He Lied, So I Took Back Everything

I had been waiting for Nico at Blackwater Docks for six hours. By the time someone finally came for me, my shoulder was out of its socket and my palm needed seven stitches. Nico was at the council with my best friend.

That morning, I'd slipped his father's old pin into my coat. I'd planned to give it to him the next day.

Six years ago, Nico had been accused of leaking the Berlandi family's financial records. The evidence against him looked airtight. I refused to believe it. I went through years of my father's accounts until one suspicious transfer caught my eye. Someone had changed the date. That was the break I needed. I proved Nico had been framed. But clearing his name wasn't enough. The Berlandi family refused to give him back his job. So I mortgaged the restaurant my mother had left me and risked everything I had to help Nico start over. Six years later, he was running Saint Vito's port.

His father had given me the pin shortly before he died.

"Give it back to him when he's ready," he'd told me. He said Nico was proud. He hated owing anyone, and he hated being seen at his weakest even more. For years, I used that to explain everything. I thought silence didn't mean the debt had been forgotten.

For six years, Nico had given me plenty of reasons to believe he loved me. When my father died, he spent three days outside my house, turning away every creditor who came after me. He took over Saint Vito three years ago, but we never went more than a month without seeing each other. No matter how busy he was, he always arranged my clearance and met me at the pier himself.

Six years together. Three cities apart. And finally, we were supposed to stop hiding. Nico had promised that after the council, he would introduce me as his wife and never part for the rest of our lives.

"No more living apart," he told me through the phone. "I'll come to Blackwater Docks and get you myself."

At five that afternoon, I arrived at Pier Six.

Blackwater Docks belonged to the Morano family. Once curfew started, outsiders needed clearance to be there. Anyone caught without it could be detained and questioned. Nico knew that. He was supposed to get me through the checkpoint, so I hadn't arranged a backup.

At five thirty, fog rolled in from the water. At six, the sun went down. At seven, the gates started closing. I checked my phone. Nothing. I'd sent three messages.

First message, "I'm here." Second message, "Curfew starts early tonight. Where are you?" The third message was my location. No answer. I called Nico's deputy.

He told me the council had sealed all communications for the night, and that before Nico went in, his only order was that everyone stay at their posts. Not a word about Blackwater Docks.

He asked, "Want me to apply for the clearance now?"

I looked at the gatehouse. The gates were already closing. Getting a last-minute clearance required approval from two bosses, and with curfew underway, it could take hours. Worse, if Nico was already on his way, sending another crew could cause a confrontation at the Morano checkpoint.

"Try him again. See if he's left." I hung up.

Even then, I kept making excuses for Nico. Maybe something had gone wrong at the council. Maybe his don wouldn't let him leave. Maybe he'd been delayed on the road. Nico rarely broke a promise. I told myself to wait a little longer.

Then the curfew bell rang across the docks. I stopped waiting and made a distress call.

The first one went through. By the fourth, someone had seen it. Seconds later, the connection was cut. I kept trying. Twelve distress calls. Not one answer.

Boots struck the walkway. Morano guards rounded the warehouse, sweeping the pier with flashlights.

My hand went to my gun, then stopped. I was on Morano territory the night before the council. If I opened fire, the Berlandi family would be blamed, and it could turn into a war.

I shut off the emergency light and ducked into an abandoned maintenance passage.

The wooden stairs were black with rot from years of seawater. The third step snapped beneath me. I crashed onto the landing below. My shoulder popped out on impact, and my vision went black. My palm came down on a jagged piece of rusty metal, slicing it open. Blood ran between my fingers and soaked through my sleeve.

I gritted my teeth, held my dislocated arm tight against my chest, and switched the distress light back on. Footsteps drew closer. A flashlight swept toward the mouth of the passage.

"Someone in there?"

I pressed my bleeding palm against the inside of my coat and forced myself to breathe evenly. On any normal night, I could have dropped my family name and walked away. Tonight, that would only make things worse. The Morano family and the Berlandi family had just fought over control of a warehouse near the docks. If anyone important from either family was caught sneaking around here after dark, it could be taken as a threat.

The footsteps stopped less than thirty feet away. My fingers closed around the gun at my hip. Then I slowly let go. I could shoot my way out, but one gunshot would destroy tomorrow's negotiations. Even now, after everything, I was still protecting Nico's place at the council.

I was about to step out and let them take me when a bright light swept across the water. A rescue boat flying neutral colors pulled up beside the dock. The captain jumped onto the pier. One look at my shoulder, my bloody hand, and the armed patrol closing in told him everything. He rushed over and secured a rescue harness around my waist.

"No clearance?"

"None."

"Guarantor?"

"Not coming."

He didn't ask anything else. He turned to his crew. "Get her aboard. I'll deal with the paperwork."

Much later, I learned his name was Matteo Ruiz. He had never seen me before that night. He was a complete stranger who saw my distress signal and chose to help, even though he knew the port authorities would make his life hell for taking an unidentified woman aboard. Meanwhile, the man who had promised to come for me had left me bleeding on the docks all night.

The rescue boat had barely pulled away when the radio crackled. A Morano patrol demanded to know why Matteo had taken an unidentified woman from the restricted docks. Matteo kept one hand pressed firmly over my bleeding palm while lifting the radio with the other. He gave them his boat number.

"She sent a distress call. Rescue comes first. If you have a problem with that, come find me at the neutral office tomorrow."

"She could be working for the Berlandi family," the patrol officer argued.

"Right now, she's an injured woman," Matteo fired back before cutting the channel.

I'd dealt with enough family disputes to know exactly what he'd just risked. Best case, his boat would be tied up for hours while the port guards searched every inch of it. Worst case, he'd lose his night docking permit for a week.

"You could hand me over to them at the checkpoint," I reminded him.

"Let's get that shoulder back where it belongs first. After that, you can decide where you want to go." His eyes shifted toward the distress terminal, still blinking beside me. "The man who was supposed to come didn't. Doesn't mean the rest of us get to leave you there."

He wasn't even defending me. He was only stating the obvious, yet my chest tightened all the same. Humiliation washed over me in waves.

The doctor popped my shoulder back into place. Pain tore down my arm, and sweat soaked my back. The gash across my palm needed seven stitches. The nurse had barely finished wrapping my hand when Nico finally video-called me.

Bianca appeared on the screen first. She wore a silver-gray gown and sat in a tall chair in the council hall. A black rose pin gleamed on her chest. My pin.

I stared at it for a while. "Where's Nico?"

Bianca touched the pin as if she'd only just remembered she was wearing it.

"He's talking to Don Berlandi. Alessia, don't be mad. They moved the council meeting up. This is my first time here. I don't know anyone." She turned the phone camera slightly. Then I saw Bianca was sitting in my seat, the one that belonged to Nico's wife.

By the old families' rules, the seat at a senior member's right hand belonged to the partner he trusted most—the one expected to stand beside him through every alliance, every feud, and every consequence.

"Nico was going to pick you up." Bianca lowered her voice. "I begged him to stay. It would've been awkward to sit here alone when I didn't know anyone. You're always so good at handling things yourself. I didn't think you'd mind."

The anesthetic was starting to wear off. My stitched palm throbbed with every heartbeat.

"Did you shut off my distress call?"

Bianca's face stiffened. Before she could answer, Nico reached over and took the phone. He wore a black suit, with the Berlandi silver pin at his collar. It was the same pin I'd fought to protect for him six years ago. His eyes fell on the brace around my shoulder, and his expression changed.

"You're hurt?"

"Dislocated shoulder. Seven stitches in my hand."

"How the hell did that happen? I'll send our doctor right now."

"Nico, you promised you'd come get me."

He was quiet for a moment, and his eyes shifted past the camera to Bianca.

"The council meeting was moved up. It was her first time there. I couldn't leave her alone."

"So you gave her my pin and my seat?"

"She only borrowed them. The photographers already saw her. So did the business partners. I can't take them back now without causing a scene. I'll fix everything after tonight." He was talking fast, as if that were the real problem.

"Do you know I made twelve distress calls?"

"I didn't see them." His brow tightened. "But you're safe now. Alessia, don't make this bigger than it needs to be. I'll come to the clinic later and we'll talk in person."

Ten minutes after the call ended, the photos from the Winter Council appeared on the family network. Nico promised he'd come by the clinic later, so I asked the nurse to delay my dressing change until one in the morning and let me know when he arrived. At two, no car had pulled up outside. At three, the painkillers wore off and the pain woke me. Still nothing from him.

At 4:20, Bianca posted another photo from the council. Nico stood behind her with one hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. Bianca's caption was short. "Thank you for not leaving me alone tonight."

I took a screenshot and saved it beside the logs for all twelve distress calls. It wasn't for revenge. For years, I'd been the one cleaning up everyone else's messes. This time, I didn't want to fix anything. I just wanted a record of exactly what had happened.

In the photo, Bianca sat in the right-hand chair wearing my pin, smiling easily at the camera. The temporary council registry made it clear in black and white: Family representative for Mr. Valenti.

I stared at that line with my fingertip against the cold screen, and I didn't make a single call or ask for an explanation. For six years, whenever Nico had a problem, I dropped everything and handled it. When I fell through that rotten stairwell, I was more worried about starting a war between the two families than about my own injuries.

I had always thought being good at fixing problems was one of my strengths. That night, for the first time, I wondered if I'd been wrong. Maybe somewhere along the way, everyone decided it was my duty.

I opened my contacts and tapped a number I'd ignored for three months. Sofia Carbone answered almost immediately.

My thumb rubbed the back of the phone as I asked, "Is that job in Marseille still open?"