Page 31 of Crimson Reign

I watch as Matteo's expression transforms—shock, followed by something so vulnerable it makes my chest ache.

"She's never said that before," I whisper.

"I'm not—I don't—"

I place my hand on his arm. "It’s okay."

His free arm wraps around me, pulling me against his side. I rest my head on his shoulder, looking down at my daughter sleeping peacefully in the arms of New York’s most dangerous man.

Tomorrow will bring violence and bloodshed. But tonight, we are simply a man, a woman, and a child, finding shelter in each other against the darkness.

And somehow, against all odds, it feels like home.

10

Matteo

TheSanGennarofeastis in full motion. Red and gold banners hang from the rafters of the ancient palazzo, flickering candlelight casting silhouettes against centuries-old stone walls. Commissioner members and their entourages fill the grand hall, laughing over something.

I adjust my platinum Bellanti crest cufflinks and scan the room. My men are positioned strategically throughout—Bruno near the eastern entrance, Valentino by the kitchens. Everyone is in place.

"Nervous?" Elena's voice comes from beside me, soft enough that only I can hear.

I turn to look at her, still unsettled by her presence, despite having lost the argument hours ago. Her deep burgundy dress hugs her curves before flowing to the floor, and she has elegantly swept up her dark hair.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, once again.

Her chin lifts slightly. "I earned the right to see this through. To look him in the eyes when he falls."

She’s right. After what Julian nearly did to her—and to Fiona—Elena deserves whatever closure she seeks.

Her eyes drift to where Don Vincenzo, the eldest Commission member and de facto leader, holds court, as he meets my eyes and nods. The man is dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, a glass of champagne in one hand, his signature gold watch gleaming.

Three Commission members, whom Julian confirmed were compromised, hover near him.

"It's starting," I murmur to Elena.

Don Vincenzo raises his glass, immediately commanding attention. "Friends, family," he intones, his voice carrying the weight of his seventy years. "Let us honor the feast of our patron saint as we have for generations."

The room quiets, all eyes on the old man. I position myself with a clear view of both entrance and exits.

"Before we begin," Vincenzo continues, "I must address a matter of grave importance to all families represented here."

"Three weeks ago," Vincenzo says, his voice hardening, "information came to light regarding the death of our brother, Don Ares Greco."

A ripple of murmurs moves through the crowd. Greco's death six months ago had been attributed to heart failure—sudden but not suspicious for a man of his age.

"Matteo Bellanti has brought evidence before this Commission that suggests otherwise."

Vincenzo gestures toward me, and suddenly, all eyes shift my way.

I step forward, feeling Elena move slightly behind me. "What I present tonight will disturb you," I begin, "but the truth must be known if we are to preserve the foundations upon which our world stands."

Before I can signal Valentino, the large wooden doors burst open, and a dozen armed men flood into the room.

"Nobody move!" shouts the leader, a burly man with a scar down his cheek.

The room freezes. I lock eyes with Elena, silently urging her toward the column, but Massimo's voice cuts through the tension.

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