Alessandro’s eyes flash, cold and sharp. “You’re losing perspective.”
“Perspective?” I bark. “I’m the only one keeping this city from collapsing on top of us.”
“Then act like it!” He slams his hand down on the desk beside the paper. “She’s the only person outside this room who had the details to make that story stick. You want to keep pretending she’s innocent, fine—but I’m taking her to the warehouse. I’ll get the truth my way.”
The room tilts. My blood spikes cold. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“Dante—”
“I said no!” The word rips out of me, sharp enough to cut the air. “You lay a hand on her, and I’ll put you in the ground myself.”
He stares at me, chest heaving, disbelief flickering behind the anger. “You’re protecting her? Now? After this?”
“She stays here,” I grind out. “No one touches her.”
“Becauseyou want to fuck her, is that it?”
The silence after that sentence could kill a man.
I move before I think—one hand gripping his shirt, slamming him back into the wall. “Watch your mouth.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You’re letting her cloud your judgment. You always said family first, Don. Family above all. So why does she still have a heartbeat?”
My hand trembles where I hold him. Because he’s right.
Because I don’t have an answer that doesn’t make me look weak.
“Get out,” I say finally, voice rough.
“Dante—”
“I said, get the fuck out!”
He wrenches free, eyes full of something that’s not quite anger anymore. Something closer to pity.
“Then you’d better pray you’re right,” he mutters, brushing past me toward the door. “Because if she isn’t innocent, you just doomed us all.”
The door slams again, and this time the silence feels heavier.
I press both hands to the desk, breathing hard. My pulse won’t settle.
He’s wrong.
He has to be wrong.
I picture her face again — the tears she tried to hide when she saw Sofia’s name. The way she knelt by my daughter’s bed the night before, whispering comfort with her hand tangled in Sofia’s curls.
If that woman could fake that moment, she’s more dangerous than any enemy I’ve ever known.
But I know what real fear looks like.
And what I saw in her eyes wasn’t guilt.
It was heartbreak.
I sink into my chair, drag a hand down my face, and let the truth hit me where it hurts most:
Maybe she’s telling the truth.
