Chapter 3
The name Bellandi meant nothing to me.
It meant everything to Dominic.
The room changed the moment Marco said it.
Even the walls seemed to tense.
Dominic reached for his phone.
“Lock down Lumina.”
Marco nodded and left.
I stared at Dominic.
“What is Bellandi?”
“Not what,” he said. “Who.”
“That explains nothing.”
“It explains enough for tonight.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
I swung my legs off the table and immediately regretted it.
Pain ripped through my shoulder and down my spine.
Dominic moved toward me.
I lifted my hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
That surprised me.
Men like him usually didn’t.
I breathed through the pain.
“You just told me I might be your long-lost sister. Then someone leaked my face. Then you started locking doors. I deserve more than ‘enough for tonight.’”
Dominic studied me.
Then nodded once.
“The Bellandi family was responsible for your disappearance.”
My mouth went dry.
“They took me?”
“We believed so.”
“Why?”
“To weaken my father. To force territory concessions. To break my mother.”
My chest tightened.
“And now?”
“If they know you are alive, they will try to finish what they started.”
A laugh escaped me.
It sounded wrong.
“Finish? I serve water for tips. What threat am I?”
“To them? Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That they broke a peace treaty. That they lied for twenty-six years. That someone inside my family may have helped them.”
The last sentence landed hardest.
Inside my family.
His family.
Maybe mine.
I looked at the door where Leo had gone.
“Is Leo in danger because of me?”
“He was in danger before you knew his name.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only honest one.”
Outside the room, voices rose.
A woman crying.
A man shouting.
Then the sharp sound of something falling.
Dominic stepped to the door.
“Stay here.”
“I am very tired of men telling me where to stay.”
His eyes cut back to mine.
“Then stay alive.”
He left.
The door closed.
I sat there shaking with blood loss, pain, and the impossible weight of a life I had never known.
Valentina Moretti.
The name moved through me like a stranger walking around my bones.
I had spent years wondering who left me.
I had imagined a terrified young mother.
A poor father.
A mistake.
A tragedy.
Never this.
Never a family powerful enough to search and still fail.
Never enemies powerful enough to erase a child.
The door opened again.
Leo slipped inside.
Alone.
“Your Papa told you to stay with Marco,” I said.
“He got busy.”
“You’re six. That is not a security plan.”
He climbed into the chair beside me.
“I’m almost seven.”
“My mistake.”
He looked at my bandaged shoulder.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Are you mad you saved me?”
The question shattered me.
I turned fully toward him despite the pain.
“No.”
“Because now bad people know you.”
“Bad people knew me before. They just didn’t care.”
He frowned.
“That’s sad.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
He touched the edge of my sleeve.
“My mama died.”
I went still.
“I’m sorry.”
“Papa says she loved me too much to leave but not enough to stay alive.”
My throat closed.
“That sounds like grief talking.”
“What’s grief?”
“It’s love with nowhere easy to go.”
He considered that.
Then nodded.
“Papa has a lot.”
I looked toward the door.
“I can tell.”
Leo leaned closer.
“Are you really his sister?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hope yes.”
“Why?”
“Because then you’re my aunt.”
The word hit a place inside me I didn’t know was empty.
Aunt.
Family.
Something belonging to me.
Before I could answer, gunshots cracked outside the private room.
Leo froze.
I grabbed him instinctively, pulling him against me.
The door burst open.
Marco appeared with a pistol in his hand.
“We have to move.”
Dominic came behind him, face dark with fury.
His suit jacket was gone.
There was blood on his cuff.
Not his.
He looked at Leo in my arms and something raw flashed across his face.
“Underground exit,” he said.
I stood too fast and swayed.
He caught me.
This time, I didn’t push him away.
The hallway outside smelled of smoke and expensive perfume.
People crouched behind tables.
Men in suits moved with weapons drawn.
The glittering dining hall had become a battlefield dressed in gold.
As Dominic guided us through a service corridor, Julian, the manager, stepped from the shadows.
His face was slick with sweat.
“I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
Dominic stopped.
So did I.
Julian looked at me.
“I just sent the photo. They paid me.”
My blood went cold.
Dominic’s voice became almost soft.
“Who?”
May you like
Julian swallowed.
“Bellandi.”
