Page 71 of Conall's Reign

Vanello wasn’t just any man. He was yet another mafia boss who had been waging war against Conall, Maxim, Ilias, and my brother, Angelo. There had never been a whisper of a connection between him and the Santellis. If what he said was true, it would change everything. It would upend history, rewrite alliances, and tear open old wounds that weren’t even suspected.

Conall’s eyes were fixed on mine, unreadable but seething beneath the surface. “That’s impossible,” he muttered, almost to himself.

I wanted to believe that. I needed to. But Vanello’s words echoed in my head, relentless.

And the worst part? A small, terrible part of me wondered if it made sense.

“I do. He had a DNA test.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

conall

My phone buzzed.It was Theo, again. She’d been frantic all evening. Calling, texting. Trying to come up and see Francesca. I’d finally convinced her that she needed to sleep.

Theo: I’m going to bring her those doughnuts she likes in the morning. Rain or shine. I need to make sure she’s okay.

Me: She’s okay. I promise. But she’ll like that.

After checking in on Sean, I stood in the kitchen, my hands pressed against the counter, the cold marble grounding me. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt like a breath held too long. Francesca was upstairs, finally resting, and I didn’t want anyone to wake her. Not yet. Not until I figured out what the hell to do with what she had just told me.

Vanello had given her the phone she requested and then instructed his men to leave. He’d told her that he wasn’t disappointed in her and then left her with a dead body and a bleeding bodyguard.

A name I’d always associated with war, bad blood, and power plays that had cost lives. Vanello wasn’t just another mafia boss; he was a don in New York, who had once worked alongside my father. However, he had never accepted the blood oath that united the Irish, Italian, Greek, and Bratva factions. That agreement had blocked the trafficking routes he desired, and he’d resented it ever since. His bitterness transformed into outright aggression over the years, fueling the violence between our families.

But now… now I had to consider the impossible. Had Vanello just found out about Francesca, or had he known all along? That didn’t make sense… right? But why would that even be something he was questioning at this moment?

I clenched my jaw, suppressing the spiral of questions that threatened to choke me. If Vanello had known, if he had held onto this information for years, then every move he made could have been calculated around it. Every attack and power grab could have been part of a bigger game I hadn’t even realized I was playing.

My fingers tapped against the counter, the sole outward sign of the storm raging in my mind. I didn’t know how to restore balance to my world. If Vanello had protected Francesca and claimed her as his, then the war we had been fighting would no longer be the same. It had transformed into something else.

Vanello was still a trafficking piece of shit. That still hadn’t changed. However, his trafficking business had slowed by nearly eighty percent in our estimation over the last three months. We’d thought that was due to our efforts, but perhaps there was more at play.

The distant sound of footsteps made me tense. The others were arriving. I turned toward the door, exhaling slowly and forcing my expression into an unreadable mask. I still didn’t know what this meant.

One thing was clear—this changed everything.

“How is she?” Angelo looked haggard, his hair disheveled. Even Remo seemed more unsettled than usual, which said a lot. “Can we see her?”

“She’s sleeping, so keep your voices down. No, you can’t see her,” I growled back. “Sit your asses down and be fucking respectful.” I pointed to the living room, ignoring their snorts of disbelief as they glanced at the plants and cushions that Francesca had arranged.

“Don’t get her shit dirty either.”

Maxim sat in silence, crossing one leg over the other, while Ilias followed suit, rubbing a hand over his face.

I didn’t allow them the chance to ask questions before I got straight to the point. “Cosimo was the one who led the team to kidnap her.”

Maxim’s expression remained unsurprised, but Angelo stiffened. “What?”

“He was the one who took her,” I repeated. “He wanted information about his brother’s death. Apparently, it was a deal with Vanello: ten minutes with Francesca.”

All the men tensed. They understood what type of man Vanello was. Ten minutes was an eternity.

“To talk to her about Fausto? Jesus, what a loser. The guy just couldn’t let it go.” Remo was disgusted.

“Damn, that must have been a hefty price Cosimo paid to Vanello. Now that he’s dead, the Oliveto mafia is finished,” Ilias said in awe. It was what we were all thinking. What had been Vanello’s price for those ten minutes? We fell silent for a few moments before Ilias continued. “So, Cosimo thought she knew something?” Ilias asked.

“He claimed he had footage of her in the car. She denied it was her.” Francesca had been clever, sticking to her story. Even if Vanello believed he knew about the murder, she was better off not giving them anything.

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