The paper shakes in my hands. He took Dante into the West Loop hub tonight. He went to hunt Rourke. Not to secure the ledgers. Not to protect the Costa family operation.
He went to erase the men who could connect this mess to me.
A soft, polite knock sounds at the bedroom door.
The sound jerks me out of the files. I scramble to stack the papers, shoving the chaotic folder back into the drawer and closing it tight. I leave the sterile, typed dossier on top of the desk, right where I found it. Let him think I only saw the spreadsheet. Let him think I don't know the depth of his ruin.
"Signorina Natalia?" Turi's gravelly, warm voice filters through the oak. "Are you awake,piccola?"
I smooth down the silk robe, check my reflection in the dark monitor screen to ensure I don't look unhinged, and walk to the door.
"I am awake, Turi," I call out, my voice surprisingly steady. "But I appear to be locked in."
The deadbolt clicks. The brass handle turns. The door swings open, revealing the silver-haired elder standing in the dimly lit hallway. He wears a dark suit, perfectly tailored, with a suppressed pistol resting casually in a shoulder holster. He holds a small silver tray with a steaming porcelain cup.
"Espresso," Turi says, stepping into the room with a gentle smile. "Gemma is downstairs in the kitchen. She insists you must drink something strong. The storm outside is terrible."
"The storm outside is nothing compared to the one that just walked out of this room," I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Turi chuckles softly, the sound rumbling low in his throat. He walks to the small sitting area near the window and sets the tray on the glass table. "You are not wrong. Enzo... he is a force of nature tonight."
I walk over and pick up the tiny cup. The rich, dark scent of roasted coffee grounds temporarily cuts through the spice of Enzo's lingering presence. I take a sip. The caffeine hits my bloodstream like a jolt of electricity.
"He locked me in," I state flatly, watching the old man's face.
Turi nods, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "He did. He gave me strict orders. 'Do not let her out of this room, Turi. Shoot anyone who tries to come up those stairs.' His exact words."
"I am a lawyer, Turi. Not a princess in a tower. I do not require a heavily armed babysitter."
"You require exactly what he gives you," Turi replies, his tone suddenly losing a fraction of its grandfatherly warmth, replaced by the steel of a man who raised mafia enforcers. "You do not understand the magnitude of what is happening tonight, Signorina."
"I understand he blew his own operation."
Turi sighs, leaning heavily on the back of the leather armchair. He looks old in the shadows of the room. The burden of years of blood seems to press down on his shoulders. "Enzo was ten years old when Carlo died. His father. The man was lured to a warehouse on the South Side and executed. They dumped him in the alley after. Little Enzo... he figured it out before any of the adults told him. He saw Matteo's face. He saw the blood. He drew a contract around his own heart that night, signed every line, and refused to renegotiate."
I swallow hard, the hot espresso burning a path down my throat. The memory of the file sits heavy in my mind.
"He became the fixer," Turi continues, staring out the reinforced window into the dark rain. "The boy who calculated everything. No emotion. No risk. If he could not measure the outcome on a spreadsheet, he did not engage. He has never,in all the years since, acted on impulse. He has never let rage dictate his movements."
Turi turns his gaze back to me. The intensity in his eyes is startling.
"Until you."
I set the cup down on the tray. The porcelain clinks loudly against the silver.
"He brought you to this compound," Turi says softly. "He gave you his mother's ring. He put you in his bed. He crossed the line from professional to personal the moment you walked into Il Corvo."
"He told me it was a contract," I whisper, the defensive part of me making one last, desperate stand.
"A man like Enzo does not use his mother's legacy for a contract," Turi corrects gently. "He uses it to stake a claim. Tonight, Jeff ran. Rourke is searching for the ledgers. The logical, calculated move would be to let Rourke take the ledgers, observe the fallout, and strike the Bellantis when they expose their network. That is the fixer's play."
"But he didn't do that," I say.
"No." Turi shakes his head. "He armed up, took Dante, and went straight into the teeth of the storm. He abandoned the strategy because those ledgers connect to you. He is not fighting a mafia war tonight,piccola. He is fighting for his woman."
The words settle into my bones. The terrifying truth of it. I belong to him. The woman who never trusted a man in her life just handed her soul to a monster who burns down buildings to keep her safe.
"Downstairs," Turi murmurs, a fond smile returning to his weathered face. "Gemma is cooking. She says Dante will be hungry when they return. She accepts the blood on her man. You will have to decide if you can accept the blood on yours."
