Chapter 4: Alessandro

The crying hit me the moment I walked through the front door of my penthouse.

Not just fussing or whimpering—full-blown, heart-wrenching sobs that made my chest tighten with familiar panic. Aria had been crying more and more lately, especially in the evenings, and nothing Mrs. Ciro or I did seemed to help.

"Where is she?" I called out, dropping my blood-stained jacket on the marble foyer table.

"Nursery, sir." Mrs. Ciro appeared at the top of the stairs, looking frazzled. Her gray hair had escaped its usual neat bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. "She won't eat. Won't sleep. I've tried everything."

I took the stairs three at a time, my heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. In the six months since Isabella's death, this was the part of parenthood that terrified me most—the complete helplessness when my daughter was in distress.

The nursery was a masterpiece of soft pastels and expensive furniture. Isabella had spent months designing it, choosing every detail with the kind of care that had made me fall in love with her. Now it felt like a beautiful tomb, filled with memories of dreams that would never come true.

Aria was in her crib, tiny fists waving as she screamed, her face red and tear-stained. The sound cut through me like a knife.

"Hey, principessa," I said softly, reaching down to lift her. "What's wrong?"

She felt impossibly small in my arms, so fragile that I was always afraid I might break her. Her crying intensified, and I felt that familiar surge of inadequacy. Isabella would have known what to do. She'd had that natural maternal instinct, that gentle touch that could soothe anyone.

I had blood on my hands literally and figuratively and a six-month-old who needed tenderness I wasn't sure I possessed.

"Maybe she's sick?" Mrs. Ciro suggested from the doorway. "Should I call Dr. Martinez?"

"She's not sick." The pediatrician had seen her just last week. "She's..." I struggled for the words. How did you explain to an elderly housekeeper that your daughter seemed to sense the darkness that surrounded her father? That even at six months old, she somehow knew she was being raised by a monster?

My phone rang. Marco's name flashed across the screen.

"Not now," I answered, bouncing Aria gently as she continued to cry.

"Boss, we have a problem. Someone's been asking questions about the Webb situation. And there's been movement on the docks—looks like the Morettis are making a play for our territory."

The Morettis. Our rivals who'd been testing boundaries ever since they heard about Isabella's death, assumed grief had made me weak.

They were about to learn how wrong they were.

"Handle the docks. Use whatever force necessary." Aria's crying was making it hard to think. "And double security on all our assets."

"What about Webb's girlfriend? The interview is scheduled for tomorrow."

I looked down at my daughter, her tiny face scrunched up in misery, and made a decision that went against every instinct I'd developed in twenty years of running this family.

"Keep the appointment. But have her background checked again. Everything. Bank records, phone calls, and associates. I want to know what color underwear she prefers."

"Boss—"

"She stays under surveillance from the moment she leaves her house until she gets back. And Marco? If there's even a hint that she's involved in whatever Webb is doing, eliminate the problem before it reaches my door."

"Understood."

I hung up and looked down at Aria, who had finally quieted to soft hiccups. Her dark eyes so much like Isabella's stared up at me with the kind of trust that made my chest ache. She didn't know that her father was a killer. Didn't know that the hands holding her had taken lives just hours ago.

All she knew was that I was supposed to protect her, love her, and give her the world.

And I was failing at all of it.

"Sir?" Mrs. Ciro's voice was gentle. "Perhaps it would help if she had someone younger. Someone who could give her more attention. The nanny position—"

"I know." I pressed a soft kiss to Aria's forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent that was the only thing that could calm the storm inside me. "Tomorrow."

But as I held my daughter in the nursery her mother had designed, I couldn't shake the feeling that bringing a stranger into our world, especially one connected to Marcus Webb was going to change everything.

The question was whether it would save us or destroy us.

Outside, the city glittered with lights and possibilities. But in the penthouse that had become both fortress and prison, I held the only person who mattered and tried not to think about what I'd do if she were taken from me too.

Because if anyone hurt my daughter, they'd discover that Alessandro De Luca's reputation for ruthlessness was just the beginning of what I was capable of.

And tomorrow, Vanessa Rodriguez was walking into the center of my world, carrying secrets that could either heal us or tear us apart.

The game was about to begin.