Page 10 of The New Godfather

He stares at me for a long second, those whiskey eyes completely unreadable, and I realize I’m trembling—actually trembling—which feels so foreign to my own body that I almost don’t recognize the sensation. My hands are cold, my knees feel unsteady, and there’s a fine tremor running through me that I can’t force away. But I understand it.

I’ve never looked him straight in the eyes before today. Maybe because I knew that he was truly dangerous to me. Salvatore’s cruelty was predictable, cold and calculated, the kind you could brace yourself against if you paid attention. But Ricci… there was something about him that set my nerves on edge in a different way. He has the danger of a man with no limits. Not even death. Knowing the whole world could burn down around him, he’d simply light the match himself, let everything burn in flames, and keep walking without looking back.

He nods once—cold, curt, no words, no softening in his expression.

But it is enough for me. Something inside me unclenches just enough to breathe, and I turn and lead him up the wide staircase. The house feels unnaturally quiet now; the noises of the guests below are distant, muffled behind thick plaster walls and closed doors, like the reception is happening in another life. We reach the first floor, and I push open the heavy double doors to the library. It is the only place I know nobody from Mario or Salvatore’s world ever comes to. It is my sanctuary. A cavernous space with dark walnut shelves, all filled with leather-bound books that no one in this house has ever cracked open. Underfoot is a massive Persian rug in deep reds and golds. The air smells faintly of old paper, lemon polish that still clings to the drapes, and there are the heavy leather armchairs arranged around a cold marble fireplace that hasn’t been lit for all the time I have lived here.

The moment he steps inside and shuts the door behind him with a soft click, my stomach tightens into a hard knot. We’re completely alone. I turn around to face him, heart hammering so loud I’m sure he can hear it echoing off the ancient books.

His arms are loose at his sides like he has all the time in the world.

I come right out with it. No more circling. No more games. No more hiding behind the mask I’ve worn so long it’s fused into my skin.

“Help me.” The words tumble out, raw and honest, scraping my throat on the way up. “I’ve been left with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Salvatore made sure that I held nothing in my name. Everything I have is on lease or subscription. Even the jewelry that is supposed to be mine is locked away in the vault, and only he has the combination. There is nothing I can sell, or even prove I ever had. I just need… a way to survive beyond this house. A little protection, some breathing room, enough time to figure out what comes next. I’ll repay you everything you give me monetarily, and I’ll owe you a favor. You might need information or assistance someday, whatever it is. I can be useful. I’ve been in this world long enough to know things. People. Secrets. I’ve seen more than anyone realizes.”

“And I have these pieces of jewelry I’m wearing I can give you. They’re simple, but they’re real pieces. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s all I have.”

He doesn’t speak. Just watches me, his eyes hooded and unreadable, peeling me apart layer by layer. Inside, I’m screaming, ‘For the love of God, please help me. Isn’t there something—anything—at all you want from me in exchange? There’s got to be. I’m not completely useless. All these other men have seen value in my body.’

My eyes fill with tears again, hot and humiliating, the sharp lines of his face blur into soft edges. I blink hard, but they spill anyway, sliding down my cheeks silently.

“Please,” I whisper, the word cracking open in the quiet like something fragile finally breaking.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, pressing against my skin. I can hear the faint tick of the antique clock on the mantel, the distant hum of the house settling around us like a sleeping beast. Still staring at me, he slides his hands into his pockets. My breath catches, chest tight, and my pulse is racing so fast it makes me dizzy.

“I’ll help you,” he says, his voice like gravel dragged over velvet. “But there is something that I want from you in exchange.”

I stop breathing.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My heart feels like it’s in my throat. I wait, frozen, every nerve ending alive and screaming.

He takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him and smell the faint trace of his cologne—something dark and expensive, like cedar and smoke. Then his scent wraps around me like a promise or a threat.

“What I want,” he says, eyes locked on mine, unflinching, “is you.”

The world stops.

Chapter Ten

RICCI

The words I just spoke... I can’t believe I said them. I finally did it. After all these years of watching her from the shadows of every room she walked into, burning for her in silence while I stood at Salvatore’s right hand and pretended she was just another piece of furniture in the Greco empire, I was always dreaming of the day I would claim her without a single lie between us. I actually said the words out loud.

“What I want is you.”

I’ve thought these words a thousand times—whispered them in my head in the dead of night when the house was quiet, and she was sleeping somewhere down the hall, imagined saying them while I watched her ride that Arabian mare across the estate fields, blonde hair whipping in the wind like gold silk. But hearing them leave my mouth… Now my heart is pounding like a fucking drum, and the words hang in the air between us, thick, raw and irreversible.

Christ. It feels like I just stepped off the edge of a cliff and I’m still falling, wind rushing past, stomach in free fall, waiting for the impact.

She doesn’t leap for joy. Not that I ever expected her to. I know her too well for that. I watch her face carefully, searching for any flicker, any tell. The vulnerability that cracked through a minute ago—the tears, the tremble in her voice, the way her breath hitched when she asked for help—is all gone. The mask is back on, perfectly cool and polished, green eyes politely expressionless. I can’t tell how she feels at all. Not even a little.

That stings more than it should.

“This seems to be the response I’m getting from every man who has crossed my path lately. I must be more desirable than I thought.” Her voice is dry and amused, but there’s a bitter edge underneath.

I shrug, trying to keep my own mask in place even though my blood is roaring. If she says no… “That’s my condition,” I tell her, and then I take the biggest gamble I have ever taken. I turn away as if to leave. The heavy library door is only a few steps away. Call my name. Call my damn name, Viola. My hand is reaching for the brass knob. What the fuck do I do if she doesn’t call me?

Then her fingers catch my arm.