Chapter 2

ELENA

The room felt like it was spinning as I stood —head down—right in front of my father. His voice roared, bouncing off the walls and tearing through my nerves. I glanced at Rachele who was swaying slightly, the alcohol clearly still working its way through her. How he found out we’d gone to the club, I didn’t know, but this—his yelling, his anger—was exactly what I’d tried to avoid earlier.

“This is what you two do the moment my back is turned?” his voice thundered. “You go sneaking off to a club like you have no sense?”

Rachele—drunk as she was—didn’t seem fazed at all. Rather she crossed her arms, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s just a club Papa,” she said, her words slurred. “What’s the big deal? We used to do this all the time back home.”

Her nonchalance made my stomach drop. I wanted to grab her, to shake her, to tell her to just shut up for once in her life.

A low, dangerous chuckle came from my father. He wasn’t amused. “Back home?” he repeated, his tone icy. “Back home we controlled the territory. Here you’re in the middle of a rival’s playground, and you think it’s smart to prance around like fools?”

I felt his fiery gaze suddenly land on me and I froze, standing straighter. He shook his head slowly, a deep sigh escaping him. “You, Elena,” he said, his tone laced with disappointment. “I always thought you were the responsible one. But here you are, following your sister into trouble.”

I opened my mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Why was it always me? Why was I the one who had to carry the weight of Rachele’s bad decisions? Even now, after I had warned her at the club, I was the one standing here, facing the full force of his anger.

“I warned her Papa,” I finally managed to say, my voice trembling. “I told her we shouldn’t—”

“Oh please,” Rachele cut in, rolling her eyes dramatically. She waved a hand at me, stumbling slightly. “When the hell did you warn me Elena? Was it before or after you were busy arguing with strangers outside the club?”

I whipped my head toward her, my eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s not true!” I said quickly, shaking my head, trying to make him understand. “She’s lying—”

But before I could even finish, his hand struck my cheek. The sting was immediate, hot and sharp, spreading through my face like fire. I gasped—stumbling slightly, but I couldn’t cry. Crying would only make things worse.

“Are you stupid?” he snapped, his voice slicing through me. “We just got here, and you’re already making trouble? Already!?”

I clenched my fists at my sides, swallowing the lump in my throat. My cheek burned, but I refused to let the tears fall. Crying was weakness, and weakness wasn’t allowed—not in this family.

“Papa, I didn’t—” I started, but he wasn’t done.

“Answer me!” he barked. “Are you deaf?”

“No Papa,” I said quickly, my voice shaky. “I didn’t get into any argument with anyone.”

I saw Rachele glance at me from the corner of her eye—her lips twitching into a smug smile—but I ignored her. I had to focus on our father.

“So your sister’s lying now?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s not what I’m saying Papa. I’m saying she’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady.

His eyes narrowed, studying me for a moment that felt like forever. The air was so heavy and I could barely breathe.

“Enough,” he said finally, his tone curt. “Both of you. Go to your rooms. Now. I don’t want to see you still standing here when I open my eyes.”

I didn’t wait for him to say it again. Turning quickly, I headed for the door, my steps stiff and deliberate. Rachele followed behind me, stumbling slightly. As we reached the hallway, I glanced back once, only to see her grinning at me—smug and unbothered like she had won some twisted game. I bit down on the urge to say anything, instead I went straight into my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Inside, I leaned against the door, finally letting out the breath I’d been holding. My cheek still burned and my chest felt tight, but I refused to cry.

I didn’t know how much longer I could take this—always being the one held accountable for Rachele’s mistakes—but the truth was that I didn’t even feel like a part of this family anymore, not since our mother died. She was the only one who ever treated me like I mattered. Without her, I was just… lost.

I could still hear the faint echo of my father’s voice in my head—sharp and unrelenting, and even though I hated it, part of me still wanted his approval.

* * * * * * * *

DOMINIC

My men and I were seated in the private lounge, the low hum of conversation filling the room. The air was thick with smoke from Marco’s cigar, but the heaviness of what I had just told them seemed to weigh down more than the haze. Marco leaned forward, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“You’re serious?” Marco asked, his voice low but sharp. “Vincenzo Falcone—the devil—actually invited you to his house? Him?”

I nodded, leaning back in my chair. “That’s what I said.”

Marco shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “That bastard doesn’t just invite people over. There’s always a reason with him.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I had been just as surprised when the invitation arrived. “I don’t know what his reason is,” I said, looking around at the men in front of me, “But whatever it is, I’ll tell you this. If it’s to finish what he started all those years ago, he won’t live to see the end of it.”

The room went quiet—the tension palpable—and I could feel my fists clench as memories surfaced, unbidden and sharp. I saw the image of my parents walking into what was supposed to be a peace meeting, only to be ambushed. They hadn’t stood a chance. Vincenzo’s men had gunned them down without hesitation, leaving me with nothing but the ruins of my family and a heart full of vengeance.

“And he thinks you’re stupid enough to walk into his trap? Like a goat into a lion’s den?” Pietro chuckled, shaking his head.

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what he thinks.”

Nicola, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up. “Boss,” he began, his tone cautious but curious, “did you know he had daughters?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “Daughters? Vincenzo?”

Nicola nodded, standing and walking over to me with an envelope in hand. “I didn’t think it was important until now. But maybe it is.”

I raised an eyebrow, watching as he pulled out a photo and handed it to me.

“This one’s Rachele Falcone. His first daughter,” Nicola said.

I studied the picture. Rachele was beautiful, no doubt about that. But there was something hard in her eyes, something cold. “Figures,” I muttered, setting the picture on the table.

Nicola pulled out another photo, handing it to me with a small smile. “And this,” he said, “is Elena Falcone. The youngest.”

My stomach tightened the moment I saw the photo. It was her—the girl from the club. The same one who had bumped into me and walked away without so much as a proper apology.

“You’re sure this is Vincenzo’s daughter?” I asked, my voice sharper now.

Nicola nodded. “Positive. Why? Do you know her?”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head as I looked at the picture again. “Oh, I know her. She’s the little brat who ran into me at the club earlier.”

Marco’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding. That’s her?”

“Yeah,” I said, my tone dark. “Didn’t even apologize properly. Thought she could just walk away like I was nothing.”

I glanced at the photo again, this time more carefully. There was no denying it, Elena was stunning. She had a softness to her that her sister didn’t. But beneath that beauty, I could still see the arrogance in her expression.

“Well, now this is interesting,” Pietro said, grinning. “What are the odds?”

I didn’t answer. My focus was on her face, the memory of her dismissal still fresh. Then, without looking up, I said, “I’ve changed my mind.”

The room went silent again. Marco broke it first. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?”

“I’m going to pay Vincenzo a visit,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

Alessio frowned. “Boss, you said it yourself—it’s a trap. You go there, you’re giving him the chance to kill you.”

I looked up at him, my tone firm. “He wouldn’t dare.”

My men exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them argued further. I picked up Elena’s photo again, my thumb brushing over the edge.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” I murmured, almost to myself. “But you have no idea who you were dealing with, do you?”

I stared at Elena’s face, my lips curling into a faint, dark smile.

“We’ll meet again, Elena Falcone,” I whispered.“Very soon.”