Chapter 8 - The LedgerMy blood turned to ice.
For one second, I could not move.
Could not breathe.
Could not think.
Then I called Marcus.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Alessandro!”
I shouted the name before remembering Alessandro was with Marcus.
Lorenzo appeared from the hallway, already dressed despite the sling on his arm.
“What happened?”
I handed him the phone.
His face changed instantly.
“When did this arrive?”
“Seconds ago.”
He called someone from his own phone.
Italian erupted, fast and sharp.
I understood fragments.
Church.
Ridge.
Sniper.
Evacuate.
He ended the call.
“We need to move you.”
“No.”
“Arya.”
“No. Call Marcus.”
“I’m trying.”
“Then try harder.”
A security guard rushed in.
“Mrs. Valentino, vehicle is ready.”
I ignored him.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I answered before the first ring finished.
“Marcus?”
“I’m fine.”
I almost collapsed.
“Someone sent me a picture of a rifle aimed at you!”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“We found the sniper.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm Marcus used when violence had already happened.
“Alive?”
A pause.
“Currently.”
I closed my eyes.
“Do you have the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Come home.”
“We’re already moving.”
I opened my mouth to answer.
Gunfire erupted outside the villa.
Lorenzo grabbed me.
“DOWN!”
The windows shattered.
Security men returned fire.
Marcus shouted through the phone.
“Arya!”
“I’m okay!”
Another burst.
The line went dead.
Lorenzo dragged me behind a stone interior wall.
“Stay low.”
Men were attacking from the olive grove.
I could hear shouting in Italian.
The villa that had felt peaceful two days earlier became chaos.
Glass.
Gunshots.
Alarms.
The smell of smoke.
My heart hammered, but strangely, I was not frozen the way I had been at the Meridian.
Marcus had taught me something without meaning to.
Fear did not disappear.
You simply learned to move while carrying it.
A guard appeared.
“Back passage. Now.”
Lorenzo pushed me toward him.
“You first.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll follow.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m also armed.”
Of course he was.
We moved through the kitchen toward a concealed passage leading to the wine cellar.
Before we reached it, the side door exploded inward.
Two men entered.
The guard fired.
One fell.
The other shot back.
The guard went down.
I screamed.
Lorenzo pulled me behind the kitchen island.
His weapon appeared in his left hand.
Two controlled shots.
Silence.
I stared at him.
He looked at me.
“This is not how I imagined meeting my daughter-in-law.”
Despite everything, a hysterical laugh escaped me.
“You’re assuming Marcus accepts the father part.”
“Optimism is important.”
Another attacker came through the doorway.
Lorenzo fired.
Empty click.
His expression changed.
“Problem.”
I looked around.
Knife block.
Cast-iron pan.
Bottle of wine.
Apparently my options were murder by cookware.
The attacker rounded the island.
I grabbed the nearest object.
A heavy ceramic bowl.
I threw it.
It struck his face.
He stumbled.
Lorenzo tackled him.
His injured shoulder hit the floor.
He grunted in pain.
I grabbed the fallen guard’s weapon.
My hands shook.
I had never fired a gun.
Marcus had tried to teach me.
I had refused.
I regretted that decision profoundly.
I aimed.
“Stop.”
The attacker froze.
So did Lorenzo.
“Arya,” he said carefully. “Finger off the trigger unless you intend to fire.”
“I know.”
I did not know.
The man’s hand moved.
I screamed, “Don’t!”
He lunged.
A shot thundered.
The attacker collapsed.
I stared at the gun.
Smoke curled faintly from the barrel.
My whole body began shaking.
Lorenzo stood slowly.
“You okay?”
“I shot him.”
“Yes.”
“I shot someone.”
“You stopped someone trying to kill us.”
“That isn’t making my hands stop shaking.”
He moved toward me.
“Give me the weapon.”
I did.
Then the front of the villa erupted in shouting.
I nearly grabbed the gun back.
A familiar voice roared my name.
“ARYA!”
Marcus.
I ran.
He came through the destroyed entryway like a storm.
Blood on his collar.
Weapon in his hand.
Fury in every line of his body.
The second he saw me, the weapon disappeared into Alessandro’s hand and Marcus crossed the distance between us.
He pulled me against him so hard I could barely breathe.
“You’re hurt.”
“No.”
“There’s blood.”
“Not mine.”
He pulled back.
His hands moved over my face, shoulders, arms.
“Arya.”
“I’m okay.”
“What happened?”
I looked at the kitchen.
His gaze followed mine.
Then dropped to the weapon on the floor.
Marcus went still.
“Did you fire that?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
His expression became terrifying.
“At who?”
“A man who came through the kitchen.”
“Where is he?”
“Marcus—”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
The fury vanished.
Something else replaced it.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then gathered me against his chest again.
“I’m sorry.”
The words stunned me.
“For what?”
“For ever letting the world force that choice on you.”
I clutched his shirt.
“You didn’t.”
“Yes.”
His jaw clenched.
“My enemies did.”
“They’re not just your enemies anymore.”
He pulled back.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“No.”
His hands framed my face.
“This life does not get to turn you into me.”
I covered one of his hands.
“I’m not you.”
“I know.”
“I’m your partner.”
His eyes closed.
Behind us, Lorenzo leaned against the doorway, pale from pain.
Marcus noticed.
“What happened to you?”
“Your wife saved my life.”
Marcus stared.
I sighed.
“It was mutual.”
Lorenzo smiled faintly.
“She throws pottery remarkably well.”
Marcus looked at the shattered bowl.
Then at me.
“You threw a bowl?”
“It was nearby.”
“Of course.”
Alessandro appeared carrying a black waterproof case.
“Boss.”
Everything changed again.
The ledger.
We moved to the study.
The case had been hidden beneath the church floor for decades.
Inside were ledgers, photographs, microfilm, bank documents, and three encrypted drives added later by someone unknown.
Marcus stared at the mountain of evidence.
“So this is what people are killing for.”
Lorenzo sat opposite him.
“This could dismantle what remains of the Riccis.”
Alessandro opened one ledger.
“Not just them.”
He scanned names.
“Politicians. Judges. Customs officials.”
Marcus’s eyes sharpened.
“American?”
“Some.”
“Chicago?”
Alessandro turned another page.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Boss.”
Marcus reached across.
Alessandro handed him the ledger.
I watched Marcus read.
His expression gradually became blank.
“What is it?” I asked.
Marcus said nothing.
I moved beside him.
One name had been circled repeatedly.
VALENTINO, GIOVANNI.
Payments.
Locations.
Dates.
Then another name.
CARRINGTON, EDWARD.
I froze.
“Carrington?”
Marcus looked at Lorenzo.
“Dante’s father.”
Lorenzo nodded slowly.
“What?”
“Edward Carrington worked with Giovanni.”
I remembered Dante.
His obsession with Marcus.
Their war.
The debt.
My family.
“What does this mean?”
Alessandro turned pages faster.
His finger stopped.
A payment record from twenty-two years earlier.
Purpose: De Luca containment.
Authorized by Giovanni Valentino.
Co-signed by Edward Carrington.
Marcus leaned back.
“Dante’s family helped imprison Lorenzo.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo’s expression darkened.
“And if Dante inherited his father’s records…”
“He may have known,” I whispered.
Marcus stood.
The realization moved across his face like a storm.
“Dante knew who my father was.”
Alessandro nodded slowly.
“Possible.”
“He bought Arya’s father’s debt specifically to use against me.”
“Yes.”
“He pushed me into marrying her.”
I felt cold.
“What are you thinking?”
Marcus turned toward me.
“That Dante’s war with me may never have been about territory.”
Lorenzo looked grim.
“Edward Carrington hated me. If his son inherited that hatred…”
The phone on the desk rang.
Every person in the room stared at it.
Marcus answered on speaker.
“Hello, Marcus.”
Dante.
My skin crawled.
Marcus became deadly still.
“You’re supposed to be hiding.”
“I was.”
Dante sounded amused.
“Then you went to Sicily.”
Marcus’s gaze shifted toward the ledger.
“You knew.”
“About Lorenzo?”
A pause.
“Of course.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
Dante continued.
“My father used to tell me stories about the great Lorenzo De Luca. The man who thought love made him untouchable.”
Marcus’s voice dropped.
“You arranged the attacks.”
“Not all of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Riccis want the ledger. I simply told them where they might find the man who could lead them to it.”
“You used me.”
“You’re surprisingly easy to manipulate where Arya is concerned.”
Marcus’s hand curled.
I touched his arm.
Dante laughed softly.
“She’s there, isn’t she?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Still making you hesitate. Still convincing the great Marcus Valentino that he can have a happy ending.”
“Be careful.”
“Oh, I am.”
Dante’s tone changed.
“Because while you’ve been chasing family ghosts in Sicily, you forgot something important.”
My stomach dropped.
Marcus’s face became expressionless.
“What?”
“You left Chicago.”
Silence.
“And unlike you,” Dante said, “I understand that the best way to destroy a kingdom isn’t always by attacking the king.”
Marcus picked up another phone and dialed.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
His eyes found mine.
Fear entered them.
“Teresa.”
May you like
Dante laughed.
Then the line went dead.
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