جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 70

Elise's POV They brought him in blindfolded. Don Savio’s youngest son. Matteo. Twenty-eight, cocky, dressed like he was going to a fucking board meeting instead of walking into enemy territory. When they pulled the blindfold off, he blinked a few times and then smirked at me like this was all some game. “La Signora,” he said, leaning back in the chair like he owned the room. “My father sends his regards. He thinks it’s time we talked like civilized people.” I just stared at him. My eyes felt gritty from another night of almost no sleep. My father had taken a turn for the worse again yesterday. I was running on coffee and rage and the last bits of whatever strength I had left. “Civilized,” I repeated. My voice came out flat. “That’s funny. Your people shot up one of my warehouses last week. Killed two of my men. And now you want to talk civilized?” Matteo shrugged. “War is war. But my father believes there’s room for an arrangement. You give us back some territory. We stop the ble

Elise's POV I was half asleep in the chair again when I heard him move. My neck hurt like hell from sleeping weird and my back was killing me, but I’d gotten used to it. The last few nights I’d barely left his room except to check on my father. Everything else felt like it could wait. Nico shifted on the bed and let out this low groan that made my eyes snap open. He was awake. Really awake. Not the hazy, drugged kind from before. His eyes found me right away, a little glassy but clear. “Hey,” he said, voice all rough and scratchy. I sat up fast, ignoring the way my body protested. “You’re awake. Like, properly awake.” He tried to smile but it turned into a wince when he moved his shoulder. “Yeah. Feels like I got hit by a truck.” “You got shot,” I reminded him, scooting the chair closer. My hand found his without thinking. “Don’t move too much. The doctor said the wound is still fresh.” He looked at me for a long moment. Really looked. Like he was seeing all the mess I’d been t

Elise's POV I shouldn’t have gone to meet him again. That’s what I kept telling myself the whole walk there. My father had barely opened his eyes all day, Nico was still recovering, and I had a thousand things that needed my attention. But when Cain texted saying he had something important, I went anyway. Like an idiot. The park was colder tonight. Wind cut right through my coat. I found him on our usual bench, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world was sitting on them too. He stood when he saw me. No smile this time. Just this tired, careful look that made my stomach twist. “You came,” he said. “Yeah.” I sat down, leaving a little space between us. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” Cain sat too. He rubbed his hands together like he was trying to warm them, or maybe just stalling. “Adrian’s planning something. He’s not just talking anymore. He’s got a journalist. Some sleazy guy who does exposés. He’s feeding him stories about you. About the fa

Elise's POVThe funeral was small. Just family, a few capos, and the closest guards. No big spectacle. My father wouldn’t have wanted cameras or fake tears from people who only feared him. We buried him next to my mother under the old oak tree behind the estate. The same spot where I used to hide as a kid when I didn’t want to practice knife work.I stood there in the cold wind with Nico on one side and Marco on the other, staring at the fresh dirt. My eyes were dry now. I’d cried everything out the night he died. Now there was just this heavy, numb feeling in my chest, like someone had scooped out part of me and left a hole.After the last prayer, people came up one by one. They bowed their heads. Some touched my arm. A few of the older capos looked at me like they were measuring whether I could actually carry this. I met every pair of eyes. I wasn’t going to flinch. Not today.When it was over, I stayed behind. Just me and the two graves. I knelt down and pressed my hand to the fres

Elise's POVThe folder landed on my desk with a dull thud. I was still in the same black sweater I’d worn to my father’s funeral three days ago, sleeves pushed up, eyes burning from another night of staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping. Marco stood across from me, jaw tight, waiting for the explosion he probably thought was coming.“They’re ready to run it tomorrow,” he said. “Three major outlets. Anonymous sources claiming you’re unstable. Violent. That you attacked Jade in the hospital, that you’re cracking under the pressure of taking over. Adrian’s fingerprints are all over it.”I opened the folder slowly. The draft article was printed out in neat black ink. Words like “mafia princess gone rogue,” “erratic behavior,” “sources close to the family fear for her mental state.” My stomach turned, but not from shock. From something colder. Disappointment, maybe. Or just exhaustion at how predictable he still was.I read the whole thing twice. Then I closed the folder and leaned ba