Chapter 4

Point of view: Matteo

"Say that again," I told the man standing in my study. "Slowly."

"A warehouse on Vitale territory burned two hours ago. Whoever did it left a message painted across the outside wall in Conti Shipping colors, with the name Nico Conti written underneath it in six foot letters. Dante's people found it before ours did."

I felt the room narrow the way it always did when a plan I had not built was already three moves ahead of me. "Do we have anyone who can confirm Nico actually did this."

"No, Don Rossaro. And that is what worries me. It does not look like his work. It looks like someone wanted it to look like his work."

Behind me, I could feel Isabella's presence in the doorway even before I turned around. She had followed despite my instruction to stay, her face pale, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something together by force.

"My brother would not burn down a warehouse," she said. "He is reckless, not stupid. He knows exactly what would happen to him if he attacked Vitale territory."

"I agree with you," I said, which seemed to surprise her more than it should have. "That is precisely why this concerns me."

"Then who," she asked.

I did not answer immediately, because the honest answer was a name I was not ready to say out loud in front of a Conti, not until I understood exactly how deep this went. Dante Vitale did not need a real grievance to start a war. He needed a story he could tell his own men, one that made Rossaro territory look weak and let him move against us without looking like the aggressor. A missing shipment, a Conti debt, a burned warehouse with the right name painted across it in the right colors. It was almost elegant.

I had underestimated him before, more than once, believing that Dante's need to prove himself would make him careless. Standing in my study with a burned warehouse and a stolen name to think about, I understood I had made that mistake again, and that every hour I spent deciding how to respond was an hour he had likely already planned for.

"Salvatore," I said. "Find Nico Conti before Dante's men do. I do not care what it costs or how many favors we spend tonight."

My uncle hesitated, glancing at Isabella with an expression I did not like. "And if we find him and he did do this."

"Then we will deal with that truth when we have it," I said. "Right now we have a rumor dressed up as evidence, and I am not interested in letting Dante Vitale write the story for us."

Salvatore left without further argument, which told me more than his words would have. Whatever he suspected, he was choosing to trust my judgment over his own instincts, at least for tonight.

I turned back to Isabella, who had not moved from the doorway. "You should not have followed me."

"My brother's name is painted across a burning building. You expected me to sit quietly at your table and finish dinner."

"I expected you to trust that I would handle it."

"I do not know you well enough to trust you with anything," she said, and the honesty in it landed harder than an accusation would have. "Three hours ago you were a stranger threatening to take my mother's house. Now you are telling me to trust you with my brother's life."

It was a fair point, and I found I did not have a clean answer for it. "Then trust the fact that finding him alive helps me as much as it helps you. Dante would like nothing more than a war with the Rossaro family tonight, and I am not going to hand him one over a mistake your brother may not have even made."

She studied me for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes. "You said someone wanted it to look like Nico's work. Why."

"Because framing a Conti gives Dante a reason to move against Rossaro territory without provoking us directly. Your family becomes the excuse. My family becomes the target." I stepped closer, keeping my voice low and even, the way I had trained myself to speak when everything underneath it was not calm at all. "If your brother is innocent, someone chose him specifically because he is already drowning in debt he cannot explain. That makes him easy to blame and easy to disappear."

The color drained further from her face. "You think Dante already has him."

"I think we need to find out before he does anything permanent with whatever answer he gets."

For a moment neither of us said anything. The distance between us had narrowed without either of us choosing it, close enough that I could see exactly how hard she was working to hold herself together, chin lifted, jaw tight, refusing to fall apart in front of a man she had every reason not to trust.

"Let me help find him," she said. "I know where he hides when he is scared. You do not."

Every instinct built over eighteen months of leading this family told me to refuse, to keep her locked safely inside these walls while my men handled a war that had nothing to do with her directly. But I had learned enough about Isabella Conti in one evening to know she would not stay locked in a room while her brother's life hung in the balance, whether I gave permission or not.

There was also, if I was honest with myself, a part of me that did not want to leave her behind. That part troubled me more than Dante's warehouse fire did, because a burned building I knew how to handle. Whatever was building between Isabella and me, I did not.

"You stay close to me," I said. "Not Salvatore. Not the guards. Me. Do you understand."

"Why."

I hesitated, aware that the true answer had less to do with strategy than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

"Because I am the only one in this house tonight who has already decided your brother's life matters more than what your family owes mine," I said. "And right now, that makes me the safest person you have."

Her eyes held mine, searching for the lie in it and apparently not finding one.

"Then let's go," she said. "Before Dante finds him first."