~Sowhere in Los Angeles.~
When the news reached Massimo about the death of one of his n by the hand of Jace Romano, he was unfazed by it.
Death was one of those things that ca with the job description. But when he found out Jace had his n intercept his shipnt at Long Beach, he was infuriated.
All this over a woman? Massimo scoffed. It was shaful. But he had co to realize that Mira was Jace’s weakness. He had wanted to exploit that leverage but the silly girl was no different from her husband - utterly smitten even when she did not want to admit it to herself. It was way too obvious.
He didn’t plan on killing Mira. Well at least not imdiately. He wanted her to locked up and tortured until Jace would give up the ownership of that docunt. If she died eventually, it would have been his cross to carry (Jace).
Massimo had underestimated Mira’s survival skills. He didn’t expect her to escape his n so easily. However he realized how dumb they were when they returned to him emptyhanded. The audacity.
He shoved the cigarette into the ash tray and left it there.
"Any sight of her?" He asked yet again.
"She’s stuck in Don Romano’s penthouse."
His face dimd. The security was as tight as the whitehouse. But then even the whitehouse could be infiltrated with the right ans and a solid plan. The only thing was he did not have the ti.
After a mont of pondering on his next move, he finally spoke up;
"I need a list of his enemies. He needs to go down one way or the other,"
And if that involved him asking for help, he would lower his pride and do just that.
~
~Romano estate, New York.~
Donna Carla could not understand the sinking feeling in her chest.
Her son was a grown man. She couldn’t baby him or monitor his every move especially because he was as stubborn as a mule. However, she had heard whisperings of an impending war.
She had been able to hold off the Castillos and things had died down but Mira’s return stirred things up again. Why couldn’t they just fix their issues and live in peace at least?
Jace was out there fighting the world for her and fighting her for her affection. He needed a break.
When was he ever going to rest?
She walked towards the large frad photograph in her study. Don Vittorio.
Vittorio, her love...
It had been fifteen years since he passed. It felt so long ago but at the sa ti it felt like fifteen days.
He wasn’t what the younglings would think of as the ideal husband. He was rough, tough and immune to sentintality but sohow that had attracted her to him even more when her parents had given her to him. Their marriage was arranged but over ti, it blood into a union that could be broken by death.
She missed his hands and how they used to handle her on the days he wanted her. No man had been able to replicate that. Not the younger man who piqued her interest and especially not the older one that slled of garlic.
Donna Carla chuckled at the thought of Jace finding out about her little escapades. Maybe he already knew but didn’t want to say anything.
Her smile disappeared when her eyes fell on another picture.
When Rocco, her second son died in a bloody shootout right next to his father, it broke her beyond what words could explain. But she had to pretend to be strong. No one wanted to see a weak Donna. How would she be able to raise a Don with her only surviving son if she showed weakness?
When Jace stepped into the position, she was well aware he wasn’t ready for it. Yes, he had been training for years. His father never let him catch a break. But nothing could have prepared either of them for the loss of both family mbers in one day.
When he ca ho from the warehouse that fateful day, she saw it in his eyes that her son had beco broken, probably beyond repair. There was no going back.
She rembered scooping him up, away from the prying eyes of the sympathizers. Their scrutiny was obvious.
They had written him off imdiately. And all these years later, he was still standing. His thods were...different from his father. But he got the job done and that was all that mattered.
Besides, in the last fifteen years, he had tripled the net worth of the Romano empire, retiring her quite early. That was no easy feat.
Now all she needed was a grandchild and it would all feel complete.
Well, at least to an extent.
She knew exactly what to do about that.
~~~
~Ro, Italy.~
Enzo and Ricardo weren’t very good at accepting defeat.
Jace had been successful with consistently thwarting their plans to overthrow him.
The Romano bloodline had a curse. And the curse was that it devoured itself.
Enzo knew it. Ricardo knew it. And Jacopo, arrogant bastard that he was, refused to believe it.
The father and son sat in the dim backroom of a cigar lounge in downtown Ro, Italy. They were away from the glitz of the penthouse towers Jacopo loved to haunt. Italy was ho and safe from the Don’s eagle-like gaze in his Arican territory. Enzo leaned back in his chair, a glass of grappa in one hand, his sharp eyes fixed on the man across from him.
Ricardo, older but not still not softer, toyed with the gold ring on his finger, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"He thinks he’s untouchable," Enzo muttered, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. "Expanding in LA like he hasn’t made enemies on both coasts."
Ricardo chuckled, low and bitter. "Our dear Don Jacopo. Always playing king. But even kings bleed."
The truth was, they had tried. For months they had set fires under his empire, smuggling routes sabotaged, warehouses raided, n paid off. But every ti, Jace had put the flas out before they could burn. He was efficient, ruthless and unpredictable. They underestimated him for sure.
Ricardo set his drink down with a sharp clink. "We underestimated him. He’s more like Vittorio than we care to admit."
That na of the old Don, their brother and uncle respectively hung between them like a ghost. He was a ghost.
Enzo’s jaw tightened. "That’s exactly why he has to fall. He’s turning into the sa monster. And we both know this family won’t survive another reign like that."
Silence followed. It was the kind that ant agreent without words.
It was then Enzo’s phone buzzed against the table. An international number. He frowned, picked it up, and read the na flashing across the screen.
Massimo Ricciardi.
Ricardo arched a brow. "That vulture?"
Enzo didn’t answer at once. He accepted the call and put it on speaker.
"Gentlen," Massimo’s smooth, accented voice spilled into the room. Too smooth, too calm. "I hear you’ve been trying to clip Romano’s wings. How’s that working out for you?"
Ricardo chuckled humorlessly. "Better than you think, boy. But worse than we hoped."
Massimo laughed, a dark, amused sound. "You’ve learned the sa lesson I have. Jace Romano doesn’t die easy. But he bleeds. I’ve seen it myself. What you need, - what we all need - is to stop playing alone. A single knife won’t kill him. But three?"
Enzo’s eyes narrowed. "Why now?"
"Because he’s distracted," Massimo said smoothly. "Because Mira is back. And because he’s arrogant enough to think he can have it all - her, his empire, his peace. That arrogance will be his undoing. But only if we’re smart enough to strike together."
Enzo and Ricardo exchanged a look across the table. There was history in that look. It was resentnt, ambition, blood all at once. They’d hated Massimo’s family for decades. But hate was different from strategy.
"And what’s in it for you?" Ricardo asked.
"The sa thing you want," Massimo answered without hesitation. "To watch him fall. To take what he loves most. To strip him of everything until he begs for death."
The silence that followed wasn’t rejection. It was calculation.
Finally, Enzo leaned forward, a slow smile curving his lips. "We’ll hear you out, Ricciardi. But betray us, and you won’t live long enough to regret it."
Massimo chuckled again. "Then we understand each other perfectly."
The line went dead, but the echo of his voice lingered.
Enzo swirled the grappa in his glass, thoughtful. "Three knives, papa. Maybe this ti, we’ll make him bleed for good."
~
And while all these went on behind his back, Jace lay peacefully in the arms of the one woman that could make him lose every form of composure and carefulness over years of training.
He lived and breathed her.
She consud his entire being .
And while she fought her own feelings, she knew that he was it for her.
There was no one else that could make her burn and yearn like she had been doing ever since the first ti they t.
It was complicated, ssy and dangerous.
But they would not have it any other way.
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