Chapter 6: The Penthouse
Lena woke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the smell of coffee and something baking.
For a disoriented moment, she didn’t know where she was. The sheets were too soft. The room was too quiet. The ceiling was too far away.
Then it all came rushing back—the gala, Marcus, the warrant, Domenico’s voice on the phone at 2 a.m., pack a bag.
She sat up slowly, her body aching from tension. Her phone on the nightstand showed 8:47 a.m. She’d slept for over six hours, which was six more than she’d expected.
The bathroom was marble and glass, stocked with expensive toiletries she was afraid to touch. She used the minimum, then changed into the clean clothes from her bag—jeans, a simple blouse, her worn-out flats. She’d never felt more underdressed in her life.
She followed the smell of coffee down the hall.
The penthouse was even more stunning in daylight. The living room opened onto a terrace with a view of Central Park. The kitchen was professional-grade, all gleaming steel and stone, and Domenico was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes.
Lena stopped in the doorway, momentarily stunned.
He looked up. “Sit.”
She sat at the breakfast bar, watching him work. He moved with the same precision he brought to everything—economical, efficient, unself-conscious. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he was wearing grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that clung to his back in ways she absolutely should not be noticing.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“That’s an understatement.”
He set a plate of pancakes in front of her, then a cup of coffee—black, two sugars. Exactly how she took it. She stared at it.
“You noticed how I take my coffee.”
“I notice everything.” He sat across from her with his own plate. “That’s why I’m good at what I do.”
“And what is it you do, exactly?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just took a bite of his pancake, chewed, swallowed. Then he said, “Eat your breakfast. We have a lot to discuss.”
Lena ate. The pancakes were perfect—light, fluffy, with some kind of orange zest that made them taste like a restaurant dish. She wanted to hate how good they were.
“Marcus Webb filed the complaint at 1:30 this morning,” Domenico said, setting down his fork. “He claimed you confronted him at the gala, made threats against his life, and violated the terms of your divorce by being in the same venue. He’s asking for the restraining order to be reinstated and expanded.”
“That’s insane,” Lena said. “He violated the restraining order by being there. He approached me, not the other way around.”
“I know. But he’s claiming he didn’t know you’d be there. That it was a coincidence.”
“The gala was invitation-only.”
“And he’s on the board of the Martinsen Foundation.” Domenico’s jaw tightened. “He’s been a donor for years. He had every right to be there.”
Lena’s stomach dropped. “So he’ll say he didn’t know I’d be there, and I’ll look like the one who showed up at his event.”
“Exactly.”
“He planned this.” Her voice was shaking. “He saw me at the gala, and he—he improvised. Made it look like I was the aggressor.”
“That’s my assessment.”
“What do we do?”
Domenico leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup cradled in his hands. “First, we get ahead of the narrative. You have documentation of the abuse?”
“Some. Photos of bruises. A few texts. But I left most of it behind when I ran. It’s in a storage unit in Cleveland.”
“Then we retrieve it.” He said it like it was simple. “I’ll send someone today.”
Lena’s chest tightened. “You’d do that?”
“I said you were under my protection. I meant it.” He held her gaze. “But there’s something else we need to discuss.”
“What?”
“The warrant. It’s not active yet—my contact delayed processing it—but it will be by end of day. Which means you can’t leave this building without risking arrest.”
Lena felt the walls closing in. “So I’m trapped here.”
“For now.” He set down his coffee. “Until we can get the complaint dismissed, you’re safer here. My building has security. No one gets in without my approval.”
“How long will that take?”
“Depends on how cooperative the Cleveland PD is about releasing your evidence.” He paused. “And on how far Marcus is willing to take this.”
Lena pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. “You don’t understand. Marcus isn’t just some angry ex-husband. He’s connected. He has friends in law enforcement, in politics. He’s been waiting for a chance to do something like this.”
“Connected how?”
She hesitated. She’d never told anyone the full truth—not the therapists she’d briefly seen, not the domestic violence hotline workers, not the friend who’d helped her pack her bags and leave in the middle of the night. But Domenico was looking at her with those dark, patient eyes, and she was tired of running, tired of lying, tired of carrying this weight alone.
“Marcus Webb is a lawyer,” she said. “A very good one. But his real business is less… legitimate. He has connections to organized crime. Not the kind you see on TV—the kind that operates in plain sight, through shell companies and political donations and threats that never quite materialize.”
Domenico’s expression didn’t change. “What kind of organized crime?”
“I don’t know the details. I didn’t want to know. But I heard things over the years. Names. Deals. People who crossed him and disappeared.” She swallowed. “He told me once that if I ever left him, he’d make sure no one believed anything I said. That he’d ruin me.”
“And you left anyway.”
“I had to.” Her voice cracked. “He would have killed me eventually. I knew that. I just—I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know how bad.”
Domenico was silent for a long moment. Then he stood, walked around the breakfast bar, and stopped in front of her. He didn’t touch her—just stood there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he said quietly. “Whatever he is, whatever he’s done—it doesn’t matter. You’re with me now. And I don’t lose.”
Lena looked up at him. “Why are you doing this? I’m just your assistant.”
“You’re not just anything.” His voice was low, intense. “You’re the first person in years who’s looked at me without fear. Who’s pushed back when I pushed. Who’s made me—” He stopped.
“Made you what?”
“Made me want things I shouldn’t.”
The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Lena’s heart was racing, her skin flushed, every nerve in her body suddenly alert.
“Domenico—”
The doorbell rang.
He stepped back, his expression shuttering. “That’ll be Frank. I asked him to come by with an update.”
He walked to the door, leaving Lena alone in the kitchen, her pulse still hammering.
Made me want things I shouldn’t.
She didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know if she should be flattered or terrified.
Probably both.
Chapter 7: The Inner Circle
Frank DeLuca was not alone.
He arrived with two other men—one Lena recognized from the freight elevator (the one who’d been wiping blood off his knuckles), and one she’d never seen before. A woman, tall and sleek, with sharp cheekbones and an expression that suggested she’d already decided not to like Lena.
“Lena,” Frank said warmly, shaking her hand. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
“So do I.”
He introduced the others. The man from the elevator was Gio Rossi, Domenico’s head of security. He nodded at Lena with something that might have been acknowledgment or might have been warning.
The woman was Valentina Castellan. Domenico’s sister.
“Val,” she said, her handshake brief and firm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Lena’s stomach tightened. “All good, I hope.”
“Not all.”
Domenico’s voice cut in. “Valentina.”
“What? She should know people are talking.” Valentina settled onto the couch, crossing her long legs. “The gala was supposed to be a quiet event. Instead, everyone’s gossiping about how Domenico Castellan’s assistant got into a public confrontation with her ex-husband.”
“It wasn’t a confrontation,” Lena said. “He approached me.”
“That’s not what the papers are saying.”
Lena went cold. “Papers?”
Valentina pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment, then held it up. The screen showed a gossip site headline:
CASTELLAN’S MYSTERY WOMAN IN GALA SCANDAL
Below it was a photo of Lena and Domenico at the gala, his hand on her back, her face pale and strained.
“There’s more,” Valentina said. “But they’re mostly variations on the same theme. His people are pushing the story that you’re unstable, that you’ve been stalking him, that Domenico is being taken in by a manipulative—”
“Enough.” Domenico’s voice was sharp. “Valentina, I didn’t ask you here to read tabloid headlines.”
“You didn’t ask me here at all. I came with Frank.” She met his gaze coolly. “Because I’m family, and family looks out for each other. Even when one of us is making incredibly stupid decisions.”
“The only stupid decision I’ve made recently is letting you through the door.”
Valentina’s eyes flashed. “Domenico—”
“Both of you, enough.” Frank stepped between them, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to solve a problem.”
He turned to Lena. “The good news is that the warrant hasn’t been processed yet. My contact at the precinct is holding it. But that’s a temporary fix. Marcus Webb is pushing hard, and he’s got friends who owe him favors.”
“The bad news,” Gio added, “is that Webb’s people are already watching the building. We spotted two of them this morning—a gray sedan on the corner, and a guy with a camera across the street.”
Lena’s blood ran cold. “He knows I’m here.”
“He knows you’re with Domenico. That’s enough.” Gio’s expression was grim. “He’s not going to try anything against Domenico directly—he’s not that stupid—but he’s building a case. Trying to paint you as unstable, dangerous. If he can get the courts on his side, he won’t need to touch you himself.”
“So what do I do?”
Domenico moved to stand beside her, his arm brushing hers. “You stay here. You don’t leave the building. You let us handle this.”
“And if he files more complaints? If the warrant goes through anyway?”
“Then we fight it.” He met her gaze. “I’ve got lawyers. Good ones.”
“Marcus has better ones.”
“Marcus has never gone up against me.”
There was something in his voice—a quiet, unshakeable confidence—that made her want to believe him. But Lena had learned the hard way that confidence wasn’t the same as certainty. That powerful men made promises they couldn’t keep.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing,” she said carefully. “But you don’t owe me this. I’m just your assistant. If this gets too complicated, I can—”
“Leave?” Domenico raised an eyebrow. “Go back to running? Hope Marcus doesn’t find you this time?”
The words hit her like a slap. “I was going to say handle it myself.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not. It’s—” She stopped, frustration rising. “You don’t understand. I’ve been doing this alone for eight months. I’m not used to asking for help.”
“Then learn.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Because you’re going to need it.”
They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. The others watched in silence, their expressions ranging from curious (Frank) to wary (Gio) to openly disapproving (Valentina).
Finally, Lena looked away. “Fine. I’ll stay. But I’m not going to just sit here and wait. I want to help.”
“You can help by staying safe and not making things worse.”
“That’s not helping. That’s hiding.”
“Sometimes hiding is the smartest move.”
“Sometimes it’s not.”
Domenico’s jaw tightened. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. You want to help? Start by writing down everything you remember about Marcus Webb. Names, dates, incidents—everything. The more ammunition we have, the better.”
Lena nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good.” He turned to the others. “Gio, I want eyes on Webb at all times. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, what he eats for breakfast. Frank, reach out to our contacts in Cleveland. We need her evidence from the storage unit as soon as possible.”
“What about me?” Valentina asked.
“You can help by not talking to reporters.”
“I’m not the one who made a scene at a gala.”
“Valentina.” Domenico’s voice was cold. “I’m not asking.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then stood, smoothing her skirt. “Fine. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She paused at the door, glancing back at Lena. “For what it’s worth, I hope you’re worth all this trouble.”
She left without waiting for a response.
Frank sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t bother.” Domenico rubbed the back of his neck. “She’ll come around.”
“Will she?”
“Eventually.”
Frank didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. He and Gio left a few minutes later, leaving Lena and Domenico alone again.
The silence stretched between them.
Then Domenico said, “I apologize for my sister.”
“You don’t have to apologize for her. She’s just protecting her family.”
“That’s not what she’s doing.” He walked to the window, looking out at the city. “She’s protecting her position. Valentina and I have a… complicated relationship.”
“All siblings do.”
He glanced back at her. “You have siblings?”
The question caught her off guard. “No. I’m an only child.”
“What about your parents?”
Lena’s chest tightened. “My mother died when I was twelve. My father…” She hesitated. “We’re not close.”
“Why not?”
“Long story.”
“We have time.” He turned to face her fully. “Unless you’d rather not talk about it.”
She should say no. Should deflect, change the subject, do what she’d been doing for the past month—keep her past locked away where it couldn’t hurt her.
But something about the way he was looking at her—patient, steady, unafraid—made her want to open the door just a crack.
“My father was in business,” she said slowly. “The kind of business that required him to be away a lot. When he was home, he was… difficult. Controlling. He had very specific ideas about what his daughter should be.”
“What kind of ideas?”
“That I should be seen and not heard. That my job was to marry well and make the family look good.” She smiled bitterly. “When I married Marcus, he was thrilled. He thought I’d finally done something right.”
“Did he know what Marcus was doing to you?”
Lena looked away. “I tried to tell him once. He said I was being dramatic. That Marcus was a good provider and I should be grateful.”
Domenico’s expression darkened. “Where is your father now?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out flat. “I haven’t spoken to him since I left Cleveland. He probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.”
“Or he’s helping Marcus look for you.”
The thought had occurred to her before—in the early months, when she’d kept checking over her shoulder, convinced someone was following her. She’d never been able to shake the feeling that Marcus had access to information he shouldn’t have had. Her old address. Her workplace. Her routine.
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I used to think he wouldn’t do that. Now I’m not sure.”
Domenico crossed the room and stopped in front of her. He didn’t touch her, but the space between them crackled with something electric.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “you deserved better than either of them.”
Lena’s throat tightened. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” He held her gaze. “I know you’re brave. I know you’re stubborn. I know you’ve been fighting alone for so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have someone in your corner.” He paused. “I know you flinch when someone raises their voice too suddenly. I know you check every exit when you walk into a room. I know you carry yourself like someone who’s expecting the next blow.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks.
“I notice everything, remember?” He reached out, slowly, and wiped a tear from her jaw. His touch was gentle—surprisingly gentle for a man who’d had blood on his knuckles the first time she’d met him. “You’re not just my assistant, Lena. You haven’t been for a while.”
“Then what am I?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face like she was the answer to a question he’d been asking for years.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
Chapter 8: The Arrangement
The next three days blurred together.
Lena wrote down everything she could remember about Marcus—the abuse, the threats, the names she’d overheard in late-night phone calls, the deals she’d pretended not to understand. It filled nearly a hundred pages, and when she was done, she felt hollowed out and raw.
Domenico read every word.
They developed a rhythm in the penthouse—him working from his home office, her using the kitchen table as a desk. He’d make coffee in the mornings, and she’d cook dinner in the evenings. They’d eat together, talking about nothing and everything—his family, her childhood, the city, the future.
It was domestic in a way that made Lena’s chest ache. She’d never had this—not with Marcus, who’d treated her like a possession, not with her father, who’d treated her like a disappointment.
But Domenico treated her like a person. Like an equal. Like someone whose thoughts and feelings and boundaries mattered.
It was terrifying.
On the fourth day, Frank arrived with news.
“The Cleveland PD found the storage unit,” he said, spreading papers across Domenico’s desk. “But it had been cleaned out. Empty. They’re claiming it was never rented.”
Lena’s stomach dropped. “That’s impossible. I paid for it through a shell company. No one should have known—”
“Someone did.” Frank’s expression was grim. “Your ex-husband has friends in Cleveland too, apparently.”
Lena sat down heavily. “So the evidence is gone.”
“Not necessarily.” Frank glanced at Domenico. “There’s a woman I know. A domestic violence advocate in Columbus. She helped you, didn’t she? When you were planning to leave?”
Lena nodded slowly. “Her name was Rita. Rita Alvarez. She helped me file the paperwork, documented everything. She has copies of everything in a secure facility.”
“Then we contact her.” Domenico’s voice was firm. “Get those copies.”
“It’s not that simple.” Lena rubbed her temples. “Rita was already taking a risk helping me. Marcus’s people threatened her—warned her to stay out of it. She told me after the divorce that she couldn’t be involved anymore. For her own safety.”
“She’ll be involved if I ask her.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can.” Domenico’s expression was hard. “And I will. Give Frank her information. He’ll handle it.”
Lena wanted to argue. But the truth was, she was running out of options. Running out of time. If Marcus got his warrant, she’d be arrested, and everything she’d worked for—her freedom, her new life, her hard-won independence—would be gone.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll write down everything I know.”
Frank left with the information. Domenico walked her to the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine.
“You look like you need it,” he said.
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. “I feel like I’m losing control.”
“You’re not losing anything. We’re just… adjusting our strategy.”
“Is that what this is?”
“What else would it be?”
Lena took a long sip of wine. It was expensive—smooth and dark and warming. She could feel it loosening the tight knot of anxiety in her chest.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “This whole situation is so far beyond my experience. I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not worth the trouble.”
“That won’t happen.”
“How do you know?”
He moved closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body. “Because I don’t make mistakes about people. And I haven’t been wrong about you.”
Lena’s heart was pounding. “What do you think you know about me?”
“I know you’re kind. You’re loyal. You’re brave in ways that most people can’t imagine.” His voice dropped. “I know you make me want to be a better man, even though I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Domenico—”
“I know I shouldn’t want you.” He was close now, his face inches from hers. “You work for me. You’re in danger. You’ve been through hell with one man already. The last thing you need is another one who can’t promise you safety.”
Her breath caught. “Then why are you standing so close?”
“Because I’m a selfish man.” His hand came up, cradling her jaw. “Because I’ve spent four weeks trying to stay away from you, and I can’t do it anymore.”
She should step back. Should put distance between them, remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.
But she didn’t want to.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
“You should be.”
“Probably.” She reached up, her fingers curling around his wrist. “But I’m tired of being afraid. Tired of running. Tired of always doing the safe thing.”
His eyes darkened. “Lena—”
“I want this.” The words came out before she could stop them. “I want you. I don’t know what that means, or where it goes, or if I’ll regret it tomorrow. But right now, in this moment, I want you.”
Something in his expression shifted—surprise, then hunger, then something deeper and more dangerous.
“Then you have me,” he said.
He kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was fierce and demanding and exactly what she needed—a claiming, a promise, a line in the sand. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss, and Lena’s whole body went up in flames.
She’d been kissed before. She’d been married, for God’s sake.
But she’d never been kissed like this—like she was the most important thing in the world, like he’d burn down the city to keep her safe, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
She kissed him back with everything she had.
Later—much later—they lay in his bed, tangled in sheets, the city glittering below them.
Lena’s head was on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it grounded her in a way she hadn’t expected.
“I need to tell you something,” she said quietly.
“Anything.”
“My real name isn’t Marchetti.” The words came out in a rush. “I changed it when I left Cleveland. My legal name is actually—”
“I know,” Domenico said.
She lifted her head. “What?”
“I’ve known since the first week.” His hand came up to smooth her hair back from her face. “Elena Marchetti isn’t just a name from the society pages. She’s your aunt, isn’t she? Your father’s sister.”
Lena’s chest tightened. “How did you—”
“I ran a background check. The usual one found nothing, so I dug deeper.” He paused. “Your real name is Elena Marchetti too, isn’t it? Named after your aunt. But you go by Lena because you hated the association.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“Your father is Antonio Marchetti,” Domenico continued. “A made man in the Cleveland family. Your uncle is Salvatore Marchetti, the underboss. Your ex-husband is Marcus Webb, a criminal defense attorney with ties to the Detroit syndicate.” He held her gaze. “You’re not just running from an abusive husband, Lena. You’re running from the mob.”
She should have been terrified. Should have been furious that he’d invaded her privacy, that he’d uncovered the truth she’d tried so hard to bury.
Instead, she just felt… relieved.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
“Three weeks.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I was waiting for you to tell me.” His thumb traced along her jaw. “I wanted to see if you trusted me enough.”
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “And if I hadn’t told you?”
“Then I would have waited longer.” He sat up too, his hand finding hers. “Lena, I don’t care about your family. I don’t care about your name. I care about you.”
“Even knowing that my father is a made man? That my uncle is in the mafia?”
He smiled—that blade-like smile she’d seen on the first day. “Who do you think my family is?”
The question hung in the air.
And suddenly, everything clicked into place. The freight elevator. The men with guns. The phone calls in Italian. The way people parted when he walked into a room.
“You’re not just a real estate developer,” she said slowly.
“No.”
“Your family—”
“Is the Castellan family.” His voice was quiet. “My father is Giuseppe Castellan. Head of the Castellan crime family. I’m his heir.”
Lena’s mind reeled. She’d been working for a mob boss. Living in his penthouse. Falling into his bed.
“Lena.” His hand squeezed hers. “Say something.”
She took a deep breath. “I think I knew.”
“What?”
“Not consciously. Not at first. But I think some part of me recognized you from the beginning.” She met his eyes. “The violence. The secrecy. The way you move through the world like you own it.” She paused. “My father used to move the same way.”
Domenico’s expression was unreadable. “And that doesn’t scare you?”
“It should.” She smiled, wry. “But I’ve spent my whole life being scared of men like you. Maybe it’s time to try something different.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again—softer this time, but no less fierce.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips.
“Probably not.” She pulled back, meeting his gaze. “But I’m done letting men decide what I deserve.”
Chapter 9: The Betrayal
The next morning, Lena woke to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.
She found Domenico in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression dark. He held up a hand as she entered, listening to whoever was on the other end.
“I understand,” he said finally. “Yes. I’ll handle it.” He hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Lena asked.
“Frank was picked up last night.” Domenico’s voice was flat. “Driving under the influence. He’s being held at a precinct in Queens.”
“Frank?” Lena frowned. “Frank doesn’t drink.”
“Exactly.”
The implication hit her like a punch. “You think Marcus’s people set him up?”
“I think someone wanted him out of the way.” Domenico was already moving, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “He was supposed to meet with your contact in Columbus this morning. The one with the evidence. Now he won’t make it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone knew about the meeting.” He turned to face her, his eyes hard. “Someone in my inner circle.”
Lena’s blood ran cold. “Who?”
“I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.” He crossed to her, cupping her face in his hands. “Stay here. Don’t leave the building. Don’t open the door for anyone but me or Gio.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get Frank out of jail.” He kissed her—brief, hard. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He left before she could respond.
The hours crawled by.
Lena tried to work, tried to distract herself, but every noise made her jump. She kept checking her phone, willing it to ring, to buzz, to give her any sign that Domenico was okay.
At noon, the doorbell rang.
She froze. The doorman was supposed to announce all visitors. She hadn’t received a call.
The doorbell rang again.
Lena crept to the door, peering through the peephole.
Valentina stood outside, looking impatient.
Lena hesitated. Domenico had said not to open the door for anyone but him or Gio. But Valentina was his sister. His family.
The doorbell rang a third time.
Lena opened the door.
“Finally,” Valentina said, pushing past her. “I’ve been standing there for ages.”
“I wasn’t sure if—”
“Domenico told you not to let anyone in. I know.” Valentina waved a hand. “But I’m not anyone. And I needed to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About this whole mess.” Valentina dropped onto the couch, crossing her legs. “And about what you think you’re doing with my brother.”
Lena’s spine stiffened. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Everything involving my brother is my business.” Valentina’s eyes were cold. “He’s the head of this family. The one person holding everything together. If he gets distracted—if he makes a mistake because he’s too busy playing white knight—we all suffer.”
“I’m not a distraction.”
“Please.” Valentina laughed. “You’ve been living here for almost a week. He’s been ignoring his business, ignoring his responsibilities, all so he can play house with some woman he barely knows.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair?” Valentina stood, her expression hard. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair. My brother has enemies. Real enemies, who would love nothing more than to see him brought down. And now he’s got Marcus Webb poking around, looking for weaknesses, because you dragged your baggage into our lives.”
Lena’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No, but you’re taking advantage of it.” Valentina stepped closer. “You’re a Marchetti. I know who you are. Your family has been at war with the Castellans for twenty years. And you just happened to show up at my brother’s company, just happened to get hired as his assistant, just happened to be at that gala when your ex-husband appeared?” She shook her head. “That’s not a coincidence, Lena. That’s a setup.”
The accusation hit Lena like a physical blow. “You think I’m working with Marcus?”
“I think you’re working for someone. Maybe Marcus, maybe your family. But you’re not here by accident.”
“That’s insane. I came to New York to get away from my family. I had no idea Domenico was connected to—”
“Save it.” Valentina’s voice was sharp. “I’ve seen this play before. The innocent woman with the tragic past, looking for a savior. It’s textbook.”
“Textbook for what?”
“For the kind of woman who tries to get close to a man like my brother.” Valentina’s smile was cold. “The kind who ends up dead, or worse.”
Lena’s heart was pounding. “Are you threatening me?”
“No. I’m warning you.” Valentina moved toward the door. “Whatever game you’re playing, it’s going to end badly. For everyone involved.” She paused, her hand on the handle. “Do yourself a favor. Leave. Now, while you still can.”
She walked out without looking back.
Lena stood in the living room, trembling. She didn’t know what to believe—whether Valentina was genuinely concerned about her brother, or whether there was something else going on. Something she couldn’t see.
But one thing was certain.
Someone had tipped off Marcus about the meeting with Rita Alvarez. Someone in Domenico’s inner circle.
And if Valentina was the one who’d done it…
Then Lena was in more danger than she’d realized.
It was after 9 p.m. when Domenico returned.
Lena was in the kitchen, making tea she wouldn’t drink, her mind spinning with everything Valentina had said. When she heard the door, she braced herself.
Domenico looked exhausted. His tie was gone, his shirt wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes. He stopped in the kitchen doorway.
“Frank’s out,” he said. “I posted bail. He’s at home, resting.”
“That’s good.”
“He didn’t get to Columbus. His contact rescheduled the meeting for tomorrow, but he’ll need time to recover.” He rubbed his jaw. “This was coordinated. Someone knew exactly where he’d be, and they moved to stop him.”
Lena set down her mug. “Domenico, I need to tell you something.”
He looked up, his expression sharpening. “What happened?”
“Valentina came by today. She—” Lena took a breath. “She accused me of being part of a setup. She said I’m a Marchetti, that my family has been at war with yours for years, that I must be working for someone.”
Domenico went still. “She said that?”
“Yes. And she warned me to leave. Said it would end badly if I didn’t.” Lena’s voice was shaking. “Domenico, I didn’t know about the feud. I didn’t know about any of this. My father never talked about the business—he kept me in the dark about everything. I swear to you, I had no idea—”
“I know.”
The quiet certainty in his voice stopped her.
“What?”
He crossed the room and took her hands in his. “I know you didn’t know. I’ve known since I discovered your identity. Your father kept you out of the business—he married you off to Marcus because he wanted to protect you from it.” He paused. “It’s the same reason he didn’t fight for you when you left. He thought you’d be safer away from the family.”
Lena’s eyes filled with tears. “How do you know all this?”
“Because I made it my business to find out.” His thumbs stroked over her knuckles. “I know your father and my father had a falling out twenty years ago. I know the feud has been simmering ever since. But I also know that you’re not part of it. You never were.”
“Valentina doesn’t believe that.”
“Valentina doesn’t know everything.” He sighed. “She’s been suspicious of you from the start, and now she’s using the situation to try to drive you away.”
“Maybe she’s right to be suspicious.” Lena looked down at their joined hands. “Maybe this is too complicated. Maybe I should just go.”
“Do you want to go?”
The question made her heart clench. “No. But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”
“Lena.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’m not letting you go. Not because of my sister, not because of Marcus, not because of any of it. You’re mine now, and I don’t give up what’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“Mine.” He kissed her—soft and fierce at once. “And I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
She should have argued. Should have pointed out all the reasons this was a terrible idea—the danger, the complications, the fact that she’d only known him a month.
But she was tired of arguing. Tired of being afraid. Tired of running from everything she actually wanted.
“I’ll have you,” she whispered against his lips.
And then she kissed him back, and the world fell away.
Later that night, she lay in his arms, listening to his breathing.
“Domenico?”
“Mmm.”
“The person who tipped off Marcus about the meeting with Rita—do you have any idea who it could be?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I have some theories.”
“Want to share them?”
“Not yet.” His arm tightened around her. “But I will. Soon. Once I’m sure.”
Lena wanted to press, but something in his voice made her hold back.
For now, she’d trust him.
But in the back of her mind, a small, insistent voice whispered: Trusting men like Domenico Castellan is how people get hurt.
She pushed the thought away.
But it didn’t go far.
Chapter 10: The Truth About Valentina
Two days later, Gio arrived with a flash drive and a grim expression.
“We went through Valentina’s phone records,” he said, spreading printouts across the kitchen table. “Three calls to an unregistered number in the past week. All of them lasting under two minutes.”
Lena’s stomach dropped. “Whose number?”
“We don’t know. It’s a burner, probably. But the timing lines up.” Gio pointed to the records. “The first call was the day after the gala. The second was the day before Frank went to Columbus. The third was yesterday, around the time you were talking to her.”
Domenico’s jaw was tight. “You think she’s the leak.”
“I think she’s hiding something.” Gio hesitated. “Boss, I’ve known Valentina for fifteen years. I don’t want to believe she’d betray you. But the evidence is there.”
“What about the other calls? The ones that lasted longer?”
“Mostly legitimate. Friends, business contacts, a few numbers I don’t recognize.” Gio shook his head. “But these three—they’re different. Called from a burner, answered on a burner. That’s not normal.”
Domenico was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Bring her in.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Gio left to make the arrangements. Domenico turned to Lena, his expression unreadable.
“I need to handle this alone,” he said.
“You think I can’t handle it?”
“I think you shouldn’t have to.” He cupped her face. “This is family business. The less you’re involved, the safer you are.”
Lena wanted to argue. But she could see the strain in his eyes, the weight of the betrayal settling on his shoulders. This was a man whose sister—his own blood—might have sold him out. And she understood that kind of pain too well to make it worse.
“Okay,” she said softly. “But I’ll be here when you get back.”
He kissed her—brief, hard—and left.
The next few hours were agonizing.
Lena paced the penthouse, her mind spinning with possibilities. If Valentina was the leak, what did that mean? Why would she betray her own brother? Was she working with Marcus, or with someone else entirely?
And if she wasn’t the leak—if someone else in the inner circle was responsible—then they were still in danger. Still exposed.
At 7 p.m., Domenico returned.
He looked terrible—pale, drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He poured himself a drink and sat heavily on the couch.
Lena sat beside him, not touching, just present.
“Valentina’s been seeing someone,” he said finally. “A man. An FBI agent.”
The words hit Lena like a freight train. “FBI?”
“She met him six months ago at a charity event. They’ve been involved since.” He took a long swallow of his drink. “She claims she didn’t tell him anything about the business. Claims the calls were just personal.”
“Do you believe her?”
He was silent for a long moment. “I want to.”
“But?”
“But the timing is suspicious. The agent’s name is Christopher Morgan. He’s been working organized crime for years. He transferred to the New York office three months before they met.” He met her eyes. “That’s not a coincidence.”
Lena’s chest tightened. “You think he’s using her to get to you.”
“I think it’s possible. If he gets close to Valentina, gets her to talk, he could build a case against the family.” He set down his glass. “And if she’s been feeding him information—even unintentionally—it could destroy everything.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I told her to end it. To cut off contact with him.” He rubbed his eyes. “She refused.”
“What?”
“She says she loves him. Says he doesn’t care about the family, that he just wants to be with her.” His laugh was bitter. “She called me paranoid.”
Lena’s heart ached for him. She knew what it was like to love someone who was making terrible choices—to watch them walk into danger and be powerless to stop it.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry.”
He turned to her, his expression softening. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Leave. Cut ties with your family, your husband, everything you knew.” His voice was rough. “How did you find the strength?”
Lena thought about it. “I didn’t feel strong,” she admitted. “I felt terrified. But I realized that staying would kill me. Maybe not literally—maybe it would just kill my spirit, my soul, everything that made me who I was.” She paused. “And I decided I’d rather die running than survive by staying.”
Domenico stared at her for a long moment. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured into her hair.
“You’d survive. You’re very good at that.”
“Surviving isn’t the same as living.” He pulled back, meeting her eyes. “You’ve made me want to live, Lena. For the first time in years, I actually want to live.”
The words made her chest ache. She reached up, cupping his face. “Then live. With me.”
He kissed her—soft, tender, nothing like the fierce claiming of before. This was something else entirely. Something that felt like a beginning.
When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “We need to deal with Valentina. With Marcus. With all of it.”
“I know.”
“And then?”
“Then we’ll figure out what comes next.” She smiled. “Together.”
Part 3: “You think I’m the monster? Wait until you meet the men I’m protecting you from.”
