Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six

Genevieve felt a lump rise in her throat as she locked eyes with Michele, whose gaze pierced her like a blade from across his lavishly furnished study. She struggled to keep her feelings hidden, refusing to let any flicker of emotion show as she moved forward and sank into one of the ornate guest chairs with a deliberate, exaggerated sigh. Her eyes swept over the ostentatious décor, as if the meeting was an unwelcome interruption to her usual twice-weekly Pilates session.

“O’Brien, answer me,” Michele demanded sharply.

“You said I could bring one person,” Genevieve replied coolly.

“And you were supposed to bring…” Michele inhaled deeply, struggling to keep his composure. “Leave.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be over before you know it. You wanted to talk. What difference does it make if she’s here?”

“Because she’s the subject of the conversation,” Genevieve guessed, feigning disinterest by inspecting her cuticles with exaggerated care.

“She isn’t family. She has no right to be here,” Michele snapped.

“Actually, she and Accardi got married last week,” O’Brien interjected smoothly.

Genevieve glanced up and caught the stunned look on Galante’s face. She smirked, unable to resist a sharp barb. “Sorry about the invite getting lost in the mail. You know how unreliable international correspondence can be.”

The pen in Michele’s hand suddenly snapped in two, splattering ink down the back of his hand. He cursed under his breath and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe it off.

“Show me the coat of arms, then,” Michele challenged.

Genevieve’s face went pale, the color draining away as she fought the sudden nausea. She clenched her stomach discreetly. “The artist wasn’t available. The wedding was arranged quickly.”

Michele leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smile curling his lips as if he’d just scored a victory. He clicked his tongue in disdain. “Accardi in prison, his woman claiming false marriage, and crashing important meetings.” Galante turned to O’Brien with a sneer. “Is she sleeping with you too?”

“Look,” Genevieve hissed, rising to her feet with a sharp edge in her voice. “I married him. I am an Accardi. Just because the tattooist wasn’t available doesn’t mean—”

“This is a private meeting, one I will not allow a fucking whore to sit in on. So if you would—”

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the hallway, cutting through the tension like a knife. Three sharp pops rang out, unmistakable and chilling. O’Brien was instantly at Genevieve’s side, his left hand gripping her upper arm while his right clutched a letter opener tightly. Moments later, the door burst open, and Alessio Palladino strode in, his usually neat appearance disheveled. A lock of hair fell over one eye, a stain of blood marred his collar, and the loops of his shoes were uneven. It was the most unkempt she had ever seen him.

“Palladino? What the hell are you doing here?” Michele demanded.

“I was in town. Thought I’d drop by,” Alessio replied coolly.

Michele glanced down the hallway through the open door. “And you decided to attack my men because…?”

Alessio stopped in front of Michele’s desk, slipping his gun back into a holster strapped across his chest and folding his hands behind his back. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

Alessio’s eyes flicked to Genevieve, and for a brief instant—just a single heartbeat—she caught a flash of fear in his gaze. Her mouth parted slightly, but before she could react, the vulnerability vanished. She blinked rapidly, refocusing. Alessio was here. Leo must have gotten to him. Leo was outside with backup. She exhaled slowly, releasing the tension coiling in her chest, and raised an eyebrow at Alessio.

“Palladino, it’s good to see you. I thought you vanished halfway through the reception,” Genevieve remarked casually.

“This woman claims she married Accardi,” Michele said, nodding toward Genevieve.

“She did,” Alessio confirmed.

“What?” Michele hissed, incredulous. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Looks like there’s a rift,” Alessio mused thoughtfully.

“No one in the three families can marry without approval from the other Dons,” Michele added.

“They have to be notified, not approved,” Genevieve growled, outraged at his arrogance.

Michele rolled his eyes dismissively. “Either way.”

“A member of your family gave his blessing,” Alessio said soothingly. “Conor.”

“Conor? He’s not Don!”

O’Brien clapped his hands together with a grin. “Oh, this is getting good. But I thought you wanted to talk to me?”

“You really think I’d discuss our business with them?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Alessio asked, sliding into the seat beside Genevieve in a quiet show of support.

“It’s private.”

“Come on, Michele, we’re family here, aren’t we?” Genevieve reminded him pointedly, glancing at O’Brien.

“Shut up, bitch. You’re in my house,” Michele growled.

“Watch yourself,” Alessio warned quietly.

“You’re siding with her? Get out! Both of you!”

Genevieve stood abruptly, drawing every eye in the room. “I came here to have a meeting with you, Galante, and I’m not leaving until I get one.”

“Call my secretary.”

Genevieve shook her head. “I tried. No one is answering my calls,” she admitted, her lips pouting slightly. Her confidence swelled, especially with Alessio standing behind her—and his gun at the ready. “I wonder why that is? Palladino? Any ideas?”

“Maybe one or two,” he replied calmly.

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Genevieve said, resting her palms firmly on Michele’s desk. “You’ve been running your men through our clubs, haven’t you, Galante? Not before, but definitely after my husband was arrested. You’ve been poaching our alliances, skimming our profits, and trying to take what’s ours. And that’s not even mentioning orchestrating the murders of Valentina and Antonio Accardi. I have to hand it to you—giving ‘The Reaper’ to Accardi, knowing full well the only witness against you wouldn’t survive? Genius. Only problem is, he’s still alive, isn’t he, Palladino?”

“Barely. But his heart’s still beating,” Alessio confirmed.

Genevieve watched as Michele’s face drained of color, though he scoffed dismissively. “You’d trust the word of a man on death row?”

“Silvan has him,” Alessio said coolly.

Michele’s eyes narrowed, but she noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His dark eyes flashed with a dull sheen as he bent to retrieve a pack of cigarettes.

“You have no proof.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Lucky for you, this meeting was sprung on me last minute, and I don’t have my files,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But I think I can get what I want without them.”

“And what’s that?” Michele asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.

“Voglio delle fottute scuse,” Genevieve hissed, leaning in closer.

Michele blew a steady stream of smoke directly into her face. “You want an apology?” he sneered, amusement lacing every word.

“That’s exactly what I said,” she replied firmly.

“You entitled little slut,” Michele growled.

“Want him to say sorry?” O’Brien asked with a smirk.

“She wants a duel to the death,” Alessio yawned, unimpressed.

“One she won’t get. You have no right to demand an—”

Genevieve flashed her left hand. “This ring says I fucking do.” She turned her palm over to reveal the scar running across it. “The blood running through my veins says I do.”

“You need a third party to approve it, and Palladino would never—”

“I might,” Alessio interrupted smoothly. “Once I’ve seen all the evidence, that is.”

Genevieve sighed, lowering her head as memories of her conversation with Matteo before leaving the prison flooded back. There was a reason Alessio had to be at her meeting with Michele—and it wasn’t just for her protection.

“You’ll have to rile him up,” Matteo had whispered, his lips tracing a path along her stomach. “He’ll say you have no evidence. You’ll give our evidence to Alessio, and he’ll debate it.”

“You mean pretend to debate it?” she’d joked.

“No,” Matteo had shaken his head seriously. “Alessio will genuinely scrutinize every single page.”

“What if he says no?” she’d asked.

Matteo sighed. “Then, like I said, you’ll have to rile Michele up.”

“If I say what you told me to, he’ll try to kill me.”

“That’s the point, Weakness. It’s the fastest way to get what we want. Can you do it?”

“I guess we’ll find out in the moment.”

Genevieve brought her focus back to the present. Michele was waiting expectantly for her reply, his black eyes gleaming with the smug confidence of a man who believes he’s won. Without solid proof, Alessio wouldn’t sanction two family members trying to kill each other—even if the duel was civil and mutually desired. She would have to force Michele to break a cardinal rule, one he had already violated before she became Donna.

“So? What’s your answer?” Michele taunted. “Can I proceed with my meeting with O’Brien here, or do you want to keep whining and wasting our time?”

“You know,” Genevieve began thoughtfully, “before coming here, I was visiting my husband in prison.”

“You know which prison he’s in, right?”

Michele narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Accardi has met a few of your friends… past friends, rather.”

“I know Accardi is in the same cell block as Philip. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Did you know Conor is meeting with Philip tomorrow?”

“Genevieve,” Alessio warned, clearly not briefed on this part of the plan.

“Do you know what they’re going to talk about?”

“Gen.”

“In exchange for some information, Conor’s going to convince Philip to sign a new contract—with himself as the one providing security for Philip’s family. Your son already knows what’s coming. He’s making deals like he’s the Don.”

Michele sprang to his feet, knocking his chair backward. Genevieve didn’t flinch. She knew exactly what he wanted.

“Conor will never forgive you for what you’ve done. You’ve severed the last tie to your family, Michele. You’ve lost your son. Your whole family is going to crumble. Every sacrifice you’ve made means nothing. Even the sacrifices made by your loved ones… like your wife, for example.”

That was the moment he struck. Michele swung the side of his handgun across her face with brutal force. The metal bit into her cheek as the impact sent her crashing to the floor. The ringing in her ears drowned out the chaos around her. She pushed herself up on her palms, having landed strategically on her side, but still clutching her stomach. Pain throbbed in her head, and she was grateful for that dull ache. It was a dangerous gamble, being pregnant, but it was necessary.

Genevieve looked up to see Michele drawing a long, slender letter opener from his shoulder while O’Brien held him pinned against the wall, his expression dark and murderous. The raw anger and protective fury in O’Brien’s eyes made Genevieve’s doubts about him vanish. If he were Michele’s child, would he ever react to his father’s enemy like this?

Alessio knelt beside her and helped her to her feet.

“I approve the apology,” Alessio declared firmly.

“What?!” Michele shouted from the wall. “You heard what she was saying to me!”

“I did. And yet you don’t want to take another shot at her?” Alessio challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“She shouldn’t get to set the time, place, and weapon. That right belongs to me!”

“You struck a Donna. The rules are clear.”

“The rules say an apology can only be given if—” Michele’s eyes widened as they dropped to her stomach.

“That’s right, Michele. I’m carrying Matteo’s child. You just struck a pregnant Donna. I will contact you with the details,” Genevieve announced coldly.

She turned sharply and headed for the door, ignoring the shouting behind her as tears threatened to spill over. Passing a maid curled on the floor, clutching her chest and rocking back and forth in a fetal position, Genevieve stepped over three lifeless bodies sprawled in the front doorway. She hurried down the steps and spotted Leo jumping out of an SUV. She ran to him, and he caught her in his arms. The tears finally broke free as she sobbed into his chest, releasing the anger, the fear, and the sadness that had built inside her.

“He knows,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He knows I’m pregnant.”