Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

**Alessia**

The lunch was supposed to feel like peace. Instead it felt like standing on the edge of a blade.

I sat between Nonna and Margot, my back straight, watching Nonna’s get food passed around a table. The osso buco smelled incredible, rich, buttery, the kind of thing that would have taste even better if we weren’t eating with a table full of strangers who'd spent five years trying to kill us.

Leonardo was already watching me.

I felt his eyes before mine found them. My body went still without permission. His gaze held something that made my pulse jump in a way I didn't want to understand.

I had a sudden feeling that for my future health, I shouldn't interact with this man.

Then Mira laughed, bright and completely out of place, and I looked away.

"So Alessia," Mira was saying, leaning forward like we were friends, with that smile that didn't quite match her pink everything. The pink nails, the pink jewelry, the pink dress. She looked like she belonged in a gallery opening, not at a lunch where the air was thick with history and blood. "Margot was just telling me you dance. Are you actually good at it?"

The question landed weird. Mira's tone was light, curious, but there was something underneath it. Something that didn't fit with the pink or the brightness. I'd heard Papà say once that Mira was Leonardo's family, that she was adopted by Rafael, Leonardo's papà. But he was an only child. At least, that's what I'd always heard.

"She's excellent," Nonna said before I could answer, pride in her voice. "Very disciplined."

"I'm not perfect," I said quickly, uncomfortable with the attention, with all of them looking at me.

Matteo, Leonardo's cousin and consigliere, grinned and nudged Mira. "Let's not bore her with your questions, yeah?"

Mira rolled her eyes and took a large gulp of wine. There was something between her and Matteo, some kind of understanding, something unspoken. I watched them a second longer than necessary, trying to understand what kind of family this was.

Enzo sat across from me, bored, ready to leave. The irritation radiating off him at having to sit here, at having to breathe the same air as the Mancinis. My cousin hated this. Hated them. Hated Leonardo specifically, though I'd never asked why. It was just there, like the air between us all.

Sofia picked at her food without tasting it. She didn't look at Leonardo once, didn't pretend to care. The engagement meant nothing to her, and she wasn't bothering to hide it. I was grateful she'd shown up instead of staying in her room all day, even if she looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Papà was deep in conversation with Leonardo at the end of the table. Business, territory, weapons. The things that kept men like them in power.

What started as a suggestion about visiting the new territory turned into something else entirely. I watched it happen in front of me like a nightmare unfolding in real time.

"Your territory's gotten soft," The Mancini, Petro, said leaning back slightly, his gaze fixed on Enzo. A grin spread across his face like he’d just told a joke. "Can't even keep your targets anymore."

The table went quiet.

Enzo's jaw clenched. I saw it happen, the way his entire body went very still.

"Easy," Antonio said, putting a hand on Enzo's arm. A warning. My other cousin had always been the reasonable one, the one who thought before he acted. But Enzo wasn't listening. He never listened. That was the thing about Enzo, he was reckless, stubborn in a way that had gotten people killed.

"Difference is," Enzo said, and his voice was quiet, "when I aimed at a Mancini, I didn't miss."

"Oh no, here it goes," Mira mumbled, almost to herself.

The room held its breath.

Something flickered across Petro's face, something dark and personal. And I realized, he'd been close to whoever Enzo had killed. Close enough that it still burned.

Petro's eyes narrowed. "You want to repeat that?"

Enzo leaned forward slightly, resting his arm on the table like he had all the time in the world.

"I can even help your memory," he added, tone mocking now. "What was his name again... Ah, Vito." Enzo's eyes flickered with dark enjoyment.

I looked toward Papà, trying to catch his eye, trying to signal that this was going wrong. But he was absorbed in conversation with Leonardo, still completely focused on whatever business they were discussing.

My papà's elder brother, Salvatore, sat nearby, watching things unfold like he was enjoying a show. Papà's loyal underboss. My uncle. There was something in the way he was watching that made my skin crawl.

"Your family's weak," Petro said, and this time he wasn't joking. This time his hand was already moving toward his waist. "Always have been."

"Enzo, don't…" Antonio reached for him, but my cousin was already moving, already responding to the challenge the way he always did, with blood.

"The only thing weak here is you," Enzo said. "Hiding behind your Don like a coward."

Petro's eyes went red.

Everything stopped.

His hand came up. The gun was suddenly there, pulling me to my feet, dark and real and impossibly cold against my skull.

Not Enzo's.

Mine.

My body forgot how to move. Even breathing felt optional.

My mind went blank. Everything around me erupted at once, Nonna screaming in Italian, my papà ordering commands to his soldiers, chairs scraping back, the sound of guns being drawn. The chaos was immediate and complete.

For a second, just one second, I was eighteen again. I was in that dark room with my heart hammering so hard I thought it would break through my ribs. I was hearing gunfire and screaming and not knowing if I was about to die.

One click.

That's all it would take. I'd never thought it would end like this. Not sitting at a lunch table. Not with a gun pressed against my head like I was nothing. Like my life was just a bargaining chip in whatever game Petro was playing with Enzo.

Time did something strange. It slowed down and sped up at the same time.

Margot was frozen beside me, her hand over her mouth.

And Leonardo…

Leonardo's head turned slowly toward Petro. Toward me. And when his eyes found the gun at my temple, something in his face went absolutely dark.

A darkness that swallowed everything else in the room.

His voice stopped the screaming. Stopped the chaos. 

"Put the gun down, Petro."

Petro hesitated.

Just for a second.

But the gun didn't leave my head and I wasn't afraid of dying anymore.

I was afraid of something worse.