CHAPTER 107: CHAOS OF BETRAYALS

The sound of the door crashing inward wasn’t just wood splitting; it was the final, violent punctuation mark to Daisy’s fragile control.

Instinctively, she melted back against Romeo, his arms like a sudden, solid cage around her.

The vanilla-scented air turned acrid with the smell of old concrete and newly-drawn tension.

Two men stood framed in the splintered doorway, their suits expensive, their faces cold, and their intent unmistakable.

They were not police; they were cleanup crew, sent by someone powerful to make a mess vanish.

"Don’t move," Romeo whispered again, his body language shifting from protective lover to honed weapon.

He didn’t tighten his grip on her, but the muscles in his arms tensed, a silent promise of violence.

Daisy, however, was already moving. Not away, but subtly, her hand sweeping across the small table beside the sofa, her fingers closing around the cold, weighty base of a ceramic lamp. The action was swift, trained, and silent.

She didn’t cling to him like a helpless damsel; she positioned herself as a secondary shield.

The two men exchanged a look. They hadn’t expected the house guest.

"We’re here for the girl, Romeo. Stand down," the lead man, a brute with a thin scar running through his eyebrow, grunted. His hand was already hovering near his own jacket.

Romeo let out a soundless sigh, a flicker of true, deadly impatience crossing his features. "She’s not going anywhere."

"Don’t make this harder than it has to be," the brute warned.

"I only make things impossible," Romeo countered. His voice was no longer a soft confession of regret but a low, dangerous rumble of a man accustomed to having his commands obeyed.

Before the brute could react, Romeo launched himself forward. It wasn’t a reckless charge, but a calculated detonation of force. He moved toward the scarred man, but his real target was the second one, the one positioned near the door, blocking the only clear exit.

The ceramic lamp in Daisy’s hand became an unexpected asset.

As Romeo engaged the lead man in a vicious, close-quarters tangle. A blur of elbows and knees, Daisy swung the lamp in a flat arc.

It connected with the temple of the second guard, a sickening, dull thud.

He stumbled, dropping a small switchblade, his eyes rolling back as he crashed against the wall.

"Behind you.. " Daisy yelled, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Romeo didn’t turn.

He leveraged the weight of the scarred man against the doorframe, pinning his arm. With a practiced, economical movement, he seized the man’s wrist, twisted, and a sharp crack echoed through the room.

The man screamed, a sound cut short as Romeo drove his knee into the man’s solar plexus.

Silence descended, heavy and absolute, broken only by the whimpering of the two crumpled figures and their ragged breathing.

Romeo stood over them, his chest heaving, his suit jacket disheveled but his eyes already clear and focused on Daisy.

The entire fight had lasted less than thirty seconds.

Daisy dropped the lamp base, her hand shaking. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.

"Who sent them, Romeo?" she demanded, her voice shaking with adrenaline. Not fear, she hadn’t felt true fear since her past had been excavated but fury at the relentless intrusion.

Romeo didn’t answer right away. He walked over to the man he had crippled, kneeling to retrieve a burner phone from his pocket.

He crushed it under his heel without a glance.

"The person you trust is the one who wants you gone," he repeated, straightening. "It’s not tonight’s question, Daisy. It’s the one I need you to ask yourself every day."

He looked at her then, his gaze heavy with an emotion she couldn’t categorize—regret, duty, and something achingly like possessiveness. He took the few steps separating them, wiping a smear of blood from his jawline.

"I won’t let anyone hurt you again," he said, his promise laced with the same quiet authority Luca wielded. "I don’t care who tries."

He reached out, his thumb tracing the faint, livid bruise forming on her temple from where the door had startled her.

He didn’t kiss her again. He just stood there, their breaths mingling, a strange silence growing between them: the silence of shared violence, shared secrets, and a forbidden, dangerous history.

"I need to clean this up," he finally murmured, looking at the bodies. "Go, Get out of here. Stay somewhere safe. I will contact you when the air is clear."

He was giving her a command, but it was wrapped in a genuine plea for her safety.

Daisy nodded, her eyes lingering on his. "Don’t get caught, Romeo."

He didn’t reply. He simply gave her a nod, a silent, final communication. She grabbed a small bag, slipped past the wreckage of the door, and disappeared into the night, leaving Romeo alone with the two unconscious men and the lingering, confusing scent of vanilla and gunpowder.

*******

The drive back to the estate felt endless for Alessia. Fredo, stone-faced and silent in the driver’s seat, kept glancing at her through the rear-view mirror, clearly worried but too professional to question the storm that had just unfolded.

Alessia sat rigidly, her hand pressed against the slight swell of her abdomen, a silent apology to her unborn child.

She felt a profound, aching mixture of guilt, rage, and a terrifying, unwelcome thrill.

Luca had tested her.

He had been the stranger, the quiet authority, the possessive kiss. And she had nearly failed. Not because she wanted another man, but because the pain he inflicted had made her vulnerable to the first distraction that promised to ease it.

"You’re mine, Alessia. My wife, My sin and My redemption. And I don’t share what’s mine."

His words echoed with a terrifying beauty. He had been hurt by her distance, and he had reacted with the cold, calculating cruelty of a man who believed love gave him the right to measure loyalty.

When the black sedan finally pulled up to the palatial, silent mansion, Alessia didn’t wait for Fredo to open the door.

She flung it open and walked into the grand foyer, the marble floor cold beneath her heels. The house was oppressively silent.

"Fredo, thank you," she whispered, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"Are you sure you’re alright, Ma’am?" he asked, concern etching itself deeper onto his face.

"I need to be alone," she said, cutting off his protest.

She didn’t head to the bedroom. Instead, she found herself walking toward Luca’s private wing—the library and office complex he kept locked when he was away.

Tonight, the heavy oak door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out onto the carpet.

She moved silently, her shoes making no sound.

A deep, resonant voice drifted out, Luca’s voice. It wasn’t the commanding growl from the ballroom; it was soft, intimate, utterly stripped of its usual authority.

He’s still on the phone. Business, she thought, steeling herself to walk past.

Then she heard the words that stopped her dead in her tracks.

"I missed you so much, tesoro. You have no idea what it’s like to be here without you," Luca murmured.

Alessia froze, her blood turning to ice water in her veins.

Tesoro Treasure. That was a term he had reserved only for her, and only in their most private moments.

She crept closer to the door, the guilt of eavesdropping overshadowed by a cold, rising dread.

She peeked around the heavy frame.

Luca was standing by the mahogany desk, his back to her, still wearing the black suit from the ballroom.

He was staring out the window at the dark, manicured gardens, a look of profound, aching weariness in his posture.

He held the phone loosely to his ear.

"Don’t worry about Alessia," he continued, his voice so quiet she had to strain to hear. "She’s... dealing with things, Our distance is necessary for now But you know who my heart belongs to. It always has."

The air rushed out of Alessia’s lungs, leaving her dizzy and nauseous.

Our distance is necessary. He had been using the space, the pain, the betrayal he felt she had inflicted, as a shield—a necessary delay to be with someone else.

The realization hit her not like a shock, but like the inevitable fall of a blade she’d always known was coming.

All the pain, the tests of loyalty, the possessive declarations of ownership they were a smokescreen to cover his own colossal deception.

Luca gave a soft, almost painful laugh. "Cara, you are my life. You are the quiet I crave, the only one who doesn’t see the Don when they look at me. I’m coming home. Soon. Just a few more weeks to stabilize things here with... with the situation, and I’m yours. Fully. Tell me you still love me."

Alessia’s hands were shaking violently. She reached into her silk clutch, pulling out her own phone.

Her fingers, despite her trembling, were surprisingly steady as she opened the voice recorder app and pressed the red button.

She needed proof.

For the divorce, For the custody battle, For her sanity.

She held the phone up, angling it toward his back, recording the intimate, sickening confession that was tearing her marriage, her life, and her trust to shreds.

"I know, I know. It’s complicated," Luca sighed into the phone. "But I promise you, when I come to you, I’ll never look back. Not even for the child."

The last line was a sledgehammer blow. Not even for the child.

Alessia sagged against the doorframe, every muscle going slack with terror and disbelief.

She didn’t stop the recording. She just stood there, letting the cold, hard evidence capture the destruction of her life.

Luca took a deep breath. "I have to go, Angel.. I hear someone. I love you, remember that."

He hung up.

Alessia instantly silenced her phone, slipped it back into her clutch, and flattened herself against the shadowed wall, praying he wouldn’t notice the small crack in the office door, the one she’d left open.

She heard him move toward his private liquor cabinet, the clink of glass, and the heavy sigh of a man burdened.

Then, Luca’s voice, startlingly close and cold, sliced through the air.

"You can come out now, Alessia."

Her heart leaped into her throat.

He hadn’t just heard someone; he’d known it was her.

She slowly emerged from the shadows, her face a mask of furious, ravaged dignity.

She didn’t speak. She just stood there, her head held high, looking at the man who had just finished professing eternal love to another woman and dismissing their unborn child.

Luca turned, holding a glass of amber liquid.

His eyes, usually pools of dark, possessive intensity, were surprisingly empty.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. It wasn’t a question rooted in fear of exposure, but one of brutal, clinical necessity.

"Enough," Alessia whispered, her voice like sandpaper. "Enough to know the stranger tonight wasn’t a test of my loyalty, Luca. He was a distraction so you could clean up yours."

She took a slow, deliberate step back. The phone with the recording was a burning brand in her hand.

Luca’s jaw tightened. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "Don’t misunderstand, Alessia. It’s more complicated than you think."

"No," she cut him off, finally finding her voice, sharp and laced with pure venom. "It’s simple. You’re a liar. You used our pain, your betrayal, to justify your next one. And you tested me to make sure I was too broken to fight back."

The silence stretched, thick with accusation. Luca set his glass down on the desk—a clean, final thud.

"I was going to tell you," he finally said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.

"You were going to let me leave, convinced I was the one who had failed your test," she countered.

She finally turned to walk away, a new, terrifying calm settling over her. She knew what she had to do now. She had the evidence. She had the clarity.

But as her hand reached the door, Luca moved.

He didn’t grab her. He didn’t block her path. He simply leaned in, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm against her cold skin.

"Be careful, Alessia," he murmured, his voice now utterly devoid of warmth, the full weight of the Don settling into his tone. "You may have recorded a conversation, but you don’t know who Angel is. She’s not some mistress, cara mia. She’s the reason you’re alive."

Alessia froze, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

"And she’s not a woman," Luca finished, his dark eyes fixed on her stunned face. "Angel is a name. And that name belongs to my Father’s most loyal, and most deadly, operative. And they just received the final order to take care of all loose ends...."