It's not the sun that wakes me up this time. It's a loud, persistent knock on the door.
"Miss Baldessano," they call out to me, continuing their banging.
"I'm coming," I grumble a response, my words barely audible. I slip out from under the sheets, my ankles almost too weak to keep me upright. I walk over to the door like a zombie. As soon as I open it, a whole brigade of men barges into the room, almost knocking me backwards. It's too much for me to register this early. "What— What's happening?"
"We've been instructed to pack your bags," Seth stops before me. I recognise another one of the men — Gianna's brother Gino, who handed me the letter during the gala.
"What?" my scowl deepens. It's way too early for this shit.
"Sainte has asked us to pack your things."
"What?" I repeat. Is he kicking me out? My body instantly wakes up.
"Did he not tell you we were coming?"
"No. He didn't," I march back into the bedroom. There are men digging through the wardrobe and others pulling things out of the bathroom. This is ridiculous. "Can you stop, please?!"
"Sorry, boss' orders," one of them says. But it's not good enough. I climb up onto the bed, towering over them.
"No! Stop it right now!" I boom. "If any of you move another muscle, I swear to god you'll regret it!"
"Bianca—," Seth tries.
"No!" I pull away. The men stop what they're doing, turning to look at me. "Where is Sainte?"
"In his office."
"Get him up here right now."
"Bianca..."
"Right now!"
"He's not doing to be happy," Gino warns.
"I don't care."
Gino shakes his head in disagreement. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear. I wish I could hear the whole conversation, but this will have to do.
"We've got an issue," Gino begins. "She's refusing to cooperate. She insists on seeing you first."
The room is so silent, I can hear Valentino blaring on the other end. It doesn't sound good, but Gino doesn't make any other attempts to convince him. He removes the phone from his ear.
"And?" I ask.
"He's on his way."
Good. Time stands still for the next few seconds. Everyone stays frozen in place, waiting for the boss to arrive. I feel for them, knowing they're about to be exposed to the argument of the century. The man himself walks into the room moments later, a deep scowl plastered on his face.
"What are you doing, Bianca?" he demands. "You're wasting valuable time and resources right now."
"I don't care about your time and resources, Valentino," I mock him. "I care about you voiding our agreement and kicking me out!"
"What?" he moves closer. "I'm not kicking you out."
"Then what the fuck is going on? Why are they going through my things?"
"Will you come down from there?" he holds his hand out to me. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"No! I need answers."
"Bianca—."
"Tell me what's going on!
"Only if you come down."
"No, tell me!"
"Alright, out," he turns to his men. "Everybody out!"
They filter out of the room straight away. It's just me and him now — staring each other down. For once, I have the power.
"So?" I push. "What is it? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm not kicking you out, Bianca," he insists. "I'm taking you to Sicily."
"What?" That's not what I expected at all. "What for?"
"We have a safe house there. We need to lie low for a few days."
"Why?"
"You don't need to know. Just go with it."
"You're not going to tell me?"
"Not now. We don't have time. Just get dressed so we can go."
Fine. I'm not happy, but I don't want to push him any further. This will have to do for now. The rest will come. I take the hand he offers me, stepping off the bed onto the floor.
"What about Whiskey?" I ask. He lets out a frustrated groan.
"Forget about the fucking cat, Bianca," he complains. "That's the last thing I need to be worrying about — a fucking gatta."
Alright, that was unnecessary. I take it back. This will not do.
"Stop doing that," I protest. "You can't keep dismissing me."
"I'm not dismissing you. Your cat is not high on my list of priorities right now."
"It's not about my cat," I state. "You just don't care about the things that are important to me."
"That's not true."
"Yes, it is. I don't like this at all. I don't like the way you've been treating me. You've barely spoken to me in days, you walked out on me last night and now you expect me to drop everything and follow you to Italy?"
"I told you, I've been working."
"That's not good enough."
"Bianca..." he lets out a frustrated groan. "There are things happening in this family that you don't know about."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No. You don't need to know."
"Yes, I do. It directly affects me."
"Listen to me," he insists, eyeing me sternly. "You do not need to know."
"Yes, I do! If you want me to run this family with you then you need to include me!"
"I'm trying to protect you!"
"I don't need protection!"
"It's for your own good!"
"So what, you want to keep me locked up in your ivory tower?"
"No, I don't want you to be upset!"
"I'm upset now," I sigh. "I like you, Valentino, and I want this to work, but you can't keep treating me this way. It's not fair, and I'm not going to accept it."
His eyes pierce mine, clearly searching for a way out of this. But there is none. I'm determined. I need to stand up for myself, but I don't want to keep arguing. I don't know what else to do but tell him. And if he doesn't act on it, that's on him. If he wants me to get on that plane, he's going to have to tell me exactly what's happening and why he's behaving this way.
"Are you sure you want to know?" he asks.
"Yes," I nod. Absolutely.
"Alright," he gives in. "You asked me about Isabella yesterday."
"Uh-huh," I urge him to continue.
"Her name is Isabella Sokolov. She is the daughter of Konstantin Sokolov."
"From Russia?" I check. If I remember correctly, Konstantin Sokolov runs the biggest crime family in Russia. They're much smaller than us, but they've been trying to sneak into our territory for years now. We've never let them — not with the way they operate. They aren't like us. They don't care about human lives, honour codes and ethics. They only care about two things: money and murder.
"That's right," Valentino nods.
"What did she do?" I brace myself for the worst. I already know it can't be good.
"We received a package in the mail two days ago. It was a styrofoam cooling box, about the size of a milk crate. It was filled with—," he hesitates, but I don't flinch. "It was filled with hands."
"What?" I gasp. "Hands?"
"Dismembered hands," he confirms.
"Oh my god." I feel sick.
"We had them fingerprinted. They belonged to some security guards in Portland. We had no record of them going missing, so I sent some men over to speak with the area manager there. They met at the supply warehouse but they... they didn't make it out alive."
"What happened?" I urge. I need to know more.
"There was an explosion," he tells me. "We found bomb fragments in the rubble. We're not sure yet how the device got into the building, but I'm willing to bet she turned off our cameras and killed our guards so they wouldn't notice."
"Was the warehouse operating at the time?"
"It was," he nods, but he knows exactly what I'm actually asking. "71 fatalities and 118 injuries."
"No," I shake my head. That's far too many. That's too many. 71 people died.
"Our facility in Reno was attacked this morning," he continues. "53 fatalities and 86 injuries."
"Holy shit." I don't know what else to say. I'm actually going to puke. That's 124 lives lost in two days. This isn't just an attack. This is war.
"She's getting closer," he says. "I want to get you to safety as soon as possible."
"How do you know it's her?" I ask. There must be more to the story.
"Because she warned me this would happen."
"What do you mean?"
"Isabella is the woman I was supposed to marry."
"Oh..." my heart sinks. "Why didn't you?"
"Because she wasn't you."
"What?" I scowl. That doesn't make sense.
"I knew I wanted to be with you the first time we met."
"When I asked your father for permission to do a semester abroad?"
"That's right," a small smile pulls at his lips, the memory clearly still in the forefront of his mind. "You were, what—22 at the time?"
"21."
"You would not take no for an answer," he recalls. "He warned you there were tensions with other families, but you insisted. You debated every point he made. You mentioned how valuable the experience would be, and that it would help you support other kids when you got back. You said you were willing to risk your safety if it would make you a better person."
"You remember that?" now it's my turn to smile.
"Of course. I was impressed. No one had done that before — not with the eloquence you did. You were diplomatic and sensible. I admired it."
"But you never said anything?"
"I didn't think I could. I knew I had a say, but everyone expected me to marry Isabella — to merge our families. But I couldn't. I didn't see a future with her. I saw one with you."
My heart thumps so loud, I can almost hear it. This is the last thing I expected to hear today, but I'm so glad I did. This is perfect. This is... everything. He wants me. He didn't pick me out of convenience. He wanted me for years. He set up a whole gala, knowing full well it was me he wanted to end the night with.
I barely remember that day — when I had to ask permission to go to London. Normally, I wouldn't need permission, but we were in the midst of signing a treaty with the Greek Stavros family, and the Sokolov's were not happy about it. They were making threats, and our London compound would've been the first place they'd target. We were vulnerable. It was a tense time, but it was also my only opportunity to complete a semester abroad.
Valentino wasn't in charge at the time. He was still training. He'd sit beside his father as his associate. He was younger back then — we both were. But he looked it, too. He didn't look as intimidating as he does now, but he was getting there. Even back then, he was hot. And now, he's mine. That whole time... he was waiting for his chance to be with me. Six years. It's nothing compared to the 27 I've spent daydreaming about him, but it's far more than I'd ever expected.
"What did you do?" I ask him. "Did you tell her?"
"I did," he nods. "I didn't name you specifically, but I told her there was someone else. And she... she warned me there'd be hell to pay, and I didn't believe her. I wouldn't have cared anyway. I'd waited long enough."
I sit down on the edge of the bed, my thoughts spinning. My mind is racing at a million miles an hour. I don't know what to think or feel. I'm happy and surprised and confused and... scared. I don't know what to do. Valentino crouches down before me. He takes my hands and looks up at me.
"Please, Bianca, for the love of God, will you get on that plane with me?"