Page 65 of Conall's Reign

That was when I noticed others—perhaps half a dozen men, or more, standing in the shadows. Some wore suits, while others dressed more casually in tactical gear, but all were armed. I didn’t recognize most of them, but one stepped forward, causing my stomach to sink.

Vallone.

His presence sent ice down my spine. While Cosimo radiated desperation, it was directed at solving a personal agenda. Vallone was entirely different—sharp, calculating, and predatory. He viewed women as commodities, and his dark eyes raked over me, assessing. I could practically feel the weight of his gaze, like fingers pressing into my skin.

“You’ve stirred up quite a ruckus, Francesca,” he said, his voice softer than I expected —more dangerous because of it. “Cosimo has sacrificed a great deal for this moment with you.” He paused, almost humming to himself as he rocked on his heels.

My eyes darted to Cosimo, who appeared resolute, as though he had burned his bridges and left the remnants of his soul on the other side.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“You—” My voice was hoarse, my throat raw. I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way my head screamed in protest. “You attacked the club.”

“A necessary step,” Vallone shrugged as he stepped closer. “You’re quite the little puzzle piece, you know? First a Santelli, married to the Irish, best friends with the Anthakos girl, and now you’re here with us.”

My stomach churned as my mind struggled through the haze of pain. I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious, but if they wanted me dead, I would be by now. That was something, at least.

Cosimo exhaled another drag of his cigarette and glared. “I hope you’re comfortable because you and I have a lot to talk about.”

I swallowed, my pulse an erratic drum in my ears. Cosimo’s dark gaze held me in place as his cigarette smoldered between his fingers.

“You were at the club the night Fausto died.” His voice was sharp, laced with something volatile. “Don’t bother denying it—I have a witness.”

My fingers curled into fists. My wrists ached from the zip ties, but I ignored the sting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Theo’s words and my motto echoed in my ears: deny, deny, deny. Another litany held equal sway.

He’ll come for me. Conall would come for me.

Cosimo’s lips twisted. “Liar.” He flicked his cigarette, embers flaring as it hit the ground. “The bartender remembers you. He said you were there that night, sitting at the bar and drinking something expensive. You stood out.”

I inhaled through my nose, maintaining a composed expression. “So what? Lots of girls were there.”

“But only one was a Santelli.” His voice cracked like a whip, and his frustration hung thick in the air. “So tell me, Francesca—what were you doing there?”

I lifted my chin. “Having a drink. Enjoying my life. Being young.”

Cosimo shot his hand out and gripped my jaw. “Wrong answer.” His fingers dug in just enough to convey his frustration but not enough to bruise me. “Try again. You think just because you’re a woman, I won’t hurt you? I bartered everything to have you here,” he spat.

A slow, disgusted exhale escaped Vallone. He had been observing from the shadows, arms crossed, his distaste evident. “You’re pathetic,” he muttered. “Sniveling over a dead man.”

A man stepped forward from the corner and shoved Cosimo back a step. “Keep your hands to yourself,stronzo. Touching wasn’t part of the deal,” he sneered.

Cosimo ignored him. His voice rasped with anger. “You were there. Fausto died that night. I don’t believe in coincidences. I want to know!” His voice rose in anguish.

I almost felt sorry for him. I would have if I weren’t zip-tied to a damn chair. I would have if his brother hadn’t attempted to assault me. I willed my expression to stay blank. “I don’t know anything about your brother. I’ve already told you this.” I infused as much conviction into the statement as I could.

Peering over at Sean, I searched for any signs of life, but he remained still on the concrete. Moving my hands experimentally, I tried to see if there was any way I could rub them against the edge of something like they do in the movies, but apparently, my kidnappers saw those too. Feeling defeated, I eyed Cosimo, who agitatedly paced the space, rubbing a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

Vallone scoffed. “Look at you, allowing her to play you like a fool.” He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over him with a leering and unsettling curiosity. “You’re weak, Cosimo. That’s why Fausto’s dead.”

Cosimo spun on his heel, fury igniting in his eyes. “Shut your mouth.”

Vallone merely smirked. “Have I hit a nerve?”

I sat quietly, my heart racing, observing their power struggle unfold. Whatever Cosimo sought, whatever answers he needed, he was too close to this—and Vallone understood it.

I took a slow breath to steady myself. If I wanted to survive this, I had to be smarter and more controlled. The real danger wasn’t Cosimo’s anger.

It was Vallone’s interest.

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