Chapter 5

Chapter 2

**Leonardo**

Peace was never a word my father respected. Rafael Mancini believed in taking until there was nothing left, in breaking things simply because he could, in pushing until the other side begged for mercy.

For years, that approach worked. Until it didn’t.

Five years of bloodshed blurred into one long, pointless cycle. Territory lost, reclaimed, and lost again. Men dying for reasons that stopped making sense long before the war should have ended. And through all of it, nothing truly changed.

That was the problem.

Wars didn’t last that long without purpose. Not unless someone was keeping them alive, feeding them, using the chaos to hide something deeper.

My papà either never saw it, or he saw it too late. The bullet that killed him might have been the only answer he ever got.

War is only useful when it gives you something. This one had stopped giving a long time ago.

So I shifted it.

Not by ending it…but by changing how it was played.

Giovanni understood that. That was why he agreed.

Marriage wasn’t about tradition. It was leverage. Access. Control disguised as unity.

The car door shut behind me, sealing off the noise of the city as Matteo slid into the driver’s seat. Luca took the front, while I settled in the back, the movement of the car pulling us into the night.

The cufflink was already in my palm.

S.R. engraved in gold on it. Catching the neon as we moved. But it wasn’t just the cufflink anymore, it was that silver locket.

I had seen it eight years ago, just for a second, catching light in the darkness as I pulled her out. That single detail had stayed with me longer than it should have. The way it rested against her skin. The way her hand had held onto it even in panic.

And now she was still wearing it, unchanged.

Like nothing had moved on.

Matteo glanced in the rearview, grinning like a man who’d won a bet he shouldn’t have made.

“Told you it’d be a bloodbath,” he said. “You owe me dinner. That osso buco looked incredible and I didn’t get to finish it because someone…” his eyes met mine in the mirror, “…decided to redecorate the dining room.”

“Petro chose his fate,” I said, not looking up from the gold between my fingers

“Petro was an idiot,” Matteo agreed easily, steering through traffic with the casual recklessness of a man who’d never feared death. “But you…” He caught my eye again. “You’ve been off since we got here.”

I glanced at him. “I’m not off.”

“You are,” he said, then turned to Luca. “Tell him.”

Luca didn’t turn, his gaze fixed ahead, but there was a faint shift at the corner of his mouth. “You were distracted.”

“Exactly,” Matteo said, satisfied. “And you don’t get distracted. Not over business.”

“Nothing changed,” I said.

Matteo let out a quiet laugh, taking a turn too quickly. “Your expression did. Twelve years, Leon, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her.”

The name hung there. I felt Luca’s eyes on me.

“What was her name?” Matteo pressed. “The older one.”

I turned the cufflink between my fingers. “Alessia.”

The name came out softer than I intended.

Matteo’s grin widened. “Alessia. Pretty name. Pretty face. Pretty terrifying glare. So what’s the story? You know her?”

Luca shifted slightly in his seat. Not enough to draw attention. Enough to listen closer.

“No.”

But the lie felt thin.

Matteo wasn’t buying it either. That much was obvious. His grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. “Then why do you look at her like she’s a puzzle you’ve been trying to solve?”

I didn’t answer. I turned the cufflink slowly, feeling its edges bite into my palm.

“So it’s her,” Luca said quietly.

The car went silent. Even Matteo stopped talking.

I didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“The girl from eight years ago?” Luca asked.

Matteo’s head whipped toward him. “What girl from eight years ago?”

“The warehouse,” Luca said calmly. “I wasn’t there, but I know enough.”

Matteo glanced between us, trying to piece it together. “You’re both talking like I missed something important.”

“You did,” I said.

He exhaled slowly. “Alright then. Fill me in.”

“She was connected to something eight years ago,” I said. “I didn’t know who she was then.”

“And now you do,” Matteo finished.

“Yes.” 

That was enough. For now.

Luca shifted slightly. “She’s Giovanni’s daughter. That alone makes her complicated. If you involve her—”

“I’m not involving her,” I said.

I looked up then, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“She’s useful,” I said. It was easier to think of it that way. 

Matteo let out a low whistle. “Cold.”

“It’s necessary.”

“For you, same thing.” Matteo’s tone changed slightly after that, less amused. “Just… be careful, yeah? Giovanni looked like a man who’d burn the world down for his daughter. And you don’t want that kind of war.”

I didn’t respond, my attention returned to the cufflink, to the initials.

To the connection that hadn’t made sense then, and still didn’t now.

“She doesn’t know me,” I said.

“And?” Matteo asked.

I closed my fist around the gold.

“Soon she will.”

The car went quiet.

Giovanni had said Sofia was the intended bride. The logical choice. The safe choice. But he’d also said something else—something I’d filed away without examining until now.

Alessia is off the table.

Why?

She was older. Unmarried. Yet Giovanni had dismissed her without explanation, like she was already promised elsewhere. Or damaged goods. Or like there was something about her that made her unsuitable for a man like me.

I didn’t like not knowing.

I didn’t like that Giovanni had decided for me before I’d even seen her.

And I especially didn’t like that the daughter he was hiding was the one I couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Luca,” I said, my voice flat.

He turned slightly. Watching the road, always watching. But listening.

“Find out why Alessia isn’t eligible for marriage.”

Luca’s eyes met mine in the mirror.“You think there’s something there?”

“I think Giovanni was too quick to dismiss her.” I turned the cufflink between my fingers. “I think there’s a reason he wants Sofia instead.”

Luca nodded once. “I’ll find out.”

“Quietly,” I added.

“Always.”

Giovanni thought he could hide her from me. If he thought she was off the table…

He would’ve made sure I wasn’t interested.