CHAPTER 28
CHRISTIAN'S POV
The plan to fool the Sicilians was in full motion. Every encounter of us was war—not really, just acting. From the look of things, it had worked: the Sicilians had approached Trejo with a deal. They would join forces to take us down, letting him take over my mafia group. That was their proposal. Trejo knew better and reported to me. With my instructions, he told them he needed time to think.
We landed in Italy. We had intel that Daemon was here, so we had to see the idiot for ourselves.
Reginald was in my room for some odd reason. He had his own room, but he insisted on staying with me for some time.
"When last did you talk to Brenda?" he asked out of the blue.
My body tensed at the question. Brenda haunted me every day, and his words just pulled her into my head again.
"The last time I saw her!" I answered plainly.
"If you think a beautiful and successful woman like her is going to wait for you…" he scoffed, "you're dead wrong, Christian! Just imagine the queue of men lining up to get her!"
"Point?"
"You and I know you still harbor strong feelings for Brenda…instead of pushing her away, why not tell her who you are and see if she stays or leaves!" Reginald's hands were joined together, as if he had delivered a great suggestion. Well, he did!
"Bringing her into this life would be selfish of me. In as much as I want her to take her place beside me, I can't risk her life. I want to keep her somewhere safe—and that is never going to be with me!" I stared away from him, avoiding his gaze.
He got the message and left me alone. I immediately wiped the tear that had escaped from my eye. What was that? I hated the fact she made me so weak. There was this ache in me whenever I thought of her, wondering what she might be doing, what Kai was doing in her house.
We had a few allies in Italy, and one of them invited us down to his hometown. We drove for hours, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the fields in molten gold. Olive groves lined the winding roads, their silver-green leaves glinting in the fading light. Cypress trees stood in neat rows like silent guardians, and occasional stone farmhouses with terracotta roofs peeked over the hills. I fell asleep in the car, the hum of the engine and the smell of lavender and sun-baked earth lulling me.
I was woken by the sudden halt of the car. My eyes fluttered open. We were parked in front of a big house, bursting with flowers: roses climbing trellises, wisteria dangling in cascades of purple, and jasmine curling around the gates, sending sweet, heady perfume into the air. Helpers bustled about, tending the grounds, trimming hedges and watering terracotta pots brimming with colorful blooms. Bodyguards were stationed discreetly, blending into the vibrant setting.
"This way!" Don Valentino, our ally, led us into his house. The front doors were massive, carved wood with golden inlays, opening to a foyer tiled in intricate mosaics. The air smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood. Sunlight poured through tall windows, casting patterns on the marble floors.
Valentino was older than me by four years. He had four wives, all of whom I met. The first wife was May. Technically her real name is Mei, but Valentino changed it to his birth month. She was kind, delicate, and submissive, moving with quiet grace.
The second was Selena, an African-American woman who spoke her mind yet only submitted when logic demanded it. She reminded me so much of Brenda: fiery, intelligent, untamed in spirit yet loyal.
The third was an English woman named Asha. Somehow connected to royalty, I heard her father was a duke. Instead of living a life of privilege, she was kidnapped by Valentino and spent three months as his mistress—though love bloomed, and he married her. She carried herself with a regal poise, even in the midst of her previous trauma.
The last was Nandini, a traditional Indian woman. Her hands were always decorated with intricate henna, her long dark hair gleaming under the Italian sun. She had been a roadside cook before marrying Valentino and was now a master of both cuisine and elegance.
After having some snacks prepared by Nandini—fresh focaccia, olives, roasted tomatoes, and a selection of cheeses—we sat on the balcony, which overlooked rolling hills, vineyards, and gardens alive with birdsong. The scent of lavender and rosemary mingled with the earthy aroma of the vineyards, creating a sense of calm that seemed impossible in our line of work.
"I have also heard of Daemon. He's creating a mess! The fucker wants to be the mafia of mafias!" Valentino chuckled. The idea seemed ridiculous, yet terrifying.
"He's targeting groups out of Italy. He wants to take you out so when he comes for us, we won't have an ally to turn to!"
"His nut sack is huge, I must give him that!" Reginald said mid-smoke, puffing out a curl of cigarette smoke that hung like mist in the evening air.
"The quicker we find him, the better for us!" I replied, scanning the horizon where the hills melted into a violet dusk.
"Oh, I almost forgot. We have an event to attend here in Tuscany. Dress formally!" Valentino said, straightening up. His voice carried authority yet a warmth that contrasted sharply with the tension in our mission. "It starts in three hours!"
"That's more time than we need to get ready!" Reginald murmured, half to himself.
He turned to me. "So you got anything grand to wear?"
"All my clothes are formal. If that won't do, then…" I shrugged.
"I have to look presentable. I'm a nobleman, my presence should be felt!" Reginald spoke in the most posh British accent I have ever heard, and I couldn't help but smirk.