Chapter 5
Marry me. Not a question this time, a plea. Not in six months. Now, tomorrow. I can’t wait anymore, Alessia. I need to know you’re mine in every way that matters. I’ve been yours since I called you a bad boy in that bar, I said gently. Since you looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in your world.
I’ll marry you, Vincenzo, not because I’m afraid or grateful or trapped, but because I love you. All of you. The bad boy and the good man you’re trying to be. His kiss was different this time, not desperate, but reverent, a promise and a beginning.
We’re terrible at this, he murmured against my lips. You know that, right? We almost got you killed today.
We saved three men and potentially prevented a war, I countered. I’d say we’re pretty good at it. At what? Being honest, being partners, being us. I smiled against his mouth. Besides, someone needs to be your conscience.
Your bad boy needs redemption. I thought you didn’t like bad boys. I don’t, I admitted, but I love you, and that’s the truth. He pulled me closer, and in the warmth of his embrace, surrounded by the shadows of his dangerous world, I found something I never expected: home.
Not in a place, but in a person, in the arms of a man who had proven that love wasn’t about control or possession, but about sacrifice, about being willing to lose everything to keep someone safe. My bad boy had taught me the most important lesson of all, that the truest form of love is letting go.
And in learning that, he had become exactly the man I needed him to be, not perfect, but honest. And that was enough.
Six months after our wedding, I woke to find Vincenzo’s side of the bed empty, not unusual. He often rose before dawn to handle business that couldn’t wait for reasonable hours.
What was unusual was the sound of voices drifting up from the kitchen, low and urgent, with an edge that made my stomach clench. I pulled on my robe and patted downstairs, following the sound. Vincenzo stood at the kitchen island with Marco and two other men I recognized from his inner circle.
They fell silent the moment I appeared in the doorway. What’s wrong? I asked, reading the tension in every line of Vincenzo’s body.
He exchanged glances with his men, then nodded toward the door. They filed out without a word, leaving us alone. Vincenzo poured himself an espresso from the machine, his movements precise but stiff. The Volkov organization, he said finally, not meeting my eyes. Sergey is dead. Killed three days ago in Moscow.
His cousin Dmitri has taken over, and he’s not interested in maintaining our arrangement. Cold dread washed through me.
What does that mean? It means everything we built, the peace, the understanding, it’s gone. He finally looked at me and I saw something I had rarely seen in his eyes: fear. Dmitri wants war. He’s already hit two of our operations.
He’s coming for everything, and that includes you. I sank onto one of the kitchen stools, processing this. So, what do we do? We— He crossed to me, taking my hands in his. You don’t do anything. I’m sending you somewhere safe. Montana maybe, or Italy. Somewhere he can’t reach you.
No. The word came out sharper than I intended. His jaw tightened. Alessia, this isn’t negotiable. You’re my wife. Your safety is my decision, I interrupted, pulling my hands free. We’ve had this conversation before, Vincenzo.
You don’t get to unilaterally decide what’s safe for me. This is different. His voice rose with frustration. Sergey was a man of honor, twisted as that honor was. Dmitri is a rabid dog. He doesn’t follow the old rules, doesn’t respect boundaries. He’ll use you to hurt me, and I can’t— His voice broke. I can’t lose you.
I stood, moving into his space, forcing him to look at me. Then don’t lose me. But don’t send me away either. We face this together.
You don’t understand what you’re asking. I understand perfectly. I cupped his face, feeling the stubble rough against my palms.
I understand that if I run now, I’ll spend the rest of my life running, that you’ll never truly believe I’m safe, never stop looking over your shoulder. I understand that our marriage means standing together, especially when it’s hard. Something shifted in his expression, pain and pride warring for dominance.
You’re the bravest person I know, and the most stubborn. I learned from the best. I managed a small smile. Besides, I have insurance. What insurance? I pulled away, moving to the coffee maker to fix my own cup.
Detective Donovan, the one from the organized crime task force. We’ve been talking. The temperature in the room dropped 10 degrees.
Talking? His voice was dangerously soft. What kind of talking? The kind where I’ve been documenting everything I learn about your world. Nothing that would incriminate you directly, I added quickly, seeing his expression darken.
But enough that if something happens to me, it all goes public. Every connection, every arrangement, every politician and judge in your pocket, not just your family, Vincenzo. Everyone. He stared at me as if I had become a stranger. You’ve been building a case against me?
Against everyone who might hurt me to get to you. I met his gaze steadily. It’s mutually assured destruction, insurance that no one can touch me without bringing down the entire system, Dmitri included. And you didn’t think to tell me this? Would you have let me do it if I had?
His silence was answer enough. He turned away, bracing his hands on the counter, his shoulders rigid with tension.
You’ve been lying to me. For months, I’ve been protecting myself. I moved closer, placing a hand on his back the way you taught me to, by being strategic, by thinking ahead. You said you wanted a partner, Vincenzo, not a possession.
This is what partnership looks like. He spun to face me, and I saw something I had never seen before: uncertainty. How do I know you won’t use it? That one day you won’t decide you’re tired of this life and burn everything down?
The question hung between us, exposing a vulnerability he had never shown for all his power, for all his control. He was afraid, not of Dmitri or the Russians or any external threat, but of me, of the woman he had given his heart to.
Because I love you, I said simply. Because I chose this life, chose you with my eyes wide open. Because the information exists to keep me safe, not to destroy you.
It’s a safeguard, nothing more. A safeguard you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about. Would you have reacted differently if I’d asked permission first? I challenged.
Or would you have forbidden it, put guards on me to make sure I couldn’t meet with Donovan, taking away the one piece of power I have in your world? He closed his eyes, and I watched him struggle with the truth. I don’t know, he admitted finally. Probably yes, I would have tried to control it, to manage it, because that’s what I do. That’s how I keep people safe. But control isn’t the same as safety. I took his hand, lacing our fingers together. You can’t control me into being safe, Vincenzo. You can only trust that I’m smart enough, strong enough to protect myself.
With your help, yes, but not under your complete control. He opened his eyes, searching my face. This is why you said yes when I proposed.
Not just because you loved me, but because you’d already built your exit strategy. Partly, I admitted, but mostly because I believed you when you promised you’d let me go if I asked. This way, I made sure everyone else would, too.
A laugh escaped him, rough and unexpected. My clever wife. You’ve built a nuclear option. Our clever wife, I corrected. And yes, I have. Which means Dmitri can’t touch me without consequences that would destroy him and everyone he’s connected to, which means you don’t have to send me away or lock me in a tower.
We can face this together. He pulled me against him, his arms wrapping around me with familiar strength. You terrify me sometimes. You know that. Good. I rested my head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat steady and strong.
Fear keeps people honest. We stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen gradually brightening with dawnlight. Finally, Vincenzo pulled back just enough to look at me. If we’re doing this together, then we do it my way.
You don’t leave the house without security. You don’t meet with anyone, including Donovan, without my knowledge.
And you tell me everything from now on. No more secrets. Agreed. As long as you do the same. No protecting me from information because you think I can’t handle it. No making decisions about my safety without consulting me first. True partnership.
He nodded slowly. True partnership. And one more thing. I met his eyes. We expand the bakery. He blinked, clearly not expecting that. What? If I’m going to be living in constant threat of violence, I need something normal to hold on to, something that’s mine that has nothing to do with your world.
I want to open a second location, maybe a cafe component. I want to hire more staff, teach them my mother’s recipes. I want to build something that matters. Understanding dawned in his eyes. You want to create life while surrounded by death. Yes. I smiled. Is that too much to ask? No. He kissed my forehead, gentle and reverent. It’s perfect. We’ll start looking at properties this week. The sound of footsteps made us both turn. Marco appeared in the doorway, his expression apologetic. Boss, sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem. Dmitri’s men just hit the warehouse on Canal Street.
Three of our guys are injured, one critical. Vincenzo’s entire demeanor shifted, the loving husband transforming into the cold, calculating Don. Get them to Dr. Ricci. I want every man we have on the streets by noon, and find out how they knew about that warehouse.
Someone’s talking. Marco nodded and disappeared. Vincenzo turned back to me, conflict evident in his expression. I have to go handle this. I know. I straightened his collar, a worldly gesture that felt surreal given the conversation we were having. Be careful. Always. He kissed me hard and fast.
Stay inside. Marco’s leaving two men outside, and Rosa’s coming over to keep you company.
Vincenzo, please— Alessia, give me this one thing, just for today until we know what we’re dealing with. I saw the fear beneath his control, the terror of losing me that drove every protective instinct. Okay, just for today.
After he left, I made myself busy in the kitchen, baking bread and cookies with the same methodical precision I used to calm my mind. Rosa arrived an hour later, her face drawn with worry. Dolcezza, she pulled me into a fierce hug.
Are you all right? Marco called me, said there was trouble. We’re fine. I handed her a cup of tea. Or we will be. She studied me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. You’re different since you married him. Harder somehow. Stronger, I corrected.
I’ve learned to live in his world without losing myself in it. That takes a different kind of strength than I needed before. And you love him still, even knowing what he is, what he does. I thought about that question, really considered it. Yes, I love him because I know what he is, because he’s never lied to me about it, because every day he chooses me, chooses us over the easy path of complete control.
Rosa shook her head, bemused. Your mother would be proud and terrified. She’d understand. I smiled, thinking of my mother’s fierce independence, her unwillingness to compromise her dreams. She taught me that love isn’t about finding someone who makes life easy.
It’s about finding someone worth fighting for. The day passed slowly. I baked, Rosa gossiped about the neighborhood, and I tried not to watch the clock or check my phone every five minutes. Vincenzo texted once: Situation contained.
Home by dinner. But dinner came and went with no sign of him. By 9:00, I was pacing the living room, my phone clutched in my hand.
Rosa had gone home at 7:00, reassured by my promise that everything was fine. At 10:30, I heard the front door open. I rushed to the foyer to find Vincenzo leaning against the door frame, exhausted and disheveled. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, and I saw blood on his knuckles. You’re hurt.
I moved to him immediately, taking his hands to examine them.
Not my blood. His voice was rough, empty in a way that frightened me. The man who talked, who told Dmitri about the warehouse, I had to make an example. I understood what he wasn’t saying. He had killed someone today, not in self-defense, not in the heat of battle, but deliberately as a message.
Come on. I led him upstairs to our bathroom, sitting him on the edge of the tub while I filled it with hot water. Let’s get you cleaned up. He let me undress him, uncharacteristically passive, as I peeled away his ruined clothes and examined the bruises blooming across his ribs.
When I helped him into the tub, he closed his eyes and leaned back, the water gradually turning pink from the blood on his hands.
I knelt beside the tub, washing him with gentle efficiency, his hands first, scrubbing away the evidence of violence, then his hair, his face, his shoulders. Neither of us spoke. Words felt inadequate for the moment.
Finally, when the water had gone cold and he was clean, I helped him out and wrapped him in a towel. In our bedroom, I made him lie down while I bandaged the worst of his bruises, my hands steady despite the turmoil inside me.
Say something, he whispered finally. Yell at me. Tell me I’m a monster. Something. You’re not a monster. I lay down beside him, pulling him against me so his head rested on my shoulder. You’re a man who made an impossible choice to protect the people who depend on you. I killed him, Alessia.
Personally. I could have ordered someone else to do it, but I needed them to know, to understand that betrayal has a price. I know.
And you can still touch me, still hold me like this? I ran my fingers through his damp hair, feeling him tremble against me. Yes, because I know the weight of what you carry. I see the toll it takes on you, and I choose to be here anyway, to remind you that you’re more than the violence, that you’re also the man who eats sfogliatelle in my bakery, who listens to me complain about suppliers, who looks at me like I’m the only real thing in his world.
You are. His arms tightened around me. You’re the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that feels clean. We lay like that for a long time, his body gradually relaxing as exhaustion claimed him.
Just before he fell asleep, he murmured, I’m glad you built your insurance. Glad you’re smart enough not to trust me completely.
I trust you with my heart, I whispered back. Just not with my freedom. There’s a difference. His soft laugh was the last thing I heard before his breathing evened out into sleep.
The next morning, I woke to find a new message on my phone, not from Vincenzo, but from an unknown number: Sergey’s piece died with him, but perhaps a new arrangement can be found. Come alone to Rossi’s at noon, or more of Catalano’s men die.
My hands shook as I read it. Dmitri. Somehow he had my number, knew I existed as more than just a name. I should wake Vincenzo, show him the message, let him handle it.
May you like
Instead, I found myself texting back: I’ll be there. I left a note for Vincenzo, deliberately vague about where I was going.
Then I called Marco, who was on security detail outside, and told him I needed to go to the bakery to handle an emergency. He protested, but I reminded him that Vincenzo had promised me autonomy in my business. Rossi’s was a restaurant in neutral territory owned by a family who served both sides of Chicago’s organized crime without favoring either.
