AVERY'S POV

The house was too quiet.

When I stepped into the dining hall, I expected to see the same scene from last night—long table, filled chairs, unfamiliar faces watching my every move. But instead, the place was empty.

No men loitering around, no hushed conversations, no weapons casually laid on the counter. Just the quiet clatter of dishes as the maids moved about. A deep frown settled on my face.

One of the maids, a woman in her forties with dark hair pinned back neatly, noticed my confusion. She wiped her hands on her apron and approached me.

"They are all in a meeting, signorina. The Don has returned after a long time. It is an important gathering."

The Don.

Rick.

Something cold twisted in my stomach, but it wasn't just from the morning chill. My fingers curled slightly, the memory of last night flashed through me, searing and unshakable.

For a split second, I could still feel it. His heat. His breath ghosting over my lips. The way his hands had trapped me against the counter, a heartbeat away from giving in.

Before I could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Bryce.

He strolled in like he owned the place, his usual cocky smirk in place, but there was something in his eyes—something that made me wary.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted, taking an apple from the counter and tossing it in the air.

"Did you sleep well?"

I crossed my arms.

"What do you want, Bryce?"

He took a dramatic bite of the apple.

"Rick wants you in the meeting."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me," he said, already turning on his heel. "Come on."

I hesitated. A meeting? With all of them? The same men who had been watching me with guarded expressions since we got here?

"Bryce—"

But he wasn't listening. He just kept walking. I swallowed and followed, my heartbeat picking up with every step.

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, one that looked ancient but strong. Bryce turned to me, his expression unreadable now.

"Rick wants you inside," he said, voice quieter, less teasing.

I stared at the door.

"Why?"

His smirk returned.

"Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

I exhaled, trying to push away the nerves creeping up my spine.

"You go in first."

Bryce actually laughed.

"Nice try, princess. But no. You're up."

"Bryce—"

Too late. He swung the door open.

The room fell into complete silence.

I felt the weight of every single gaze on me.

The room was massive. A long, dark table sat in the center, with several men standing around, their suits crisp, their expressions sharp. A few were seated, their postures rigid, hands either clasped or resting on the table near their weapons. But it was the man at the head of the table who sucked the air from my lungs.

Rick.

He leaned back in his chair, legs apart, fingers loosely curled over the armrest. His jaw was tight, his expression stoic, but his eyes... his grey piercing eyes burned into me like a command.

Beside him, on the right was the only empty seat in the room.

Bryce nudged me forward. I hesitated. He nudged harder.

I moved. Slowly. Carefully.

As soon as I reached Rick's side, every conversation, every whisper—everything stopped. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating.

Rick turned his head slightly toward me, then looked at the men. His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Cold. Absolute.

"Avery è sotto la mia protezione." (Avery is under my protection.)

A pause.

"Chiunque fallisce... morirà peggio di un cane." (Anyone who fails... will die worse than a dog.)

The tension in the room shifted, thickened. A few men stiffened. Others gave curt nods.

Rick's fingers tapped once against the armrest. "Capito?" (Understood?)

A murmur of "Sì, Don," echoed around the room.

I swallowed. My throat was dry.

Rick's gaze flicked to the empty chair beside him. Then, without looking at me, he spoke.

"Sit."

Just one word. No room for hesitation. No room for refusal.

I forced my feet to move, each step feeling heavier than the last. As I lowered myself into the chair, I noticed Fred beside me, his best serious expression in place. In front of me, on Rick's left, was Thomas, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. Next to him sat George, his fingers tapping against the table, eyes sharp with interest.

Bryce strolled past, making his way to the wall on Rick's left. Instead of taking a seat like the others, he leaned against it casually, arms folded, looking as if this was just another lazy morning for him.

I glanced at him, only for him to shoot me a playful wink.

I sneered.

But the moment I turned back, I froze. Rick was watching me.

I didn't even need to meet his eyes to know it. His presence was suffocating, burning into me like a silent command.

I immediately dropped my gaze to the table, gripping the edge of my seat, trying to ignore the way my pulse betrayed me.

The air shifted.

Then, Rick spoke.

"Sergei."

Just the name alone made the energy in the room turn lethal.

"He's moving," Thomas said, his voice gruff.

"Rumours say he's expanding business, but no one knows exactly where."

Rick didn't react. He never did. He only gave a slight nod before speaking again.

"The gala."

George exhaled, rubbing his chin. "Yeah. Sergei's got an invite."

Silence.

A dangerous one.

I swallowed. I wasn't an expert, but even I knew this was bad.

Rick's fingers drummed once against the table, slow, calculated. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet.

"We'll be there."

A simple statement, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

George gave a short nod.

"It'll be risky."

Rick tilted his head slightly.

"I don't give a fuck."

No one spoke.

Then, he leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over the table. His next words were final, absolute.

"We move carefully. No mistakes."

Another round of nods. No arguments. No questions.

Because when Rick gave an order, there was only one option.

Obedience.

The silence stretched for a moment, thick and charged. No one dared to speak until Rick did.

Then, his fingers tapped once against the table. Slow. Measured.

"Since I'm back," he said, his voice laced with that familiar, deadly calm, "it's time we make it official."

I felt a shift in the room, subtle but undeniable. The men were listening. Hanging onto every word.

"Our famiglia has been quiet for too long," Rick continued, his tone smooth, almost lazy, but with an underlying edge that made my stomach twist.

"Let's remind them we're still here."

No one questioned him.

He leaned back, exuding an effortless dominance that made the air feel stifling. His next words sent a shiver down my spine.

"We need an invitation to the gala."

A pause.

Then, with a ghost of a smirk, he added, "And what better way to get one than by sending Sergei a lovely little gift on our behalf?"

The air grew heavier.

Thomas exhaled through his nose.

"What kind of 'gift' are we talking about?"

Rick tilted his head slightly. His grey eyes gleamed with something dark. Something cruel.

"One he won't forget."

Fred let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, rubbing his jaw.

George didn't say anything, but his grip tightened around his glass.

Across the table, Bryce let out a low whistle, clearly amused.

"You're planning a grand announcement, huh?"

Rick didn't answer. He didn't have to.

It was obvious.

He wasn't just planning to make a statement. He was planning to start a war.

Thomas leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"His warehouse," he said, voice steady.

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a confirmation.

Rick's expression didn't change. "Burn it."

My breath hitched.

The men exchanged glances.

Bryce, still leaning against the wall, let out a low chuckle. "Damn. That's one hell of a 'gift.'"

Rick ignored him, his gaze locked onto Thomas. "Make sure it hurts."

A beat of silence.

Then, a slow, almost predatory smirk pulled at Thomas's lips.

"Consider it done."

Thomas cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention back to him.

"Before we wrap this up, there's something else. Rick, you haven't met all three of our Capos yet."

Rick didn't react, just leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest. Waiting.

At Thomas's cue, three men stepped forward. My eyes flickered to them, taking in their sharp suits, their stiff postures, the way they carried themselves. Dangerous. Efficient.

Among them—standing right in the middle—was Matteo. The same guy who had greeted us when we arrived yesterday.

Bryce let out a sharp laugh, cutting through the silence.

"Wait a fucking minute."

He gestured toward Matteo with the hand still holding his half-eaten apple.

"I thought he's the Underboss or some shit."

Thomas smirked. "No."

He turned slightly, tilting his chin toward the man sitting at his left. "That would be George."

A beat of silence.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Fred stiffened. Bryce's brows shot up so fast. Even Matteo—the fucking Capo—looked just as shocked as the rest of us.

"What?" Fred's voice came out sharp, incredulous. "George?"

Bryce let out another laugh, this time harsher, more disbelieving.

"No fucking way."

My breath caught in my throat as I turned to George.

He didn't look surprised. Not at all.

If anything, he was watching Rick with a sharp, expectant gaze, as if waiting for the inevitable explosion. The rage. The demand for an explanation.

But Rick...

Rick was still leaning back, completely composed, his face stoic.

The room was suffocatingly tense, but he didn't look like a man who had just been blindsided. No clenched fists, no sharp inhale, no flicker of anger.

Nothing.

And that's when I knew.

Rick wasn't shocked.

Because he already fucking knew.

George knew it too. I saw it in the way his fingers twitched against the table, just the smallest movement, betraying that this wasn't the reaction he had been expecting.

Finally, Rick spoke.

"I know."

Two words. That was it.

George's jaw tightened. "You know?"

Rick's gaze was steady, cold, bored even.

"I'm not fucking blind."

Silence.

Deadly.

George held his stare for a beat longer before exhaling through his nose, looking away as if he suddenly found the wall behind Rick more interesting.

But I saw it—the flicker of unease in his eyes.

He had been waiting for a fight.

Instead, Rick had just made him feel like a fucking fool.

The meeting continued for a few more minutes, mostly logistics and security, but my mind was still reeling, stuck on that brief exchange.

Rick had known.

For how long?

And more importantly—why hadn't he done anything about it?

I barely processed the words being exchanged until Fred's voice cut through the air.

"Why now?"

Everyone turned.

Fred was looking at Rick with his arms crossed, "Why did you decide to take over the family after all these years?"

Another silence stretched.

Rick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he dragged his gaze across the table, slow, deliberate.

Then, just as his eyes flicked to Thomas, then—briefly—to me, he exhaled, pushed his chair back, and stood.

His next words were low. Nonchalant.

"To get invited to the gala."

And with that, he walked out.

No explanations. No justifications.

Just those six words.

Bryce let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Motherfucker."

Across the room, George hadn't moved. He was still staring at the door Rick had just disappeared through, his jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack a tooth.

Bryce, never one to let things go, turned to him with a lazy smirk.

"So..." He dragged out the word, biting into his apple again.

"Since when the fuck were you in the Mafia?"

George finally looked at him, that flicker of unease now gone, replaced with something else.

A smirk.

"Since always."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Rick's POV)

The door shut behind me with a quiet click, sealing the room—and all its useless noise—away.

The halls were empty, the only sound my footsteps against the polished floor. But inside my head, the silence wasn't as still. It pulsed. Shifted. Breathed.

George.

I had known.

From the moment he walked into the agency, shaking hands, playing the part of the new recruit, I knew.

They all thought I had walked away, that I had abandoned the famiglia. And they were right. I had. I never wanted a damn thing to do with it. But wanting and needing were two different things.

And I needed to know what they were up to.

That's why I watched.

That's why I waited.

And that's how I found out.

6 Years Ago

The agency wasn't just about intelligence; it was about control. Information was power, and power was leverage. That's why I used it.

George had joined a few weeks before, slipping into the system with a clean record—too clean. No priors. No known family or childhood history. Just another nameless recruit trying to build a career.

But nothing about him sat right with me.

The way he always left the room to take a call.

The way his excuses were too well-crafted, too perfect.

The way he watched things, like he wasn't just looking—he was memorizing.

So, I ran a background check.

Not the one on file. I went deeper.

Turned out, George wasn't just some nobody. He had roots. Deep ones. The kind that dug into the old bloodlines of the famiglia.

And the most interesting part?

Thomas had raised him.

Not just as some distant nephew. No. He had saved him. Pulled him from an abusive household at thirteen. Sheltered him. Trained him. Shaped him into what he needed most—an underboss.

And George? He wasn't just loyal. He was waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

Waiting to finish what our uncle started.

Back to the Present

George thought he had played me.

Thomas thought he had outmaneuvered me.

They were both wrong.

I had seen through them from the start.

But I didn't move. I didn't expose them.

Because I needed someone inside the family.

And who better than the man who thought he was hiding from me?

Besides, I didn't give a fuck about their little empire. Didn't care about their plans, their wars, their alliances.

Until they crossed a line.

Until they made themselves my problem.

And that's when I'd remind them—

I was never theirs to play.

But now, I needed them.

Not for power. Not for loyalty. Not to rebuild the famiglia they were so desperate to restore.

I needed them to end Sergei.

To burn everything he started.

To crush every last piece of his legacy until there was nothing left but dust and regret.

And when it was over—when Sergei was gone—

I'd decide whether this famiglia was worth letting live.

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Author's Note:

okay soooo... 😳
y'all saw that?? the way Rick just said "she's mine" in mafia language??? I'm not okay. also Bryce being casually chaotic as always like it's not a literal mafia meeting 💀

anyway, next chapter is about to be EVEN MORE unhinged so like... hydrate, pray, and maybe text your therapist 😌

drop a 🖤 if Rick's "sit." made YOU sit too LMAO
love y'all fr, thanks for reading 💋
— your emotionally unstable author ✍️✨