Chapter Eight - Elio

Marco’s latest report reads like a death warrant written in my own blood. Fifty thousand dollars for information leading to Aleta Ricci’s whereabouts, with an additional twenty-five thousand for proof of life. Nico’s desperation bleeds through every word of the bounty notice that’s circulating through New York’s underworld like wildfire.

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.” Matteo enters my study with the expression of a man delivering cancer results. “Three different crews have started sniffing around the property perimeter.”

My fingers drum against the mahogany desk where photographs of our estate’s security weak points are spread like evidence at a crime scene. “How close did they get?”

“Close enough to count windows.” He settles into the chair across from me, and tension radiates from his shoulders. “Giuseppe spotted two men with telephoto lenses positioned across the street this morning.”

“And?”

“Giuseppe convinced them to find a new hobby. Permanently.”

Good. Bodies send clearer messages than words in our world, and subtlety won’t protect us from the army Nico is assembling. “Double the perimeter guards and install motion sensors along the back wall. Anyone who gets within fifty feet of this property without permission becomes fertilizer for Maria’s garden.”

“Already done. What about the woman?”

The woman. As if Aleta has become nothing more than a chess piece in a game where the stakes keep rising. I suppose she technically is. “What about her?”

“She’s getting stronger, asking more questions. How long before she starts demanding answers you’re not prepared to give?”

My jaw clenches at the accuracy of his observation. Yesterday’s memory episode in the bedroom left her more confused than convinced, and her instincts are keener than I anticipated. “I’m handling it.”

“Are you? Because from where I sit, it looks like she’s handling you.”

“Watch your tone, Matteo.”

“Someone has to tell you the truth, boss. You stayed in that chair all night when we brought her here, and you’ve been checking on her every few hours since. The men are noticing.”

The implication stings because it holds too much truth. When Aleta looks at me with those trusting blue eyes, something inside my chest constricts in ways that have nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with the woman I once loved beyond reason.

“My feelings don’t change the plan.”

“Don’t they? Yesterday you sent for Giuseppe to increase her medication after she complained about headaches. Last week you had Maria prepare her favorite foods based on what you remembered from Italy. These aren’t the actions of a man using someone for revenge.”

“They’re the actions of a man who understands that comfortable prisoners are cooperative prisoners. Aleta’s trust is essential to maintaining the deception.”

“And when her memory returns? When she discovers everything you’ve done?”

Aleta remembers everything—our real relationship, her brother’s lies, my elaborate deception—what then? Will she understand that I did this for us, to expose the truth Nico has hidden? Or will she see only another betrayal in a lifetime of manipulation?

“We’ll handle that situation when it arises.”

“If it arises. Moretti says her memory might never fully return.”

“That would be best cast scenario then, wouldn’t it? Fow now, we proceed as planned.” I gather the security photographs and slide them into a manila folder. “Nico gets desperate, makes mistakes, reveals his true nature. Aleta sees him for what he really is.”

“And if she doesn’t? If she chooses her brother over you when all is said and done?”

My hands still on the folder’s edge. The possibility that Aleta might forgive Nico’s manipulation while condemning mine has haunted every quiet moment since I brought her here. Family loyalty runs deeper than romantic love, especially in our world where blood determines everything.

“Then at least she’ll know the truth about who destroyed our future, and her brother will have learned a valuable lesson. You don’t fuck with Elio Castellano/”

Before Matteo can respond, screaming erupts from the bedroom above. Aleta’s voice, raw with terror, cuts through the mansion’s silence like a blade through flesh. My chair crashes to the floor as I bolt from the study and take the marble stairs three at a time.

“No, please, don’t—” Her cries grow more desperate as I burst through the bedroom door.

Aleta thrashes against the silk sheets, trapped in a nightmare that contorts her face with anguish. Sweat dampens her hair, and her hands claw at invisible threats while Italian words pour from her lips in a torrent of fear.

“Aleta.” I approach the bed slowly to avoid startling her further. “You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

“They’re coming,” she gasps without opening her eyes. “The men in black suits. They have guns, and they’re looking for me.”

“No one is coming for you.” I hover my hands over her shoulders, uncertain whether touching her will help or make things worse. “You’re in my house, in our bed. You’re safe.”

“Elio?” Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and wild with residual terror. “Oh God, it felt so real.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“Men breaking down doors, searching every room. They knew my name and my face.” She struggles to sit up, and her nightgown sticks to her sweat-dampened skin. “One of them had a scar across his cheek, and when he smiled, his teeth were gold.”

My blood runs cold. She’s describing Tommy Marconi, one of Nico’s most brutal enforcers. The scar came from a knife fight ten years ago, and the gold teeth are his trademark. Somewhere, deep in her subconscious, she must remember him.

“It was just a nightmare brought on by stress and trauma,” I tell her. “Your mind is processing the attack and creating fears that feel real but aren’t.”

“But it was so vivid. The way he looked at me, like I was prey.” Aleta’s voice trembles, and tears track down her cheeks. “I was hiding in a closet, and I could hear them getting closer.”

“You’re safe here.” I sit on the bed’s edge, and the mattress dips under my weight. “My security is the best money can buy. No one can reach you.”

“Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep again?” Her request comes out small and vulnerable, and it strips away years of carefully constructed walls.

“Of course.”

She scoots over to make room, and I lie beside her on the silk sheets that still hold the warmth of her body. When she curls against my chest like a frightened child seeking protection, something fundamental inside me cracks.

This isn’t the woman I’m supposed to be using for revenge. This is Aleta—broken, trusting, dependent on me for safety in a world that makes no sense to her damaged mind. My arms encircle her automatically, and she sighs against my throat with relief that makes my chest ache.

“Thank you,” she whispers against my skin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her gratitude feels like acid in my veins. Here she lies in my arms, grateful for protection from nightmares I’ve helped create by stealing her away from everything familiar. My plan requires her dependence and demands her trust, but every moment of vulnerability erodes the foundation of hatred I’ve built my revenge upon.

“Sleep now,” I mumble against her hair. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The promise comes out automatically, and I mean every word despite the contradiction it represents. How can I protect her from threats while simultaneously being the greatest threat she faces?