Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

Genevieve perched on a cold stone ledge, her gaze sweeping over the expansive flower garden that stretched behind Alessio’s grand estate. The air was thick with the scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass, but none of it could soothe the turmoil inside her. It had been eight long hours since Matteo had left, and the plane had touched down two hours earlier. She stared down at her phone, her foot tapping nervously against the stone as she waited for the call he was entitled to make by law. Behind her, muffled voices drifted from the living room where at least a dozen people were glued to the television. The screen replayed the grim footage of her husband being escorted off his private jet in handcuffs—a scene that felt surreal and heart-wrenching.

A soft clink drew her attention to her right. Matteo’s cousin, Conor, was holding out a glass of ice water to her. She accepted it with a grateful nod, fully aware that Matteo had instructed both of his cousins to look after her during this nightmare. Conor settled beside her with a heavy sigh, his presence a quiet comfort.

“Have they moved on to the story about the squirrel that waterskis yet?” she asked, attempting a weak smile.

Conor shook his head. “Not a chance. This story’s going to run for days. A business tycoon accused of running a mafia ring? That’s front-page material.”

His grey eyes met hers, and once again, she marveled at how someone so gentle could be related to the two intense Italian men she knew. “How are you holding up?” he asked softly.

Genevieve exhaled slowly, the weight of her worry pressing down. “I just need to hear his voice,” she murmured. “I need to know he’s okay. That he’s not hurt.”

Conor’s gaze drifted over the manicured lawns, his expression somber. It reminded her of the first time she’d met Matteo—when grief had shadowed his every move. “I understand,” he said quietly.

“Conor… I hope this isn’t too forward, but… are you really okay?” she asked, fighting the urge to reach out and offer comfort.

He sighed deeply. “No. I’m not.”

“Is it about the plan? What we intend to do with your father?” Her voice was tentative, searching.

“No,” Conor replied with a dry laugh. “The plan itself is solid. I’ll help you see it through.”

“Why? Why are you okay with this? He’s your father,” she pressed, finally allowing her hand to rest gently on his shoulder.

Conor’s jaw twitched, and a small, bitter smile played on his lips. “Matteo said you were good at breaking people down.”

She returned his smile shyly.

“I met the love of my life when I was fourteen,” he whispered, staring down at his hands as if they held all his secrets. “My Tesoro.” He shook his head slowly. “But a few months ago, my father made a choice that forced me to push her away. Made her believe I never loved her… that I never did.” His fists clenched tightly in his lap. “He tore my heart out in the name of what he thought was best for the family. His family.” He scoffed bitterly. “Now there’s nothing I can do except take what he’s given me…” His eyes darkened, turning a steely silver with determination. “And destroy it.”

Suddenly, Genevieve’s phone rang, the sharp sound making her jump and nearly lose her balance on the ledge. Raising a hand to signal she was alright, she answered the call.

“H-Hello?” she stammered.

An automated female voice answered, “This is a collect call from inmate… Accardi.” Then Matteo’s voice came through. “Do you accept? Press one to accept. If you do not, press two or hang up.”

Fumbling for the keypad, Genevieve pressed one.

“Thank you. Please be aware that all phone calls may be monitored or recorded,” the automated message ended.

She heard a click, a beep, and then the faint background noise of a prison.

“Hello?” she called softly.

“Hello, Weakness,” Matteo’s voice replied, low and familiar.

Genevieve pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob threatening to break free.

“Matteo. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” she asked quickly, desperation threading her voice.

“No, I’m fine. They’re about to take me to my room.”

“You mean your cell?” she corrected gently.

Matteo chuckled, a small sound that gave her a flicker of hope. “Yeah, my cell. I’ve already spoken with Roman. He met us at the tarmac.”

“Is Frankie okay too?”

“Yeah, he’s pissed off but he’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Fat chance,” she muttered.

“What have you been up to today?” he asked, the casual tone making her laugh despite herself.

“Well, let’s see… I dropped you off at the airport, had some calamari for breakfast, went sailing with Alessio for lunch, and finished the day with a mani-pedi at a luxury spa with Jada and Lucy.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Matteo, none of that’s true. I’ve just been sitting here, waiting for your call.”

“Weakness… it’s going to be okay. We have a plan.”

“I know… I just… I miss my husband,” she whispered.

“I’m right here,” he said softly. “You can visit me when you get back in town. Alessio should have his plane ready for you by now. You’ll get home tomorrow, start getting things sorted, and then, when you have a moment, you can come see me. It won’t be like this forever.”

Genevieve sighed, a mix of relief and sadness washing over her. “I know.”

“You have to be strong. I need you.”

“I will.”

“Good girl. Now, don’t panic. I have to go.”

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest as she clutched it with one hand. “Matteo…”

“I love you, Weakness… my beautiful wife. I’ll talk to you soon. This buffoon’s telling me to get off the phone.”

“One of the guards?”

“No, Frankie.”

Genevieve laughed through her tears and wiped her cheek. “I love you, Matteo.”

“I love you too, Genevieve. Be careful.” His voice was a whisper before the line went dead.

She stared down at the silent phone, fighting the urge to throw it with all her might. Turning around, she found Conor watching her, concern etched deeply on his face. Alessio approached, glass of wine delicately balanced between his fingers.

“You okay?” Conor asked quietly.

Genevieve shook her head, her throat too tight to respond.

“The plane is ready,” Alessio announced, stepping beside Conor. “Sei pronto, Conor?”

“Are you ready, Conor?” she translated, eyes flicking between the blond man and Conor.

“Les and I are coming with you,” Conor said with a shrug.

“That… wasn’t in the plan,” Genevieve protested, Matteo’s warning to stick to the plan echoing in her mind.

Alessio shrugged casually. “Your original plan included Frankie, didn’t it? Matteo’s too proud to ask his family for help. Are you?”

Both Alessio and Conor lifted their eyebrows in unison, sharing that same defiant look that said, ‘Try to tell me no.’ In that moment, Genevieve saw the family resemblance between these two very different men.

“But you only know parts of the plan,” she argued, her thoughts spinning.

“It’ll be fine, Mrs. Accardi,” Leo said, coming up behind Alessio and slapping him on the shoulder, drawing a scowl. “I’ve filled them in.”

“Without Accardi knowing?” she asked skeptically.

Leo grinned devilishly. “It’s my job to protect you, Mrs. Accardi. The best way to do that is to keep these two involved. So yes, the moment Accardi took off, I made some calls. The plan hasn’t changed—we just have a few new players.”

“You need us,” Alessio added with a smug smile.

Genevieve exhaled sharply and turned away from them. The moment she set foot back on US soil, she would become Donna of the Accardi empire. She had pages of detailed instructions she and Matteo had gone over endlessly. But right now, standing on foreign ground after a phone call from her husband in jail, she felt nothing but fear—fear of failing him, his family, and herself. She sank onto the nearest step and let out a heavy sigh, watching the gardeners carefully trim the flowering bushes nearby.

“This garden,” she said softly, gesturing toward the vibrant blooms, “is this where Matteo’s great-grandfather got the starters for his greenhouses?”

“Yeah,” Conor replied. “The Palladinos planted this garden when they first bought the estate. Matteo’s great-grandfather took cuttings from everything he could find and brought them across the ocean to America.”

“A symbolic way to start fresh while holding onto your roots,” Alessio added, stifling a yawn.

Conor flicked Alessio off lazily while his back was turned. “Se non puoi prenderti cura di una pianta, come puoi prenderti cura della tua famiglia. He passed that wisdom to his son, who passed it to his son, and so on.”

“If you can’t take care of a plant, how can you take care of your family?” Genevieve translated quietly.

“Stupid fool. They’re just plants,” Alessio muttered from behind her.

“Just plants… just people… just family… just love, loyalty, honor. A way to remember what matters,” she whispered to herself. Rising, she glanced back at the three men standing nearby. “Are Jada, Lucy, and Louis ready?”

Leo nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’re all set when you are.”

Genevieve took one last look at the lush paradise surrounding her. With a determined nod, she declared, “Let’s go save my family.”