My Dark Ever After (My Dark Mafia Romance) By Giana Darling NovelM80052 My Dark Ever After (My Dark Mafia Romance) (Chapter - 26)

My Dark Ever After (My Dark Mafia Romance) By Giana Darling

It was my worst fear.

The reason I had descended into hell and taken up the dark crown of my father.

My family meant everything to me, my heart beating outside my chest.

And now they were in jeopardy from the very man I had considered a part of my family since I was a boy.

Everyone was on lockdown. The capos and soldiers at the party were to remain there under Burette’s watch until I called in to say we had arrived at the villa safely. Their phones had been confiscated before they had entered the cemetery—a matter of protocol—and I did not want to risk anyone calling out to Leo to warn him of our arrival or our knowledge that he was a che schifoso voltafaccia, a filthy fucking traitor.

I simply could not believe it even as I sped toward Villa Romano with Guinevere beside me, the nightscape a streaky blur as I raced home through the Tuscan hills, praying to God or whoever might listen to an immoral man like me to keep them safe from harm.

Leo had been my best friend since the cradle.

I had taken my first steps with him, shared his first day of school and last, laughed when he got drunk for the first time on Aldo’s sambuca and threw up in the vines outside the kitchen terrace, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him when my father died.

What could I have done to deserve such faithlessness from a man I had believed was my steadfast friend? No, more than friend—brother.

Family, but chosen.

And somehow that was worse.

That my judgment was clearly so poor I had not seen the sheep through the wolf’s clothing.

The moment Guinevere had accused him, my thoughts had fallen like dominos toward the inevitable conclusion.

Leo was my liaison in the northeast with the Venetians. It had made sense, when I came to power, to keep him there because he and Donatella were distantly related. The di Contes were a prestigious family line in the region all the way back to Venetian aristocracy.

He was, as Guinevere had guessed, a crucial part of the Romano Group, seeking to shift his power back into the company the way my father had once done.

“Aldo spoke of adopting him,” I ground out as we took a hairpin turn and Guinevere veered into my shoulder, not complaining, just holding tight to her seat. “Could he have been so bitter about it that he would do this?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted immediately, and it was clear her brilliant mind was puzzling over it too. “Has he always been particularly power hungry?”

I checked the rearview mirror for Carmine, who was driving the Lamborghini behind me with Martina, Renzo, Ludo, and a few other trusted soldati from the party.

“He was always the obedient soldier, never talking back, always eager to help Aldo and Tonio with whatever they needed. He had killed a dozen people by the time I was made to kill my first. But . . . no. He seemed fine with his lot, my best friend, a key part of the organization. He never once complained or asked for more.”

The steering wheel made a horrible sound as my grip tightened painfully around it.

“He is a second son to my mother, a brother to my sisters, uncle to my nephews. Tell me, how could he turn against us? What the fuck could I have done to make him try to kill me and mine? Cazzo!”

“I don’t think you can rationalize this,” Guinevere said softly, placing her hand on my tensed thigh. “He is clearly a psychopath. My—my sister loved him, and he killed her . . . There is no other reason to do something like that but psychopathy.”

“If he has hurt any of them,” I whispered, as if the words might become reality if spoken too loudly. “I will rip the world apart to find him and spend the rest of my life killing him day by day, little by little.”

“Yes,” Guinevere agreed. “You will. But let’s try not to think that way. He has no reason to know that we’ve discovered what he’s done.”

I swallowed thickly, desperately clinging to the feel of her hand on my thigh, the scent of her feminine fragrance in my nose, and her soft presence in the small space with me. Without her anchoring me, I might have crashed the car, fury overloading my system.

“They have to be okay,” she murmured, as if it was a prayer.

I tried to manifest the same thing, but though we should have had surprise on our side, there was a sinking in my gut that told me we were about to meet more of our signature misfortune.

Which was why, when we crested the hill across from the one Villa Romano rested atop, I was not shocked to see smoke billowing from the far side of the house.

“Merda,” I cursed, slamming my foot down on the pedal so we went careening around the first loop in the circular driveway that carved its way up the hill.

“How would he know?” Guinevere demanded.

Either someone at the party had broken through Burette’s watch, or, more likely, something else had given us away.

It did not matter now.

All that I cared about was making sure no one had been hurt.

When we turned the corner toward the olive grove, we hit a wall of flames. The orange-and-gold fire licked at the end of the gravel, consuming the dry olive trees in snapping, voracious bites down the hillside.

“Someone started it up at the side of the house,” Guinevere whispered, peering out the window.

Cazzo.

Behind me, the SUV swerved hard in the gravel and nearly veered off the road, but I deftly maneuvered the Ferrari up the last curve and swung to a stop in the circular drive, leaving the car running as I sprinted into the house.

“Mamma!” I shouted through the smoke curling in from the opened windows and kitchen door. “Carlotta, Stacci!”

“Raffa.” Stacci appeared at the base of the stairs with Nico on her hip and a weeping Mattia holding her hand. “Thank God.”

“What the fuck happened?” I asked as I swung Mattia into my arms and hustled them out the doors.

“The others are at the other side of the house,” she said after coughing roughly. “John was the one to smell the smoke about fifteen minutes ago, but by then the grove was already well lit.”

“Where are the soldati?” I demanded.

“Fighting the fire,” she explained as we rounded the house to see Emiliano comforting a sobbing Maximo, Carlotta cradling Vitale, John and Elizabeth Stone clutching each other, and Mamma with her arm around Lando, who was sporting a vicious burn on his forearm.

“Did you call the firemen?”

In answer, the distant sound of sirens echoed through the valley over the crackling of splintering, overheated wood.

“Where is Zacheo?” Carlotta asked Stacci, standing up with Vitale in her arms. “He should have been in the house.”

“I checked,” our sister said, going pale. “No one was left inside.”

“Where is Leo?” I asked, a shiver ripping like torn Velcro from my spine.

“He was inside when the fire started, but he went out to help Lando and the others keep the fire from the house,” Stacci explained.

“Do you think he has Zacheo?” Carlotta asked, eyes wide and dark, the same color as the soot raining down around us.

“Maybe,” I allowed, taking one of my guns from the holster at my ankle and pressing it into Stacci’s hand. “If he comes back here, shoot him.”

“What?!”

“Do it, Stacci,” I ordered, holding my hands firmly over hers on the weapon. “Trust me. Shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I will look out for them,” John said, coming up to me with a soot-streaked face and a grave expression. There was a gun tucked in his waistband, one he must have been given by a foot soldier.

I did not take it from him. He had killed enough people in his time as a mafioso to have become an expert with it, even if it had been years. I gave him a solemn nod, thanking him for the offer to protect my family.

God knew I would always protect his.

“Will you find Zacheo?” Carlotta begged, her gaze reflecting the smoke curling over the top of the house. “Please, Raffa.”

“Of course I will,” I promised, turning to leave as Renzo, Carmine, and Martina joined us. “Martina, stay with them. Carm, Zo, help me find Leo and Zacheo.”

I sprinted around the house to the flaming olive grove, where some of my men had laid sandbags to stop the progress of the fire and were currently aiming two garden hoses at the burning edge of the trees.

“Where is Leo?” I asked them, already moving toward the fire.

How had he lit the fire if he was inside when the family noticed it? Had he set a device to go off to give himself an alibi? Was he using the cover of flame to get away undetected?

“He went in to find Zacheo,” Michele shouted over the loud roar. “So did she.”

She.

Panic tore into me with brutal, blunt-edged teeth.

“She?” I echoed, looking around for Guinevere.

“Your American,” he said, confirming my worst fears. “She heard Aio barking in another direction and ran into the fire before we could stop her.”

I stormed toward him, gathering his shirt in my fist to heave him to his toes so I could snarl in his face. “And you did not think to go after her to make sure she—they—were safe?”

“Leo told us to keep the fire back,” he explained, but he had lost all color as he stared into the ferocity of my fury.

“Hope she is unharmed, or I will make sure you regret that decision for the rest of your life,” I snapped, dropping my hold to study the olive grove. “Ludo, can you get to your drone?”

Without responding, my friend turned and raced for the house, where he kept the machine.

“There are acres of groves, Raffa,” Renzo said quietly. “We have no idea where they could be or how far the flames stretch after we lose sight of them down the hill.”

“Michele, where did Leo and Guinevere go?” I asked the cowed man beside me.

He pointed at two rows, one to the left and one to the far right.

Cazzo.

“We need to get to Leo before he disappears.” Carmine said the words I had been thinking. “If you confront him, he might stand down. I have to believe at least some part of him still thinks of you as his brother.”

“I’ll go after Guinevere,” Renzo promised. “I’ll find her and Zacheo, Raffa. I promise you.”

Fear soured the back of my tongue and made me want to gag, but I forced it back with a hard nod and looked to Carm, who gave me a grim smile before we both threw ourselves into a break in the fire.

Smoke enclosed us instantly, a thick, choking haze that burned my lungs each time I was forced to draw breath. We stayed as low as we could, making our way deeper into the fire, where whole sections of olive trees had been razed to blackened matchsticks.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, Ludo’s name on the screen.

“I got him, boss,” he declared, and I thought I could hear the faint whirr of the drone somewhere above me. “He’s ten rows to the left and three klicks down from you. It’s hard to keep a lock on him through the smoke, but I don’t think he’s alone.”

I covered my mouth with the collar of my jacket and indicated at Carm over my shoulder to head left. A smoldering branch broke off with a brutal crack as I raced by, and I turned just in time to see it fall straight for Carmine.

Without thinking, I dove, smacking him out of the way.

The branch landed on the edge of my leg, burning through to my ankle. I hissed at the pain, kicking it off and rolling away from it. Carm helped me to my feet, coughing into his jacket sleeve and patting me on the back in thanks as we started moving again.

As we continued moving east, I heard the faint sound of voices.

I picked up my pace, holding my breath as much as I could through the smoke and wishing fervently that Renzo had already found Guinevere and Zacheo.

We left the fire behind us and exploded into a clearing. A man lay prone on the ground, a visible gash bleeding profusely from his head.

It was Uncle Tonio, passed out in a pool of warm blood.

In the distance, there was the roar of an engine starting.

My predatory instincts raged at me, insisting it was Leo who had attacked Tonio and started a nearby car to race away into the dark.

“Go,” I ordered Carmine in a rough bark as I slapped at Tonio’s face. “Call Ludo and get him tracking the car by drone.”

Tonio came to with a gasp as Carmine disappeared down the hill.

“Leo,” he cried with a broken sob, clutching at my shirt. “My son.”

More blood sluiced down his shirtfront, and I realized he had been shot.

“Did Leo do this to you?” I asked as I pulled his shirt apart to examine the wound.

“He told me he didn’t want to hurt me, but I couldn’t just let him walk away from this betrayal,” he panted through the pain. “I can’t truly believe it. My boy . . . why would he do this?”

I helped Tonio to his feet, putting pressure on the wound with one hand and taking most of his weight over my other shoulder so I could walk us back up the hill to the house outside the flames flickering to our right.

“You had no idea?” I asked, taking advantage of Tonio’s delirium to push for the truth.

It seemed wildly unlikely that he had been in on Leo’s plan, given that Leo had shot Tonio and left him to burn in the olive grove, but I would never take trust for granted again.

“I caught him in Carmine’s office, going through Guinevere’s computer. Something seemed to spook him, and I followed him out to the grove only to find it on fire. I confronted him about his deception, and he told me he was just taking back what was owed to him.” He sucked in a rattling, wet breath. “Apparently, your father promised to make him his heir.”

“To keep him in line,” I concluded in a bitter mutter. “Cazzo, he was a bastard.”

“Leo has been organizing this for some time.” Tonio coughed so hard, blood splattered his lips, and I had to take more of his weight for the steeper incline before the house. “He was being cagey at work. I should have been more suspicious, but . . . he is my son.”

Yes. Family ties could blind someone to the truth too easily. I had let my same love of Leo veil me from his deception for too long, putting myself and my loved ones in jeopardy.

“What happened?” Martina asked as she caught us coming over the ridge onto the terrace, rushing forward to help me lead Tonio to a chair.

“Leo,” I said like a curse. “Where is Guinevere? Is Renzo back with her?”

Martina’s concerned expression was answer enough.

I was just about to plunge back into the flaming grove when I heard a familiar bark.

A moment later, Aio appeared, with Guinevere stumbling after him through the smoke, Zacheo clinging to her front like a spider monkey, Renzo at their back, curving over them both like a shield.

Her hair was a wild tangle, ash glittering dully in the murky red light cast from the flames, and her cheeks were burnt crimson from the heat, the hem of her silk dress torn and charred. She looked like a queen emerging from hell triumphant, and I was certain there had never been a more beautiful sight than Guinevere alive and heroic in that moment.

To think I had doubted she could handle this life.

She was clearly born for it.

I was on them before I could think to move, gathering Guinevere and Zacheo in my arms, peppering their sweat-slicked, sooty faces with kisses.

“My huntress,” I breathed against her cheek before taking her mouth in a kiss. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I needed to get to Zacheo,” she croaked, leaning her forehead against mine. “He’s taken to wandering off into the grove to search for fairies lately. I knew where he might be.”

“So you risked yourself?” I demanded, holding her face in my hands, smoothing the ash from her cheeks.

Her bloodshot eyes were defiant as they stared up into mine. “You aren’t the only one who would risk their life for this family.”

The foundation of my heart shook like tectonic plates, shifting to make room for even more love to take root inside me.

“You are the fiercest, bravest woman I have ever known,” I whispered through my thick, heat-scorched throat.

Guinevere gave me a tremulous smile as Zacheo nuzzled into her neck with a whimper.

“But do not ever scare me like that again,” I demanded. “Now that I have you, I refuse to live without you. Is that understood?”

“Si, Raffa, lo capisco,” she agreed, leaning heavily into my side as Carlotta came racing around the corner yelling for Zacheo.

He squirmed from Guinevere’s arms, dropping down to the ground with a cry as he ran for his mother. I watched them reunite, mother and son sobbing as they held each other. Behind them, the rest of my family—our family—appeared, walking to the edge of the terrace beside us to watch the flames eat away the side of my family’s centuries-old olive grove.

“I’m sorry,” Guinevere whispered as we watched it disappear.

The sirens were louder now, the fire trucks winding up the hill toward us.

“It’s just a grove and just a house,” I murmured back as I pressed her into my side and gathered my mother under my other arm when she wandered close. “It is these people that make it a home.”

“I’m sorry about Leo,” she amended. “I can’t imagine how much that must hurt. Gemma lied to me, and it wasn’t even maliciously done, but it still aches in me like a bruise.”

The pain of Leo’s betrayal was like a lance through my sternum, something impossible to breathe around without pain.

But I knew the antidote to pain like this.

I had been a made man for long enough to know the only thing that could quell this hurt was good, old-fashioned revenge.

And I intended to have it.