Page 32 of Bianchi

I throw back the remainder of my drink, discarding the glass on the coffee table in front of me. My legs are splayed as I remain seated on the couch and the voice of my nonna is begging me to keep the devil inside leashed. If our roles were reversed, I would be asking the same question, but I still find my fingers itching to unholster my gun and ask him who the fuck he thinks he is.

I roll my shoulders, the stiffness in them a reminder of last night's sleeping arrangements. It’s swiftly followed by guilt at the reminder of Aurora’s screams and the way her body trembled in my arms. I did that. I’m the reason for her nightmares and that doesn’t fill me with satisfaction like it should.

Resting my ankle on my knee, I cock a brow and dare him to challenge me when I ask, “Which part exactly?”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the action. “You know what I mean, Rome. Why was the woman you’ve said is our hostage eating at my table?”

Holding his brown eyes, I order, “Out.”

Leonardo leaves without protest. At least someone knows their position in this house.

With every second that passes, the air in Massimo’s office becomes more and more charged, until his annoyance is rolling off of him in waves. He stands, pacing behind his desk, the energy he’s holding onto spilling out into every bouncing step.

“I’m struggling to keep up with what the plan is, Rome.”

Translation: I’m doing shit that doesn’t make sense.

Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I exhale heavily. He has as much at risk as I do. I should show him a little courtesy and be honest, but the truth is, I don’t know why I’m doing what I’m doing.

Out of the two of us, I’m the one who considers every step before I take it. I calculate the risk and determine whether or not it’s worth it. But when it comes to her? Fuck. I’m operating on instinct alone.

I should tell Massimo that I’ll send her back to the basement. Even better, I should reassure him that I’ll get rid of her because the likelihood of her being of any use to us is very slim.

Despite knowing what I should do, I still find myself opening my mouth, and with a tone that sounds bored, yet laced with patronization, saying, “She hasn’t eaten for four days, cousin. We don’t want her dead, eh?”

Massimo stares at me for the longest time before he drops back into his chair. Skepticism fills his voice, and he drags out each word. “Right, because she’s the bait.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Anger and disgust swirl beneath the surface at that word. Bait. She’s more than that. Massimo looks at me expectantly, a brow raised, and I push down the feelings that I don’t have the capacity to examine.

Grinding my molars, I unclench my jaw. “Exactly. Stop looking for something that isn’t there and let’s figure out what our next steps are.”

I slide my phone from my pocket, shooting off a text to Daniele and Leonardo asking them to come to the office. When I move my focus back to Massimo, his head’s still bobbing in agreement before he says, “I just have one question, maybe two, and then I’ll leave it.”

Staring him down, I wait. I already know what he’s going to ask and if that fucking brow pops again, the fact that we’re family won’t mean shit.

“Why is she sleeping in your room? If she’s our bait, shouldn’t she be in the basement?” Genuine curiosity fills his voice.

She should, but she won’t be spending another night there. Last night, Daniele sent me the CCTV footage of her nightmare. I could hear her rasping breaths, even though there was no sound. A feeling I’ve never felt before settled on my chest and as I watched her sleep in my bed, I made her a promise. If these are her last days, I won’t let her die like a man full of sin, not when she’s an angel of purity.

Clearing my throat, I straighten my cuffs and look down my nose at him. “Massimo, if I have to remind you of your place in this family, you won’t have one. I don’t answer to you and you’ll do well to remember that.” There’s a deathly calm to my tone that has seen many men piss themselves before I take their life.

I know he wants to demand an answer. He’s grown too sure of himself with nobody to keep him in check in the years since his father passed. I’m to blame for that. The thought has a tightness forming in my chest and a heaviness settling in my stomach. When this is all over, I’ll have to make sure I visit more.

“What’s your other question?” I ask.

His eyes search mine, no doubt looking for a tell before he asks, “You’ll be taking her to the gala next weekend?”

Fuck.

How could I have forgotten about that?

Sleep deprivation, that’s how. I’ve barely slept twelve hours in the five days we’ve been here.

On day one of our stakeout, Massimo received a call from an associate who got their hands on the guest list of a gala being held by the Mayor of New York next Saturday. Francesco somehow managed to snag an invite, so of course, we need to attend. Which also means I need to take Aurora. Because she’s our bait.

My hand balls into a fist on my thigh. “Maybe. For all we know, it could be a trap. Have we ruled out your friend who got us the reservation for the restaurant?”

The same ‘friend’ that got us the reservation is going to get us onto that guest list, but the idea is niggling at me. Very few people knew we would be there, and she was one of them. In fact, she was the only one that isn’t a trusted member of this household. I don’t trust her.

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