Chapter 13: Victoria's Arrival

The tablet clattered against the bedside table as I snatched it from Marcus’s hand. The screen glowed in the dim room, displaying a live feed of a massive, underground boardroom.

The five heads of the most powerful crime families in the country were seated around a long mahogany table. And standing at the head of it, wearing a black dress and a look of pure, manufactured grief, was Victoria.

“She’s claiming I murdered you,” I whispered, my voice hollow.

“She’s brilliant,” Enzo rasped, leaning heavily against the pillows. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, but his dark eyes were burning with a lethal, calculating fury. “She knows if she strikes now, while I’m bleeding out in a bunker, the families will believe her. She’s taking the empire.”

“You can’t go to this summit, Enzo,” Marcus said, his voice tight with anxiety. “You’re barely holding on. If they see you weak, they’ll tear you apart.”

“If I don’t go, she wins,” Enzo growled, shoving the blankets off his legs. He swung his feet to the floor, his jaw clenching as a wave of agony visibly rolled through him.

I watched him try to stand. He made it half an inch before his knees buckled. I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around his waist to catch him. The moment my skin touched his, the violent tremors shaking his frame eased, but the physical weakness remained.

“You’re going to tear your stitches,” I whispered, the tears burning my eyes again. I felt so helpless, holding the weight of a man who was supposed to be the most powerful person in the world.

“I don’t care,” he gritted out, his hand gripping my shoulder so tightly it bruised. “I need my suit, Marcus. And I need a car. Now.”

Marcus looked at me, a silent plea for help.

I looked up at Enzo. The desperation in his eyes was a living thing. He wasn’t just fighting for his empire; he was fighting to keep me safe. If the families believed Victoria, they would put a bounty on my head.

“I’ll help you,” I said softly.

Enzo’s eyes snapped to mine. For a moment, the mask of the Godfather slipped, and I saw the raw, terrified man underneath. “Sarah…”

“We do this together,” I said, my voice firm. I turned to Marcus. “Get the suit. And a private car. We need to move in ten minutes.”

Marcus nodded and rushed out of the room.

I turned back to Enzo. I helped him stand, dragging his arm over my shoulder. He leaned on me completely, his breathing ragged and labored. I walked him over to a small bathroom and helped him wash the blood from his face and chest, careful not to get the bandages wet.

When Marcus returned with a crisp black suit, I helped Enzo into it. I buttoned his shirt, hiding the thick white bandages wrapping his ribs. I tied his tie, looking up into his dark, unreadable eyes.

“You look like a Godfather,” I whispered.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my forehead. “And you,” he murmured against my skin, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on my lower back, “look like my Queen.”

The summit was held in the back of a high-end cigar lounge, a neutral territory owned by an independent syndicate.

We walked in through the back doors, flanked by Marcus and four of Enzo’s deadliest guards. Enzo walked tall, his shoulders squared, his face a mask of cold, lethal arrogance. No one could see the way his hand was clamped around my waist, supporting his weight, or the way his fingers dug into my hip to keep from shaking.

As the heavy doors swung open, the room went dead silent.

Victoria, who had been mid-sentence, froze. Her face drained of color, her eyes widening in absolute, comical shock.

Enzo guided me to the head of the table. He didn't sit; he stood behind his chair, pulling me against his side.

“You were saying, Victoria?” Enzo asked, his voice low and vibrating with a terrifying calm.

“Enzo,” Victoria breathed, her eyes darting frantically to the heads of the families. “You’re... you’re alive.”

“Disappointed?” Enzo asked coldly.

“I told you!” Victoria suddenly shrieked, pointing a trembling, bandaged finger at me. “I told you she tried to kill him! She’s a Vance! She shot him! She blew up the estate!”

A low murmur rippled through the heads of the families. A heavy-set man on the left, Don Abramo, stood up, his eyes dark with suspicion.

“Godfather,” Abramo said, his voice rough. “We were told the Vance girl turned on you. That she was working with the Russians.”

Enzo laughed. It was a dark, chilling sound that echoed off the walls.

“Victoria,” Enzo said, his voice soft and deadly. “Tell them what you told me when you had a gun to my head. Tell them how you planted the bomb in the cemetery.”

Victoria’s face twitched. “He’s lying! He’s been compromised by her! She’s brainwashed him!”

“I think,” Enzo said, his eyes scanning the room, “that Victoria Hale is a traitor. And a dead woman walking.”

“Prove it!” Victoria shrieked, her composure cracking.

Before Enzo could answer, a sharp click echoed through the room.

Don Abramo had drawn his gun. He pointed it directly at my chest.

“The girl dies,” Abramo said flatly. “We can’t trust a Vance. And if you defend her, Godfather, we’ll know you’ve lost your edge.”

Enzo tensed. I could feel the agonizing tremor run through his body. If he moved too fast, he would collapse. If he didn't move, Abramo would shoot me.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at the gun, then up at Enzo. I saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in his eyes. He was a second away from throwing himself in front of me again, ready to die for me.

I couldn't let him.

I slowly pulled away from Enzo’s grasp. The moment my skin left his, I saw him grit his teeth, his hand slamming down on the back of his chair to keep from falling.

I stepped out from behind the chair, walking directly into the line of fire.

“Mrs. Vitale,” Abramo warned, his grip on the gun tightening.

“I am not a Vance,” I said, my voice clear and steady, echoing in the silent room. I looked directly at Abramo, my chin lifted. “I am a Vitale. And if you shoot me, Abramo, you’re not just shooting the wife of the Godfather. You’re shooting the only thing keeping him sane.”

Abramo’s eyes flickered to Enzo, seeing the trembling hands and the pale face.

“If you kill me,” I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper, “he will slaughter your entire bloodline. Every man, woman, and child who bears the name Abramo will be erased from this earth. So I suggest you put the gun down.”

The silence was deafening.

Abramo stared at me, his eyes wide. He looked at Enzo, then back at me. Slowly, his hand trembling, he lowered the gun.

I turned my back on him, walking back to Enzo. I slid my hand back into his, the instant relief flooding his features.

I looked at Victoria, who was staring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Now,” I said, my voice cold. “Where is the ledger, Victoria? And where is my father?”