Chapter Two: The Price of Retribution

Luca’s POV

“You’re joking.”

“I rarely joke about weddings.”

“My daughter?”

“You have several. You’ll need to be more specific.”

His chair scraped backward. “Fiona?”

I smiled.

“There you are.”

“No.” The answer came instantly, almost violently like he was scared, I expected resistance not fear.

“She isn’t part of this.”

“She became part of it the moment you walked through my door.”

“Choose someone else.”

“I already did.”

“She’s twenty-two.”

“I’m familiar with numbers.”

“She knows nothing about this.”

“Then you’ll have plenty to discuss over dinner.”

His palm slammed against my desk, the sound cracked through the room, Vitiello moved and I raised one finger to stop him.

“You think because I came here asking for an alliance, you can demand my daughter?”

I looked at his hand on my desk.

“You should remove that.”

“Luca—” He screamed.

“Your hand.”

Something in my voice finally reached him so he removed it slowly and I straightened my cuff.

“You misunderstand your position.”

“My position?”

“You came here because your house is burning.”

His face darkened. “And instead of water, you’re asking me for gasoline?”

“No.” I smiled. “I’m asking you to decide which part of the house matters most.”

His expression changed. “Fiona is not a bargaining chip.”

I almost laughed, men were remarkable they spent their entire lives turning daughters into alliances and sons into soldiers, then discovered morality the moment someone else named the price.

“Then leave.”

His mouth tightened. “I mean it.”

I gestured toward the door. “Go home.”

He stared at me. “Tell your captains you rejected Ricci protection because the price offended you. Tell the families attacking your routes that you’re standing alone. Tell the widows of the next ten men who die that at least your principles remained intact.”

“You bastard.”

“There he is.”

“I could kill you.”

I smiled. “You could try.”

Vitiello took one step forward, Vito looked at him, then at Matteo, then me and reality returned to him.

I walked around the desk until only a few feet separated us.

“If you ever slam your hand on my desk again,” I said quietly, “you’ll lose it.”

His jaw clenched. “And if you threaten me in my own home again, I’ll send whatever remains of you back to your wife in pieces small enough to fit inside the car you arrived in.”

His eyes burned and I leaned slightly closer. “So if you’re going to lose your temper, Vito, make certain you can afford it.”

“Now. About your daughter.”

“You stay away from her.”

“That’s going to make the wedding difficult.”

“There will be no wedding.”

“Then there will be no alliance.”

“I’ll give you another route.”

“No.”

“Three ports.”

“No.”

“Ten percent of the eastern operation.”

“No.”

“Name a number.”

“I already named Fiona.”

His face hardened. “Why?”

There it was, the question I had been waiting for. Why Fiona? I could have given him a dozen answers, because she was beautiful, I had seen photographs, because she was young, she carried his name and marriage was stronger than signatures.

All believable but none true enough.

So I gave him the only answer he deserved. “Because she’s the one I want.”

His stare searched my face. “For what?”

I smiled. “To marry.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I know enough.”

“What?”

I held his gaze. “That she’s yours.”

Vito stepped away from me, for the first time since entering, he looked old and tired.

He walked toward the window and I let him think, men always wanted time when there was only one decision available.

“If I agree,” he said eventually, “Fiona is treated with respect.”

“Obviously.”

“You don’t involve her in business.”

“That depends on Fiona.”

“You don’t use her against me.”

I said nothing and Vito turned. “Luca.”

“You’re attempting to negotiate terms after admitting you have no leverage.”

“She is my daughter.”

“And she would be my wife.”

His expression sharpened. “She remains a Romano.”

“No.”

That stopped him and I walked toward him. “If Fiona marries me, she becomes a Ricci.”

“She doesn’t stop being my blood.”

“Blood isn’t what I’m discussing.”

“You expect me to hand my daughter over and simply trust you?”

“No.” I stopped in front of him. “I expect you to hand your daughter over because the alternative frightens you more.”

His face twisted with rage, I didn’t look away because there was something deeply satisfying about watching Vito Romano discover that power could disappear while a man was still sitting in the same chair.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“Possibly.”

“If you hurt her—”

I laughed. “You walked into my house because men are murdering your soldiers, attacking your businesses and closing around your family.”

I stepped closer. “Yet you’re threatening the man you’re asking to put himself between them and your daughter.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m warning you.”

“And I’m warning you.”

My voice dropped.

“If you insult me again, this conversation ends. You walk out alone, and whatever happens to the Romano empire afterward becomes none of my concern.”

Then I added softly, “Including what happens to Fiona when your enemies realize she’s the easiest way to make you bleed.”

That did it.

I returned to my chair. “Sit down.”

This time he obeyed. “If I accept,” he said, “the attacks stop.”

“If you agree, the attacks against you become attacks against me.”

“And you respond?”

“Violently.”

“You guarantee Romano territory?”

“Within the terms we agree.”

“My family?”

“Protected.”

“My daughters?”

I looked at him. “All of them.”

His throat moved. “And Fiona?”

I let several seconds pass. “She’ll have more protection than you’ve ever been capable of giving her.”

His eyes hardened at the insult but he swallowed it, I guess we are making progress.

“And if she refuses?”

That was the first question that genuinely interested me. “Then I suppose you’ll have a problem.”

“I won’t force her.”

I studied him.

We both knew that was bullshit, men like us rarely called it force, we called it duty, family and sacrifice, we dressed cages beautifully and acted surprised when women still recognized the bars.

“Of course not,” I said.

His eyes narrowed because he heard the mockery. “Fiona makes her own decisions.”

“Then I’m sure she’ll make the correct one.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s your daughter.”

Vito extended his hand. “I accept.”

fifteen years ago this man ruined my life and now I am shaking hands over marrying his daughter, this was how easily life could change.

I took his hand. “Then we have an agreement.”

His grip tightened.

“If you make me regret this—”

“Oh, Vito.”

I smiled. “You already will.”

His expression changed and he released my hand.

“When do you want to meet her?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“I’ve waited long enough.”

Vito stared at me for another moment before turning toward the door, Vitiello opened it but Vito stopped before leaving.

“My daughter isn’t like the women you’re accustomed to.”

“Good.”

“She won’t fear you.”

My mouth curved. “Even better.”

“You may discover you’ve asked for something you can’t control.”

That made me laugh and then he walked out.

Matteo waited approximately two seconds. “What the fuck was that?”

I picked up the bottle.

“You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Fiona Romano?”

“Yes.”

“You want to marry Vito Romano’s daughter.”

“I believe we’ve established that.”

Matteo came toward the desk. “You’ve spent fifteen years wanting that man dead.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t want him dead?”

I poured another drink. “Not quickly.”

“You’re dismissed.”

“Luca—”

“Good night, Matteo.”

He remained there. “Whatever you’re planning, she wasn’t there when Elena died.”

My fingers stopped around the glass.

For the first time that evening, the amusement disappeared. “I know.”

“She was seven.” “I know.”

“Then leave her out of whatever this is.”

I looked at him. “Get out.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

But he knew me well enough to understand the conversation was over.

He left.

Vitiello followed after one glance in my direction. Finally, I was alone.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk.

There were no business documents inside to get a photograph of Elena, finally I will avenge the only woman who ever mattered to me, I reached deeper into the drawer to get the other photograph beneath hers, it was of Fiona Romano.

Platinum-blonde hair spilled over one shoulder, emerald eyes looked directly at the camera. She wasn’t smiling, I had always liked that photograph. she looked like someone had told her to smile and she’d decided they could go to hell.

Tomorrow, she would learn she was marrying me, she would probably hate me and hat was fine because I already hated all the Romano’s.

My phone vibrated, it was a message from Vito.

I’ll tell Fiona tonight.

I stared at the words and then typed back:

Make sure she understands there is no alternative.

Three dots appeared.

She will.

I smiled and turned the phone facedown, poor Fiona, she probably thought tonight would end like every other night, by midnight, her father would take that future apart with a few sentences.

“Welcome to the family, Fiona.”

Then I placed her face over Vito Romano’s name.

And smiled, it was time for retribution.