Page 121 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
She nods once.
"If he found someone who still remembered. Someone who didn’t fold into the Salvatores’ structure. Someone loyal only to your father...it’s possible."
The air in the room seems to cool.
"If he’s using Operation Umber," I say, "he’s not just building something new. He’s borrowing legacy…"
Valentina stares at the page in front of her.
"Then he’s not the only one. Because someone had to teach him how to read this."
I nod.
"I think he found someone who never left," I murmur.
Valentina doesn’t contest that.
I move toward the papers again.
"You still love him," she says.
I don’t answer.
She doesn’t need me to, but she does need something else.
"I will be informing the brothers, Gianna. There is no way out of this except through."
She’s right, of course.
My eyes start to hurt again, so I look away.
"Yes. Do what you must. I have to go."
Before I leave, her voice cuts through the silence again—quieter this time.
"If Operation Umber is awake...someone has decided the rules don’t apply anymore. Not ours. Not theirs. They aren’t resisting. They’re rebuilding. Choose your side before it’s too late, little dove."
21
DANTE
I'm in the study, the room dense with the scent of old paper and the lingering tang of my own anxiety.
My shoulders ache, a dull, constant throb from hours hunched over the desk, sifting through the latest batch of background checks on the estate staff.
Each name is a potential crack in the foundation, another worry I can't afford.
My tie is loosened, the top button of my shirt undone, and a faint stubble darkens my jaw— signs of a night that bled into morning without a proper break.
My eyes feel gritty, heavy, and I rub them wearily.
The mug of coffee beside me is lukewarm, but I take a long, desperate sip, hoping the bitterness will cut through the exhaustion.
That's when an envelope arrives, slipped onto the polished wood without a sound.
I frown immediately and dismiss the butler with a curt nod, the lines around my eyes deepening, because the seal is well-known.
"Hell," I mutter, the word a weary expulsion of breath, my fingers already tightening around the thick paper.
