Chapter 2

The peace of the De Rossi estate shattered at noon.

Alessia was halfway up the grand staircase, polishing the mahogany railing , when the doors of Antonio’s study flew open hard enough to strike the walls.

Antonio stepped into the hall with three senior capos behind him. His jaw was locked, his pale grey eyes were cold, and a satellite phone was pressed against his ear. “How many?” he demanded.

Alessia’s hand stopped moving.

Antonio listened, his brows knitting. “How many, d*mn it?” A pause, then his expression changed. “All twelve? In broad daylight?”

The hallway went still. Elena appeared from the drawing room, followed by Bianca . “Antonio, darling, what happened?”

He lowered the phone, silent for several seconds as he looked toward the windows. “Chicago is closed. The Bianchi family is finished.”

“What do you mean?” Elena asked.

“Cassian wiped out their entire leadership this afternoon.”

Alessia’s fingers tightened around her cloth. Cassian.

Elena recovers first. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

Antonio turned toward her. “He didn’t just kill them. Duncan Bianchi’s brother was having lunch in a restaurant packed with civilians. Cassian walked in, pulled a gun, put a bullet through his head, and walked back out.”

Elena blinked hard. “He did that himself?”

“He didn’t send anyone.”

Silence followed. Alessia stared at the floor. The guards had told stories about Cassian ever since they moved into the estate — about the men who disappeared after crossing him and the blood he left behind. She had never known how much of it was true. Now she did.

Antonio glanced at his phone. “He’s on his private jet.”

“When will he land?” Elena asked.

“Three hours.” Antonio looked toward his waiting capos. “Double the security. Check every entrance. I want the gates watched from now until he leaves again.” When the men nodded, he turned to Elena. “Get the house ready. Cassian tolerates no mistakes.” He walked back into his study, slamming the door.

Then Elena snapped. “Why are you all standing there? Move!”

The estate erupted into a frantic machine. Guards rushed across the courtyard checking weapons, radios, and vehicles. Servants polished furniture that was already spotless, changed linens, and inspected rooms.

Alessia watched from the staircase, fear settling beneath her ribs. Elena was cruel, but Alessia understood her.

Cassian was different — a story, a name whispered behind closed doors, a man who could walk into a crowded restaurant and murder someone without blinking.

Elena paced the hallway, her heels clicking against the marble. She stopped in front of a mirror to adjust her hair and dress.

Bianca sat on a velvet chair nearby, looking pale. “Madre, you’re frightening me.”

Elena turned sharply. “Sit properly. When Cassian walks through those doors, you will smile. You will look composed. You will not speak unless he speaks to you first.”

Bianca swallowed hard. “Is he really that bad?”

“He is Antonio’s heir.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Bianca whispered.

Elena stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“Cassian doesn’t need permission to do anything in this family. If he likes you, you have nothing to fear.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Bianca asked, but Elena didn’t answer.

Alessia stood near a pillar at the back of the hall, hoping to avoid notice, but Elena spotted her. “You. Go to the kitchen. Make sure the drinks are ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alessia whispered.

“And when Cassian arrives, stay out of sight,” Elena pointed a finger at her. “I mean it. No wandering into his space. No standing around looking frightened. No embarrassing me. If he notices you because you can’t follow a simple instruction, you’ll regret it.”

Alessia hurried away. Outside, the sky was darkening with thunder, rain tapping against the windows.

Alessia arranged crystal glasses on a silver tray with trembling fingers, Antonio’s words echoing in her mind. Cassian had killed twelve men in one afternoon, and now he was coming home.

—

At last, the gates opened.

Three black SUVs rolled down the gravel drive in formation, their headlights sweeping across the courtyard.

Every guard straightened, the servants disappeared from the windows, and Antonio came out from his study with Elena and Bianca at his side.

Alessia stayed in the kitchen doorway, holding her tray.

The middle SUV stopped, the rear door opened, and a black leather boot touched the gravel. Then Cassian stepped out.

Alessia’s breath stopped. He was well over six feet, broad-shouldered and lean. His black suit fitted him perfectly, and his dark hair was brushed back, though several strands had fallen loose.

His face was strikingly, coldly handsome — a hard jaw covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and dark tattoos climbing the right side of his neck under his collar.

His eyes were silver, icy and dead, with no warmth or sign of pleasure at returning home. Cassian adjusted the middle button of his jacket.

A senior guard approached. “Welcome home, Boss. The Don is waiting—"

Cassian walked right past him without a word. He didn’t acknowledge Antonio either , climbing the marble stairs with measured, unhurried steps before disappearing inside.

The atmosphere in the house turned poisonous. Alessia lowered her eyes. She had never met Cassian De Rossi before tonight, but she already understood why people feared him.

Dinner was served less than an hour later, but nobody wanted to eat.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs as Cassian entered the dining room. He had showered and changed into a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. An unlit cigarette rested loosely on his lips.

He dragged the seat on Antonio’s right and sat down. Elena sat to Antonio’s left, with Bianca beside her. Alessia had been placed at the far end, near the serving doors.

Rain hammered the tall windows as Antonio cut into his steak. “The Chicago operation was messy. You left bodies in public.”

Cassian continued eating. “The Bianchis are dead,” he replied, his baritone deep and quiet. “The territory belongs to us.”

“You could have handled it with less attention.”

Cassian lifted his gaze. “Results matter. Not your preference for tidy reports, old man.”

A muscle jumped in Antonio’s jaw. Elena quickly smiled. “We’re simply glad you’re home safely, Cassian. We’ve all been looking forward to having you back.”

Cassian didn’t glance at her, continuing to eat in silence. Bianca shifted beside her mother. Alessia kept her eyes on her plate, but curiosity won.

When she raised her eyes slowly, Cassian was already staring at her — his gaze cold, studying her like a predator examining an unfamiliar creature.

Alessia felt every muscle in her body tighten as his eyes moved down over her simple dress and returned to her face.

She dropped her gaze, her hand shaking as she tried to pick up her fork. It struck the china with a tiny metallic sound.

“Terrified little thing” Cassian spoke, his gaze heavy and unwavering.

Alessia froze, bending her head lower, her heart pounding violently.

Elena cleared her throat. “That’s my youngest daughter, Alessia.”

Cassian broke the stare and turned to Elena. “Alessia…” Then, he returned his gaze to Alessia — heavy, possessive, and unhurried. When she finally dared to glance up, his cold silver eyes were still fixed on her with intense interest.

Across the table, Bianca had been watching Cassian since he sat down, adjusting her hair and touching her diamond necklace. Cassian hadn’t acknowledge her existence, yet Alessia caught his attention without trying. The memory irritated her. She cleared her throat.

“Cassian,” Bianca said. The knife stopped, and slowly, Cassian placed it beside his plate without turning to her. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Everyone talks about what you’ve accomplished for the family. Chicago especially. It must take a remarkable man to handle something like that.”

Antonio’s eyes lifted briefly. Elena’s face tightened.

“I’ve always admired men who know how to take control,” Bianca added, her smile widening.

Cassian finally turned his head, his stare so cold that Bianca’s smile faltered. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Bianca shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Who said you could speak to me?” Cassian asked quietly.

Bianca blinked rapidly. "I—"

“Who?”

Bianca glanced helplessly toward Elena who immediately looked away. “I was only welcoming you.”

“Did I ask for a welcome?”

“No,” she breathed.

“Then why are you speaking?”

Bianca’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Cassian leaned back, looking completely relaxed and bored.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Bianca said tightly.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed slightly as he picked up his wineglass. “Don’t speak to me again.”

“What?”

He took a sip, completely ignoring her.

Her pride flared. “But you’re my—" She stopped the moment Cassian lowered the glass, his eyes entirely empty.

Cassian placed the glass down with a soft clink. “If you ever speak to me again without being spoken to first, I’ll have your tongue removed.”

“Cassian,” Antonio finally spoke.

Cassian turned his head slightly, holding his father’s gaze. “Yes?”

Antonio’s eyes hardened. “This is my house.”

Cassian’s mouth curved faintly. “And?”

Elena went pale.

Cassian leaned back. “I’m only here because I have business to settle, old man. And I’d really appreciate it if you stayed off my lane.”

Antonio’s jaw tightened, knowing it was pointless to argue.

Cassian turned back to his meal. “Now eat. All of you.”

Forks moved. Glasses lifted. Bianca’s eyes filled with tears but Elena reached beneath the table and caught Bianca’s wrist. Don’t cry. Don’t provoke him.

At the far end of the table, Alessia remained motionless. Her heart wouldn’t slow down, she had never witnessed anything like that. Cassian’s gaze moved toward her again, and their eyes met.

His attention settled on her with the same disturbing intensity, dropping to her trembling hands before returning to her face. The corner of his mouth moved in a cold, faintly satisfied expression.

When the meal ended, Cassian stood first, his chair scraped against the marble floor. He looked around once — his gaze passing over Antonio. Elena and Bianca — before stopping on Alesia.

He held her gaze for several seconds then turned and walked out of the room without another word.

Only then did Bianca release the breath she’d been holding, a tear slipped down her cheek.

Elena grabbed her wrist. “Stop. you should be grateful he only threatened you. Never provoke that man.”

Antonio remained at the table, staring into his untouched wine, looking troubled. Alessia watched him, feeling a wave of dread.

A man who could make Antonio De Rossi uneasy she needed to stay away from — but something told her Cassian had already decided otherwise.