Chapter Eighty-Eight

Genevieve stepped into her apartment, her body heavy and weary as she made her way toward the sofa. Without much thought, she collapsed face-first onto the cushions, the exhaustion from the night before weighing down on her. She had gone from passing out drunk alongside her closest friends to waking up far too early just to drop them off at the airport. In the chaos of the morning, she’d completely forgotten about the four crucial meetings she’d scheduled for the day, not to mention the “ladies lunch” she had promised Kaitlin she would attend.

As she lay there, Gen inhaled deeply, catching the familiar scent that had seeped into the fabric of the couch—a mixture of honey and Matteo’s tobacco. It was strange how this particular piece of furniture seemed to carry his essence more than anything else in the apartment. She had laid down a strict rule with her roommates the moment they moved in: no one was allowed to sleep on that couch except her.

Stretching her arms above her head, she rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The pounding headache and nausea from her hangover made the idea of going out for lunch with a group of women she barely knew feel unbearable. If it weren’t for the sparkle of excitement in Kaitlin’s eyes, she would have canceled without hesitation.

To her surprise, the ladies’ lunch turned out to be more enjoyable than she anticipated. The group consisted of Kaitlin, Mrs. Tutt—who insisted Gen call her Georgia from now on—and Simone, the receptionist. They sipped wine and exchanged office gossip with such enthusiasm that it almost felt like a sport. Even Georgia, usually so reserved, got caught up in the chatter, which surprised Gen.

Eventually, the inevitable questions about her relationship with Matteo surfaced. Kaitlin shared her own relationship news as a kind of bargaining chip—she and Alexander were officially dating. The flush on her cheeks and the way she nervously tore her napkin apart revealed just how intense things were between them. Gen found herself quietly enjoying the girls’ animated discussions about their love lives until Simone suddenly asked what Gen planned to wear to the upcoming charity ball.

When Gen asked what she meant, the other women looked genuinely shocked that Matteo hadn’t invited her yet. The event was scheduled for next week, and Matteo always attended. Apparently, it was an exclusive affair where all the women wore million-dollar gowns, glittered with diamonds, and arrived on the arms of the city’s wealthiest men. The red carpet was impenetrable to the press, and no one really knew what went on inside.

As the conversation drifted back to the other women, Gen found herself stuck on the question of why Matteo hadn’t asked her. She felt like the captain of the math team, nervously waiting for the quarterback she’d been dating for weeks to finally ask her to prom. After that unsettling thought, she was almost grateful for the back-to-back meetings on her schedule—they kept her from dwelling on it too much.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, and without hesitation, she answered, assuming it was Matteo.

“Hello?” she said, her voice thick with a yawn.

“Genevieve!” Paul’s mother’s frantic voice came through the line, filled with panic.

Gen straightened up immediately, sensing the urgency. “Mrs. Brooks?”

“Gen, something’s happened!”

“Okay, tell me what’s wrong. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No… no, I’m not okay,” Mrs. Brooks sobbed, her voice breaking through the phone’s speaker. “I’m not okay. My baby… they took my baby.”

“They took your baby? What do you mean?” Gen asked, starting to pace barefoot across the apartment, her heart pounding.

“Paul… he got a new job out in L.A. He started a few days ago and…” Mrs. Brooks’s voice faltered as fresh sobs overtook her words.

“Anna…” Gen sighed deeply, her stomach twisting in dread.

“He’s dead!!”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She gasped, covering her mouth in shock.

“My baby’s dead, Genevieve! Someone shot him! Someone shot him in the head!”

Suddenly, a loud banging echoed against the apartment door, making Gen jump.

“What is it? Are you okay, honey?” Mrs. Brooks asked, her sobs quieting as she strained to listen.

“I have to go, Mrs. Brooks, but I promise I’ll call you later, okay?”

Before Mrs. Brooks could respond, Gen ended the call, her eyes fixed on the door, which shook violently from the force of the knocking.

“Gen, open up! It’s me!” Frankie shouted from the other side.

She sighed in frustration and moved toward the door. Peering through the peephole, she confirmed it was him and not some prankster. Disarming the security system, she opened the door, letting Frankie rush inside. He looked completely disheveled—his hair was tousled, his clothes looked hastily thrown on, and his shoelaces were undone.

“Frankie, what the hell? You scared me half to death.”

“I need you to sit down and watch something,” he said urgently, heading toward the dining room table.

Crossing her arms, Gen followed him. “What’s going on?”

“Matteo’s still in the air. He won’t be here for hours. I need your help.”

“With what?” she asked, unease creeping in.

“Sit down,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Frankie placed his battered phone on the table, the screen initially black. Then, he pressed play.

Genevieve gasped, covering her mouth with both hands as the horrifying scene unfolded. A woman was tied by her wrists to a ceiling rafter, suspended just above the floor. Her long, slender body was naked, her back to the camera. Her skin was marred with cuts and bruises, and the redness at her wrists told Gen she’d been hanging there for a long time. A man approached the woman and turned to face the camera. His salt-and-pepper hair and cold, calculating dark eyes reminded Gen of the merciless look Matteo had when he saved her in the warehouse.

The man pulled a knife from his boot, brandishing it for the camera as if putting on a sinister show. He grasped the woman’s waist with one hand, took the knife in the other, and began cutting. The woman’s back arched, and a muffled scream escaped her lips as the blade tore into her skin. Tears streamed down Gen’s face. She wanted to look away but felt compelled to watch—to bear witness to the cruelty inflicted upon this woman.

After several agonizing minutes, the man stepped back, obscuring the work he’d done. Then, shifting aside, Gen saw that he wasn’t just cutting randomly—he was carving a message:

CARMELA’S

1 O’CLOCK

COME GET

YOUR BITCH

ACCARDI

The man then spun the woman around, revealing her identity. It was Beatrice. Gen’s heart sank as she realized the man must be Matteo’s cousin, and that he had discovered Beatrice was a plant.

Frantically wiping tears from her cheeks, Gen stared as the screen went black once more. Frankie took back his phone.

“Why… why would you show me that?” she asked, stepping back, as if afraid he might unleash more horrors.

Frankie’s eyes were cold and unreadable as he studied her reaction. “Matteo’s in the air.”

“You already said that.”

“He won’t be here until morning.”

“And he can handle this then, right?”

“You saw what Galante wrote. He wants a meeting at 1 a.m., or he’ll kill her, Gen,” Frankie said flatly, his voice void of emotion.

“Then go meet him!” Gen shouted, gesturing wildly.

Frankie’s stern expression cracked into a dry laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how does it work, Frank?”

“You have to go.”

“I have to… what?!” Gen’s voice rose in disbelief.

Frankie rubbed his face wearily. “I’m just number two. I can’t make deals or take meetings with other Dons. Only a Don… or a Donna can do that.”

“I’m not a Donna yet. I’m not anything yet. I’m just Matteo’s girlfriend—that’s it,” Gen stammered, barely able to get the words out, her mind spinning.

“Look,” Frankie said firmly, his voice rising with intensity. “I’ve lost seven guys in three months. I have a funeral tomorrow, for fuck’s sake, where I have to watch two of them get buried. I know you’re spiraling, and I get it. But I don’t have time to hold your hand and tell you everything will be okay. A woman’s life is on the line, Gen, and you’re the only one who can save her. So you can either be a baby about this, or you can find that fierce woman inside you—the one who bit a man’s lip off—and toughen the fuck up!”

Gen locked eyes with Frankie, feeling the weight of his words. She wondered briefly if she could say no—turn away and hope Beatrice somehow escaped this nightmare. Judging by the way Frankie’s fists clenched at his sides, she suspected he’d just tie her up, throw her in his trunk, and hand her over to Galante as a bargaining chip, all while giving some speech about saving Matteo from a Donna who didn’t care about her own people.

But Gen wasn’t the type to turn her back when someone needed her—especially not in a situation she herself had faced not long ago.

A surge of fear rippled through her body, making her stomach twist and the hairs on her skin stand on end. Finally, she nodded.

“Okay.”

Frankie’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree.

“Okay,” she repeated, voice steadier now. “I’ll do it. But you have to realize there’s not much I can do once Accardi figures out the mess you’ve put me in.”

“Leave him to me,” Frankie said sharply, nodding. “Your focus needs to be on Galante.”

Gen took a slow, steadying breath, summoning every ounce of courage she’d ever hidden away. “Tell me what I need to do.”