Chapter 6

The Note and the Plan

Livia’s fingers trembled as she tucked Sergio’s crumpled note into her jacket pocket, the paper’s edges biting into her palm. The penthouse’s marble floors gleamed under the chandelier, but the air felt heavy, like a storm brewing. Alessandro’s voice echoed from the study, low and clipped, barking orders to his guards. “Double the perimeter. Russo’s men are sniffing.” Her pulse quickened. The note burned against her chest, a secret she couldn’t share—not yet.

She slipped into the hallway, her heels clicking softly, each step a calculated risk. The guard at the elevator, a hulking man with a scar across his knuckles, eyed her. “Going somewhere, Ms. Rossi?” His tone was polite but laced with suspicion, Alessandro’s orders clinging to every syllable.

“Just the terrace,” Livia said, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. “Need air.” She forced a smile, the kind she’d perfected with Dante—charming, disarming. The guard’s nod was curt, but he stepped aside. Her heart thudded as the elevator doors closed, sealing her in with her plan.

Outside, Milan’s skyline glittered, a maze of lights hiding its underbelly. Livia leaned against the railing, the cold metal grounding her. She unfolded Sergio’s note, the scrawl barely legible under the terrace’s dim glow: Russo’s planning a hit. Docks. Tomorrow. Midnight. Pay me. Her jaw tightened. Sergio, that chain-smoking weasel, was her only leverage against Dante’s world—and Alessandro’s. But trust him? That was a gamble even Dante wouldn’t take.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Dante: You think you’re free? Russo’s coming for you. She deleted it, her thumb hovering over the screen, a flicker of pity for her husband’s desperation snuffed out by resolve. He’d sold her. She owed him nothing.

The terrace door creaked. Livia spun, shoving the note back into her pocket. Alessandro stood there, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, obsidian eyes scanning her. “You’re restless,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the night. He stepped closer, his faint scar catching the light, a reminder of battles she didn’t yet understand.

“Trapped birds usually are,” she shot back, her chin lifting. Her defiance sparked something in his gaze—amusement, maybe respect. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t touch her, but his presence filled the space, heavy as the Milan air.

“You’re not trapped,” he said, leaning against the railing beside her, close enough that she caught the cedarwood scent of his cologne. “But you’re planning something.” His eyes flicked to her pocket, where the note hid. Her breath caught. He missed nothing.

She could lie, play the innocent wife, but Alessandro wasn’t Dante. He saw her—really saw her. “And if I am?” she challenged, her voice low, testing him. Her fingers brushed the note, a lifeline she wasn’t ready to share.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Then I trust you to be smart about it.” His words were sparse, deliberate, like every move he made. He handed her a key, the metal cool against her palm. “Safehouse access. Use it if you need it.”

Livia’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on the key. Freedom, or another cage? “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re not just a trophy,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You’re a player now.” He turned, leaving her alone with the city’s pulse and the weight of his trust.

The next evening, Livia slipped into a dive bar on Milan’s outskirts, the kind of place where cigarette smoke clung to the walls and secrets traded hands faster than cash. Her black coat blended with the shadows, but her auburn hair drew glances from the bar’s rough crowd. She ignored them, her eyes locked on Sergio, slouched in a corner booth, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on an empty glass.

“You’re late,” he hissed as she slid into the booth, his eyes darting to the door. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the tip glowing like a warning. “Russo’s men are everywhere.”

“Then talk fast,” Livia said, her voice cold, her green eyes pinning him. She slid a wad of cash across the table, her movements smooth, practiced. “What’s Russo planning at the docks?”

Sergio’s hand shook as he pocketed the cash, his chain-smoking filling the booth with haze. “Shipment ambush. Midnight. He wants Alessandro’s routes.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “But there’s more. Dante’s in deep—owes Russo millions. He’s desperate, Livia. He’ll sell you again if he gets the chance.”

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her face blank. “Dante’s not my problem anymore.” The lie tasted bitter. She’d loved him once, before his betrayal turned her heart to steel. “What else?”

Sergio hesitated, his fingers twitching. “Russo’s got a mole in Alessandro’s crew. Someone close.” He stubbed out his cigarette, lighting another before the ash settled. “Pay me double next time, or I’m out.”

Livia’s jaw clenched. A mole? Her mind raced—Rosa’s wary glances, the guard’s suspicion, Alessandro’s own men. She slid another stack of cash across. “You’ll get your money when I get proof.” Her voice was ice, but her pulse hammered. She was playing a dangerous game, and Sergio was a shaky bet.

As she stood, her phone vibrated. Another text from Dante: You can’t run from me. She deleted it, her fingers steady now, her pity gone. She was done being his pawn.

Back at the penthouse, Livia paced the living room, the key Alessandro gave her heavy in her pocket. The city’s lights sprawled below, a glittering trap. She’d memorized Sergio’s intel: docks, midnight, ambush. But the mole gnawed at her. Who could betray Alessandro, the man who’d handed her a key instead of a chain?

The door opened, and Alessandro stepped in, his suit rumpled, eyes tired but sharp. “You’re back,” he said, his voice low, searching. He crossed the room, stopping just out of reach, his gaze flicking to her tense shoulders. “What did you find?”

Livia’s breath hitched. She could keep Sergio’s note secret, play it safe, but his trust—the key—changed the game. She pulled the note from her pocket, her fingers steady, and handed it to him. “Russo’s hitting your shipment. Docks. Midnight. And… there’s a mole in your crew.”

His eyes darkened, scanning the note, his jaw tightening. “You got this how?” His tone wasn’t accusing, but it demanded truth.

“A contact,” she said, holding his gaze. “Someone who wants Russo gone as much as you do.” She didn’t name Sergio—not yet. Trust was a two-way street, and she wasn’t ready to show all her cards.

Alessandro folded the note, his movements deliberate. “You could’ve kept this from me.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Why didn’t you?”

Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look away. “Because I’m not Dante,” she said, her voice fierce. “I don’t betray people who trust me.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with unspoken promises. Then he nodded, a single, sharp movement. “We hit the docks first. Together.” His hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch that sent heat through her veins. “Get some rest, Livia. Tomorrow, we play to win.”

As he walked away, Livia clutched the key, her resolve hardening. Russo, Dante, the mole—they’d all underestimated her. But Alessandro hadn’t. And that, she realized, her pulse racing under Milan’s watchful lights, was the most dangerous move of all.