Chapter 4: The Price of Protection

**Stefano’s POV**

I heard it before I touched the doorknob — a sound that made my chest tighten and slowed my steps.

A woman’s voice echoed through the door, and I could feel her anger in every word she spoke before I saw her face.

Elena Castellano.

I pushed the door open, and her eyes locked on mine. She paused for a second, and I noticed the bruises, purple and yellow, on her temple, cheekbone, and shoulder.

My stomach twisted at the sight.

The room became silent, almost too quiet, and I could hear her breathing as her anger radiated outward.

Armando stood stiffly behind the desk, his jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack a tooth.

“Elena,” he said, maintaining his composure. “This is Stefano Bernardo.”

Her eyes widened instantly. "Bullshit!" she spat out with a fierce look on her face.

“Elena!” her father warned, his voice firm.

She shook her head and took a step back. "You can't make me do this," her voice wavered, but she held back her tears.

She ran out of the room, passing me quickly, and I caught a faint scent of vanilla with a touch of something sharp, possibly citrus on her skin.

"Elena!” Armando called after her, but she was already gone, with the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.

Elario slipped out after her, muttering something about giving her space, and suddenly it was just me and Armando.

He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging like the weight of his family was pressing down on him. "Forgive her, Stefano. She’s been through a lot. The accident, the stress… she’s still recovering."

“She’s strong," I said without looking at him, still staring at the door where she had disappeared. 

“She’ll come around once she understands what’s at stake.” Armando promised looking.almost relieved at what I said. 

“I will let her, but you should arrange a proper meeting. I’d like to get to know my future wife… properly.”

“Of course,” he murmured.

As I prepared to leave, I caught sight of her through the window, pacing back and forth near the garden with her hair wild around her face, her brother trailing after her, trying to calm her down but not getting anywhere.

She looked like chaos dressed in silk and defiance.

And for reasons I didn’t want to admit, I couldn’t look away.

*****

I barely took two steps into the club before a body hit the floor.

Raffaele Lorusso stood at the bar, casually wiping blood from his knuckles with a napkin, as if he had only spilled a drink rather than taken a life.

"That one talked too much," Raffaele drawled. He tossed the napkin onto the body, his attention shifting to me.

His green eyes hardly blinked, always alert. His hair was a deep red under the dim lights, slicked back but messy near a noticeable scar that ran from his cheekbone to his jaw, as if someone had intentionally carved it there.

He looked like danger in human form.

“Sit, Bernardo,” he said.

I sat down. The air in the club felt heavy, thick with smoke, gunpowder, and whiskey, while two men quietly dragged the body away.

Raffaele leaned on the table, watching me intently with curiosity in his eyes. "So," he said softly while lighting a cigarette, "the plan, tell me it’s progressing."

“It is, and faster than we expected.”

His lips curled a little, “Good. I have little patience for delays.”

I poured myself a drink, feeling the liquor burn my throat. "Because of your phrase, my men used," I finally said. "Armando now believes your people targeted his daughter. He sees it as a warning from the Lorusso clan."

Raffaele exhaled smoke through his nose, amused. “So he blames me.”

“He does. And because of that, he came to me.” I paused and met his gaze. “He asked for my protection.”

Raffaele chuckled, “He came to you to hide from me? That’s poetic.”

“It’s strategic,” I replied, “Exactly what we wanted. He sees me as an ally. He doesn’t know I was the one behind the attack.”

Raffaele pressed, "And what about the girl?"

“She has been discharged from the hospital,” I said. “She’s the key; Armando’s already desperate to keep her safe. He’ll do anything now to protect her; that’s our advantage in this situation.”

Raffaele studied me for a while. “So what’s next?”

"Marriage," the word tasting bitter in my mouth. "It’s already in motion. Armando thinks marrying me is the only way to keep her safe. Four weeks from now, we’ll have the wedding, and after that, the real plan starts. I’ll take everything from him — his assets, his deals, even his name."

Raffaele smiled again, slow and cruel. “And my share?”

“As agreed,” I said. “You will receive half of Castellano’s assets. After that, you’ll oversee his docks, supply routes, and the northern territories.”

He flicked ash into the tray and looked at me with an expression that nearly resembled respect.

​"I like you, Bernardo." He took a long sip from his drink. "You’re not soft like your father.”

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit, but I kept my face blank. "You didn’t really know my father."

"I was aware of him," Raffaele said, his voice softening. "Everyone was. But those who smile too much die too young."

My jaw tightened. “He trusted the wrong person.”

"Castellano," Raffaele sneered, the name dripping with disdain. "Now you’re set to make him pay for what he did, step by step. I can live with that."

A knot of doubt twisted in my stomach, urging me to walk away while I still could. I stared into my glass, attempting to drown the worry, but each time I remembered what Armando did to my father, the fear faded, leaving only the determination to see this through.

Raffaele stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then fixed his gaze on me. "Keep me updated," he said. "If Armando starts sniffing around, I’ll feed him a trail that keeps him in the dark. But if this goes wrong…" He glanced deliberately at the widening pool of blood under the table where the dead body had been. "You will clean up your own mess."

I stood, buttoning my jacket, my movements steady and controlled. “I always do.”

He smiled his wolfish smile again. "Good. Then go make the princess fall in love with her cage," he ordered.

Leaving the club, the memory of my father’s murder hit me all over again.

Four years ago, I saw Armando pull the trigger. They were friends, or at least that’s what everyone thought, but Armando exploited his trust because of greed.

He thought he got away with killing Salvatore Bernardo, believing no one saw, but he never knew I was there. 

I still hear the sound of my father’s body hitting the floor.

I have carried that memory with me, patiently waiting for my chance at revenge.

At last, the moment has finally arrived.

​