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I ignore him, my attention fixed on Lucia. "What price do you put on your sister's safety? How much is she worth to you?"
"More than anything you could comprehend," she retorts, her gaze challenging mine. "Tell me, Niko Leone, what's your price?"
Elena's face flashes in my mind—her soft laughter, the way morning light dances in her hair during our walks. Priceless is the answer.
Fucking hell. She shouldn’t be mucking up my mind at a time like this. Why can’t I focus on her real value as a pawn as a means to exact revenge? She is priceless, yes, but acknowledging that fact is dangerous.
"Then name it," Lucia presses, mistaking my silence for hesitation.
Refocused on the ultimate goal of revenge, I answer her. "The return of my dead mother and brother."
Understanding dawns on Lucia's face with a flicker of empathy. "Look, I'm sorry if my father took them from you, but that's not Elena's fault. Kill my father, if you have to?—"
“Oh, I will. You can count on that.”
“Elena shouldn’t have to be a part of your plan. You don’t need her. Let her go.”
She’s right, of course. While Elena could be a coup for me, the fact that she’s fucking with my head and my heart is all the more reason to hand her over to Lucia and get her away from me so I can focus.
“She’s mine.” In this moment, I realize I’ve cast my die, and that’s to keep Elena even as she could be my Achilles’ heel, the distraction that ultimately causes my downfall.
Lucia rolls her eyes, I’m sure at my chauvinist comment. “She's not safe with you."
A cold, mirthless laugh escapes my lips. "You think you can protect her better than me,Il Soldato Della Morte?"
"Better than anyone here. She’ll never be safe in New York." Her chin lifts, an act of sheer bravado.
I let out a breath to release the growing tension that has me wanting to shut Lucia up. “You’re formidable, Mrs. Conti, but you have no power here."
“No, but I do… or my husband’s family does… in Italy. My father wouldn’t dare try for her there, and I can’t imagine the Abates would bother. She should come home with me.”
Finally, I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I feign deep consideration. "She can't travel. She's ill." That’s not a lie, necessarily. Elena continues to look tired and fragile, even after all I’ve tried to do. The morning walks. The room full of activities to find her passion. They should have chased away the demons eating away at her health.
Rosa's words echo in my head, a litany of concerns. "She’s still not eating much, Don Leone. And the nausea…"
"Unwell?" Concern fills Lucia’s tone, but then it turns cold, condescending “Is this how you protect what belongs to you? By letting her wither away under your watch?"
My hand reaches out and grips her chin. “Watch yourself.” My anger at her isn’t so much at her disrespect as at the accuracy of her words. I’m the one making Elena sick, stealing her vitality, her spirit. I’m the poison, and the antidote is to send her to Italy with her sister. The problem is, Elena is the antidote to the hole in my soul. How can I send that away?
I release her, gathering my composure. "Being here is suicide for you, Lucia. You think you can just waltz into New York and outsmart death?"
"Death has been breathing down my neck since the day I was born. I’m used to it. But Elena isn’t. I won’t let my parents win. You send her with me and you win too. You humiliate them?—”
“I’ve already humiliated them.”
She leans toward me. “I’m going to get her back. It’s a promise. There’s not a damned thing you or your toadie can do about it."
I glance at Donovan, who is still amused by this woman, but when he catches me looking at him, he schools his expression.
"Let's not pretend you'd fare any better in Italy," I counter. "Your power is limited to what your husband will allow and can provide. Giuseppe isn’t well.”
“But Luca is, and he’ll protect her.”
A picture starts to form. “So, you and Luca…”
She jerks. “No. God, is that all you think about, fucking and murder? Luca is his father’s son. He’ll protect me and Elena.” She watches me for a moment and smirks. “Maybe Luca can marry her.”
“Over my dead body.” I don’t realize how lethal my voice is until I hear Donovan clear his throat. When I look over at him, he’s staring at me like I’ve grown a horn on my head.
