Shackled Hearts

Chapter Thirteen

Dante

The whiskey still burned at the back of my throat as I left my father’s study.

He didn’t bluff. If he said it, he meant it. And if he thought dangling my brother over my head would make me fold, he’d forgotten who the hell he raised.

Matteo peeled out of the shadows like a loyal ghost and fell into stride beside me.

“Well?” he asked.

“Father gave me a deadline.”

Matteo’s mouth tilted. “He always did like clocks. What’s the countdown this time?”

“One week.” I didn’t slow. “If I don’t secure the marriage, Nico takes my place.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a gauntlet.”

“It’s not a gauntlet.” I pushed open my office door and let it thud behind us. “It’s a test. I’ve never failed one.”

I dropped into the chair, steepled my fingers, and replayed the night in clean frames: the photos; Serafina’s stare—chin high, blade-steady; my father’s fury; Nico’s name held like a knife. The heat in my chest tempered into something useful.

“She thinks she’s won,” I said.

Matteo shrugged, unbothered. “For tonight, she did.”

“No.” I looked up at him. “She doesn’t win until I let her walk away. And I don’t intend to.”

He grinned, all teeth. “So what’s the move, capo?”

“We take away her oxygen.” I tipped my chin to the credenza. “Start with IL Vizio. I want a full sweep before sunrise. Cameras, corridors, door logs. Anyone who saw those pictures before they hit our table is either on their knees by morning or gone by noon. Back corridor gets an eye and a heavier lock.”

“Done.” He slid his phone out, thumbs already moving.

“And Eva.” I didn’t bother with the name beyond that. “She’s cut off. No calls answered. Anyone in her circle selling gossip gets bought or buried. Put a lawyer on standby and a check in a safe. If she tries to turn noise into money, we’ll suffocate it before it breathes.”

Matteo’s smirk turned mean. “Our friends at the tabloids have short memories when the envelope’s thick.”

“Make them thicker.” I leaned back, let the chair creak once, let the plan settle. “Then the narrative. Father will want flowers to the Carusos and an apology. He’ll get both—but on my schedule, my words. Respectful. Controlled. I’ll tell Don Caruso his daughter is spirited and I admire it. He’ll hear what I actually mean.”

Matteo nodded, still tapping notes. “And Serafina herself?”

“We give her what she thinks she wants—freedom.” The beginning of the trap coiled clean and certain. “She wants out? Fine. I’ll draw up paper that says she can walk any time. But the terms come with it: non-disparagement, public unity until the date is set, she stands at my side when I ask. I clear what weighs on her family, and she keeps her mouth shut while we ‘reconsider.’”

He tilted his head. “You’re going to buy the ground she stands on.”

“Her brother,” I said. “Adriano. Debt. Exposure. He sleeps with a knife above his bed, whether he admits it or not. Find out who holds the paper. If it’s Albani’s dog, I want a name and a meeting. If it’s a smaller shark, I buy the note, and Adriano starts owing me instead of the street.”

Matteo’s eyes lit with approval. “Clean leverage. No bruises people can photograph.”

“Exactly.” I poured another finger of whiskey and let it burn. “She’ll think she negotiated a reprieve. She’ll tell herself she chose it. And the harder she pushes to prove she’s not mine, the tighter the leash gets.”

“And if she fights ugly?” he asked. “If she tries another stunt at a table like tonight?”

“Then we move uglier.” I let the glass knock softly against the desk. “But not in public. I won’t give Father a second mess to mop. We keep the cameras fed with what we choose—charity visits, handshakes, a smile where it hurts me least. Meanwhile, anything that makes noise behind the curtains gets smothered.”

Matteo barked a laugh. “You’ll make staying look like her idea.”

“It will be.” I met his eyes. “Because the alternative will be worse.”

The door eased open without a knock. Nico stood there in the frame, tie straight, face empty. He looked like the statue of a son father always wanted.

“Busy?” he asked mildly.

Matteo slid sideways to the wall, interested.

“Say what you came to say,” I told Nico.

He stepped in and shut the door with care. “I’m not here to take your chair.”

“Good,” I said, because I didn’t care whether he wanted it. “Stay out of my way.”

A beat. Something flickered under the calm. “Father isn’t bluffing.”

“I know.” I let the whiskey roll once around the glass. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer that. “Serafina embarrassed you.”

“She tried,” I said. “She won’t like what that costs.”

He studied me for a second that felt longer than it was. “Then make it quick,” he said, and left as quietly as he’d come.

Matteo snorted when the latch clicked. “Do you think he believes what he just said?”

“I don’t think about what he believes.” I set the glass down. “I think about results.”

“Then here’s one,” Matteo said, back to business. “If Albani holds Adriano’s paper, they’ll squeeze on timing. They’ll want to bleed him slowly, not sell a steady vein.”

“Everyone sells,” I said. “They just need the right fear or the right number. If they won’t sell, we make them regret the math. Schedule a sit-down with their bagman. Public place, too clean for blood. I’ll make him see the wisdom of letting this one go.”

Matteo’s thumbs kept moving. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow’s for optics,” I said. “I’ll call Don Caruso at nine. You’ll have a florist at their door by ten. White peonies, not roses—romance is cheap, respect is expensive. Noon, draft the 'freedom’ agreement with the clauses we talked about. Afternoon, you start pulling thread on Adriano’s debt. By dusk, I want a name and a number.”

He grinned. “You missed breakfast.”

“I don’t eat when I’m hunting.”

He laughed under his breath. “Copy. Anything else?”

“Yes.” I pushed to my feet. The anger that had walked me out of the study had cooled into something far more dangerous. “Giada handles the scheduling. No one else speaks to press. Anyone on staff who so much as winks at a gossip page is finished. And call the tailor—we’re done looking rattled.”

Matteo pocketed his phone. “I’ll move.”

He was almost at the door when I added, “And send a car to shadow her street. She’s bold when she thinks no one’s watching.”

He glanced back. “Eyes only?”

“For now.”

He disappeared, and the office settled. The city pressed its face to my window—hungry, nosy, waiting.

My father had handed me an ultimatum. Serafina had tried to hand me a humiliation.

They’d both forgotten one thing.

I don’t lose.

And if Serafina Caruso thought tonight was her victory, she was about to learn what happens when you corner a Romano.