nico growls, his eyes narrowing at me.

"It's okay, Dante," Sophie pipes. "Nico just needed another cuddle, that's all. It's been a rough night."

Normally, I'd have a sarcastic comeback to that, had I not just now rolled out of Addy's bed myself. I guess I, too, needed a bit of a cuddle, if that's what we're calling it now. "For us all, sis," I reply.

Sophie slips off Nico's lap and comes to me, her steps graceful despite being six months pregnant.

"Ciao bella," I greet her, and just to annoy Nico, I envelop her in a tight bear hug that never fails to make Nico scowl. I'm sure if he had his way, he'd be the only man on earth who could look at or touch his wife.

She whispers in my ear before leaving, "I have to meet this woman driving you to public madness, Dante."

I snort out a laugh. The photos have gone viral then. "You'll see Addy soon enough," I whisper back.

Nico would have been briefed by the PR team the moment the photos broke. And Nico tells his wife everything, either because she's a therapist or because Nico just can't help himself. And with the way his gaze follows Sophie as she leaves the room, I'll bet it's the latter.

As soon as Sophie is gone, Nico's expression becomes grave, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the grief and sleepless night we've all endured. He leans back in his leather chair, the rich material creaking slightly under his weight.

I clear the lump in my throat, my gaze dropping to the amber liquid swirling in the glass he holds. "How are you holding up?"

"Peachy," Nico murmurs with a sardonic smile, his free hand rubbing at his temple. "Just got in an hour ago." He motions to the decanter on the desk between us. "Want one?"

I shake my head, waving off the offer. There's too much brewing today, and I need to keep a clear head and sharp reflexes. I might need them to survive the next few hours. "I'm good."

Nico's fingers tap against the glass as he glances at the huge Roman numeral clock hanging between the tall, book-lined shelves. "How long before the Capos get here?"

I know he wants to know how much time we have to speak privately. I drop into my chair, the one just next to his. "About two hours. Where do you want to start?"

"De Luca." Nico throws back his drink then slams the glass down. He pins me with a look, his blue eyes fierce. "What in the actual fuck are you doing, Dante? Getting handsy with Adele. In public. You are supposed to be proposing to Alina."

"What's the point of proposing?" I retort. "It's not like the girl was going to say no. It was an arranged marriage, for fuck's sake. Although, as of right now, it's all gone down the drain."

"Yes, a proposal is redundant. Still, it would have been a nice thing to do, considering the woman loves you," Nico argues, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of his desk.

I shake my head, scoffing at his tone. I swear Nico has gone soft. "Alina does not love me."

"She picked you over me," Nico says, his tone exasperated, his eyes narrowing. "What the fuck do you call that?"

I chuckle, the sound harsh in the stillness of the room. "Good taste?"

"Dumbass." Nico smiles wryly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "But seriously, Alina wants to be your wife, Dante. I could think of worse things than that."

"No, Nico. Bianca wants to be my mother-in-law. There's a difference." I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table, my gaze intense.

Nico's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his fingers stilling on the desk. "Switching grooms was Bianca's idea?"

I nod, my jaw clenching. "Are you surprised, though?"

Orlando may be the Outfit's highest-ranking Capo today, but he started out as an orphan boy who clawed his way up from the dirt by serving three generations of Vitellis.

Orlando's wife, on the other hand, is a spoilt mafia princess, the last child of the wealthy Rinaldi family in New York. She was raised to know the difference between power and pedigree and wants nothing more than for her daughter to become a Vitelli.

Nico's brows furrow. "No, I can't say I'm surprised. Although, if Bianca is that ambitious, why would she turn down the Don of the Outfit . . . for the Underboss?"

"She must think I'm hotter or something," I shrug, and we both laugh, the sound momentarily easing the tension in the room.

I continue, every trace of humor now gone. "Anyway, like I said, Nico, it's all down the drain. I called time on it last night."

"You what?"

"I've broken it off with Alina. I'll make it official with De Luca when he comes in today."

Nico sighs wearily, then leans forward with a dark glower, his elbows resting on the desk. The vein on his temple is starting to pop out—a clear indication of how much he's fighting for patience—and a part of me almost feels bad for him. It would be healthier if Nico yelled from time to time. But no, he keeps his emotions tightly in check.

"Dante," he grits. "Orlando De Luca is my most powerful Caporegime, the one whose loyalty to the Outfit happens to be hanging by a thread. His wife has the strength of the New York mafia behind her. Do you have any fucking idea what would happen now that you've broken your promise to him?"

I shrug, my posture relaxed despite the gravity of the situation. "Best case scenario, mutiny. Worst case, an outright rebellion."

"Exactly." Nico's eyes become flinty, his voice cold, his jaw clenching. Every ounce of my big brother is gone. In his place is Don Vitelli, and his empire comes before anything else. "And you think I would let you tear my house down, Dante?"

I meet his gaze without flinching. "Not only would you let me, you'd throw the first punch—bullet, so to speak, for me."

"Why the fuck would I do that?" Nico's voice finally rises in the stillness of the room.

"Red Wine. I've put her off-grid. She now lives here for the foreseeable future," My words hang in the air like thunderclaps. "Somehow, I doubt that Alina could deal with a groom with that much baggage."

Nico leaps to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor, his hands slamming down on the desk. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. I ordered you to get her out of your system, and you take her and bring her under my roof—"

"She's mine, Nico. Boston will have to suck it up." I interrupt, my gaze steady.

"Suck it up? You take the Mob's princess, fake her death, and expect them to take it lying down?" Nico's voice is incredulous, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I explain with a calm belying the storm building in my gut. "Nico, sit down. I told you that a bomb killed Pietro. What I didn't say was that bomb was meant for Addy. Her car was rigged last night, and Pietro got into it instead of her. Someone wants to kill her and pin it on us."

Nico freezes, and then as if he's suddenly run out of energy, he falls back into his chair. "And yet you in your wisdom, choose to put her off-grid. What the fuck, Dante? You realize you just made it possible for the Mob to do exactly that? Pin her death on us."

He continues when I remain silent. "Eighteen years ago, some sick bastard killed Naomi Ritter and her daughter on our turf and shoved the smoking gun in our hand. We were dragged into a war for something we didn't do, all because Father couldn't keep it in his pants."

Looks like Nico believes the rumors, too.

I ignore his grave warning and smirk instead. "A point of correction: Eighteen years ago, Naomi Ritter and Addy were shot while in bed. Addy survived and was adopted by Naomi's brother, Benjamin O'Shea."

Nico sits up so fast the air whooshes, his eyes wide with shock. "Red Wine? It was Red Wine?" he yells, his voice echoing in the room.

I almost feel sorry for Nico. I don't remember him ever raising his voice. But I can understand his shock. The weight of this revelation must have hit him like a sucker punch.

I nod, my gaze steady. "Yes, it was her, Nico. A carefully hidden secret, even from Addy herself. She only fully pieced it together this morning. She's their hostage. That's why they lose their shit when she comes near Chicago. And now someone wants her dead."

A low whistle escapes Nico's lips, his hand running through his hair. "Fucking hell." I can see the wheels turning in his head, his brows deeply furrowed. "Someone is desperate to start a war again."

Nico leans back in his chair, his expression grave. "So, do you now see how you can't possibly hold her here? I'll negotiate a deal with the Mob to get her for you. We might need to give up a few thousand kidneys, but it's doable. In the meantime, you will return her to Boston. ASAP."

"I will do nothing of the sort."

"That wasn't a suggestion, Dante."

"I can't let her go."

"Dante, at the risk of sounding like a fucking scratched record, you know the stakes. If that woman isn't returned to Boston tonight, we're looking at a war. And without De Luca, our strength is halved. We are in no position to face the Irish and the fuckers they're probably joining forces with, in a full-out war. So for the last fucking time, return Red Wine to the Irish and fucking kiss and make up with De Luca," Nico commands, his voice rising with each word.

"I can't. I'm in love with her, Nico." It feels incredible to be able to say it out loud.

I see Nico's eyes go soft for a second, then his face hardens again.

"She's your half-sister, fratellino. "

I point to myself. "Do I look like I give a shit?"

"She might give a shit." Nico counters.

"Or not."

Nico only shakes his head. "You're fucked up way beyond redemption, you know that?"

"No argument there."

"Anyway, you still need to let her go, fratellino . Only for a few weeks. I swear I'll bring her back here myself once we smooth De Luca's ruffled feathers and once the dust of your betrayal has settled."

I'm not sure which one of us is more stubborn. I'd say Nico because I'm sure deep down, he's always known this would happen, but he chose to ignore it. "Nico, I couldn't let her go even if I wanted to."

Nico drags his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated now. "Why the hell not, Dante?"

"Because she's carrying my child."

Nico goes still for a long moment, his face frozen in shock. I'm beginning to think he didn't hear me when he suddenly roars, "Fuuuuck! You always have to be a fucking inconvenient pain in the fucking ass, don't you, Dante? This is a fucking unsurvivable war. You know that?"

I chuckle. "Calm down and look at the bright side. At least we get to die with honor. Nothing beats going down as human shields for the women we love."

"Seriously?" Nico thunders, his eyes flashing. "You still have the guts to talk out the side of your neck after pulling this shitstorm?"

I shrug, my nonchalance a deliberate provocation. I watch him, silently begging him to erupt. I want to hit something. I need it. We both do after last night.

I almost sigh in relief when, in a flash, Nico leaps off his seat and rounds the desk. He grabs me by the collar and slams me into the nearest wall, his face mere inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. "I swear to God, I'll kill you with my bare hands before this is over."

"You can fucking try," I growl.

Just then, the door flies open. Father strides into the conference room, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor. He takes in the situation, his sharp gaze lingering on Nico's hands bunched in my shirt, and my defiant smirk.

"Why am I not shocked?" Father shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Nico immediately releases me, but not without a parting fist to my face. Already anticipating the move, I duck, the rush of air from my quick movements ruffling my hair. I return swinging, sending my own fist into his hard jaw. It lands with a satisfying impact on my knuckle. Nico staggers back, his eyes wide with surprise, anger, and a grudging respect. He used to have much faster reflexes than me.

"You've gone a bit soft, fratello, " I taunt, rubbing the salt in. "I suggest less cuddling, more training."

Father deftly steps between us and pushes Nico away before he tackles me to the ground. While Nico and I tower over him, the strength in Father's muscly frame is unmistakable.

"Enough, both of you," he barks, pushing against our chests to send us further apart. "We have more pressing matters to attend to. Such as a family breakfast."

The mention of breakfast captures our attention because we have never ever had breakfast together as a family and I don't eat before noon.

Father faces me, "Dante. Your Irish woman has been extracted from where you thought you were hiding her. She's in the kitchen with your mother and Sophie as we speak."

My heart skips a beat as protectiveness rises in my chest. "She's where right now?"

"They're making her breakfast." Father tosses his head in the direction of the kitchen, the light catching the silver in his hair. The implication is clear: Sophie and Mother are pumping Addy for information.

I clench my fists. For fuck's sake, the woman is still reeling from last night's close shave. I was hoping we could talk more and lose ourselves in each other for one more day before unleashing my family on her.

"How the hell did they even find her?" I ask. Addy was still sleeping when I left her half an hour ago.

Father only shrugs. "You know nothing happens under this roof without your mother's—or Aydin's knowledge. Come on, enough scuffling for one morning. Let's go join them."

I grab his arm before he can leave, the wool of his suit rough beneath my fingertips. "Wait, Father. Don't you want to know what Nico and I were fighting about?"

He looks from me to Nico, his gaze calculating. "I imagine it had to do with Pietro's death. Or the guest you shouldn't have brought home last night."

"But Father," I press. "Adele isn't just any Irish woman." I ignore Nico's subtle nudge for me to shut the fuck up, and continue. "She's actually Naomi Ritter's daughter. She's the little girl from eighteen years ago. Can you believe she's been alive all this time?"

Father's expression becomes unreadable in the flickering light of the room as he murmurs thoughtfully, "Is that so?"

Nico and I share a look, a silent understanding passing between us. Father knows. He's always known exactly who Addy is.

"So, Father," I continue pushing, the sound of my raging pulse loud in my ears, "did we ever find out whose mistress Naomi was?"

Father's eyes become shadowed, a flicker of something very much like guilt passing over his features and the lines of his face deepening. "Your actions will trigger a war unless you do as your brother tells you, Dante. It's the only way."

He turns to leave, his shoulders slumped, no doubt weighed down with secrets long kept, secrets that now threaten to unravel the very fabric of our family.

As I watch him walk away, my mind reels with the implications of his words, or lack of thereof.

Nico's hand lands heavily on my shoulder. "So, did you get the reaction you were digging for?"

My jaw clenches as the question hangs in the air. "All I know is he looked guilty as hell just now."

Nico squeezes my shoulder. "You gave him a chance to come clean, and he didn't. So, I've got your back, you fucking twisted prick. Do what you need to do. Just know you're diving headfirst into this bog of shit you're dragging us into."

"You bet, fratello. " A smile splits my lips, a rush of affection washing over me. Despite our differences, Nico and I are one constant in this world of shifting shadows and uncertain loyalties.

But right now, my heart is with Addy, and I'll be damned if I let pesky little things like another decade-long mafia war or being blood relatives stop me.