Page 82 of Ruined By Capture

I shake my head. "I couldn't risk it. Not because I don't trust him but because I do. Leonardo would have confronted our father directly and Antonio would have killed him for it."

My voice cracks a little on the last words. The thought of losing Leonardo—the brother who once carried me on his shoulders, who taught me to play chess, who slipped chocolate under my pillow when I was sad—is unbearable.

"If Leonardo knew the truth," I say with absolute certainty, "he wouldn't stand with our father. Not for a second."

Damiano tilts his head, considering my words. His fingers tap rhythmically against the polished table.

"That's all very touching," he says, cool and measured. "But how exactly do you plan to get Leonardo to access this safe if he doesn't know what he's dealing with?"

"Leonardo will have to trust me," I say, meeting Damiano's gaze. "Just like I'll have to trust him."

Alessio shifts beside me, his body tensing. I can feel his concern without looking at him.

"And if he doesn't?" Damiano presses. "If his loyalty to Antonio proves stronger than his love for you?"

The question cuts deep, touching the fear I've been trying to ignore. I take a steadying breath.

"I don't know," I admit. "I can't be certain he'll agree. Leonardo has spent years becoming our father's perfect heir. But I also know my brother. If I can get him alone, make him listen..." My voice trails off as I picture Leonardo's face—how it's hardened over the years, how the innocence has been carved away by our father's expectations.

"Look," I continue with more confidence, "I'm not even sure what we'll find in that safe. It might not contain the evidence we need. But right now we need to take the shot."

I lean forward, my palms flat against the table. "Raymond's files are too heavily encrypted and my father isn't stupid enough not to keep hard copies. That safe is our best chance at finding something concrete—something that ties them both directly to the trafficking operation."

Damiano studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Opposite him, at the far end of the table, Enzo watches with slitted eyes, clearly unconvinced.

"It's a risk," I acknowledge. "But sometimes you have to gamble when the stakes are this high."

I hold my breath as Damiano considers my words, his expression impossible to read. The dining room falls silent except for the gentle clink of ice in his whiskey glass as he swirls it thoughtfully.

"For now," Damiano finally says, cutting through the atmosphere, "no one knows you're with us, Melania."

Relief floods through me though I'm careful not to show it.

"None of the men who attacked you either of the two times is alive," he continues, setting his glass down with exactitude. "Well, almost none. One remains in a coma at Mercy General. Heavily guarded."

My pulse quickens. "A coma?"

Damiano nods. "Brain trauma. Doctors aren't optimistic about recovery."

"That gives us an advantage." Alessio says.

Damiano's mouth pinches. "I don't typically work like this—hiding, skulking in shadows. It's not our way." He looks directly at me. "The easiest thing would be to kill them both. Antonio, Raymond. One night, two bullets. Problem solved."

I feel Alessio stiffen beside me but Damiano continues before either of us can speak.

"But killing a monster makes it too easy. Death is quick. Over." His eyes darken. "What I want is for them to face what they've done. To feel even a fraction of the pain they've caused others before they die."

The room falls silent again. I understand his meaning perfectly. A bullet is mercy compared to what these men deserve.

"Which man?" I ask suddenly, my voice sounding stronger than I feel. "Which one is in the coma?"

"It was a man from the gas station," he says finally, answering my question without me having to clarify. "We don't have his name yet, or whether he was the one you shot."

My breath catches. How did he know exactly what I was asking? I glance around the table, noticing the subtle ways these men communicate—a lifted eyebrow, a slight nod, a shift in posture.

"You all do that, don't you?" I say, looking between Damiano and Alessio. "Sense what others are thinking."

"It's not mind-reading,piccola. Just experience." Alessio says.

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