Chapter 50 The Woman Behind the Name
Chapter 50 The Woman Behind the Name
Jasmine:
The study was my father’s room once. Now it was mine. I had been in this dirty game long enough but the realisation still felt strange sometimes, but not enough to unsettle me anymore. Everything he once had, from the massive dark desk, to the shelves lined with records and old books, all belonged to me now. Just like the empire beneath it, and just like the blood attached to it.
I sat in the office reviewing shipment reports, barely paying attention to half of them. Numbers and routes blurred together eventually. Ever since my father’s funeral, my thoughts had become consumed by one thing only.
Nikolai Moretti. The man I once loved. The man I now wanted destroyed.
Right then, a knock came at the door before it opened. Dante stepped inside carrying several folders beneath one arm. His expression alone told me this wasn’t routine business.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“I see you’re loving your natural blonde look. It suites you.” Dante commended with a small smile.
“Dying it dark was my way of burying Elena Vorn.”
Then he dropped the files onto the desk in front of me. “New York.”
That got my attention immediately. I opened the first folder. In it were photos of bodies, destroyed safe-houses, interrogation reports, missing persons.
The further I read, the colder my amusement became. Nikolai had unleashed hell.
“He’s tearing the underworld apart trying to find the Godmother,” Dante said quietly.
A slow smile spread across my lips despite myself. The reports continued. A Russian broker tortured in Brooklyn. Two gunrunners held hostage for information in Queens. Three warehouse owners executed after giving him false leads. Even Chicago had felt the ripple effects.
I laughed softly under my breath. Of course he did. Nikolai didn’t know how to lose quietly.
“He’s desperate,” I murmured.
Dante didn’t look nearly as entertained as I felt.
“He’s dangerous.”
“He’s always been dangerous.”
“Elena—”
“No,” I interrupted calmly, closing the folder. “This is exactly what I wanted.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“You wanted people butchered?”
“I wanted him angry.”
“And now you have it.”
I stood slowly from the desk, walking toward the window overlooking the estate grounds. For a moment, I simply stared at my reflection in the glass.
The Godmother.
The title still followed me everywhere now. Men lowered their eyes when I entered rooms. Rivals spoke my name carefully. They feared me more than they did revered me.
And yet somehow, none of it satisfied me. Well, not truly. Because Nikolai still breathed.
“Good,” I said softly. “Then it’s time for the next step.”
Dante immediately stiffened behind me.
“No.”
I turned slightly. “No?”
“You’re not going to New York.”
A faint smile touched my lips. “Watch me.”
“Elena, think about this carefully.”
“I have.”
“He’s unstable right now.”
“So am I.”
That shut him up for exactly two seconds. Then he stepped closer. “You revealing yourself now is reckless.”
I folded my arms. “I’m tired of being in the shadows.”
“You don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied quietly. “That’s exactly why I’m going.”
Because somewhere beneath all the rage, all the betrayal, all the blood between us… I still wanted to see him.
The realisation disgusted me. But it was true anyway.
Before Dante could argue again, another voice entered the room.
“I think she should do it.”
Both of us turned immediately. Pietro stood near the doorway, dressed impeccably as always, with one of his hands resting casually in his pocket like he hadn’t just walked into a private conversation uninvited.
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“That’s surprising.”
Pietro smirked faintly as he walked further inside. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Dante answered flatly before I could. “Considering you usually disagree with every decision she makes.”
Pietro ignored him completely. Instead, his attention settled on me.
“The Godmother,” he said slowly, almost admiringly. “Do you understand how powerful that name has become already?”
I didn’t answer. He continued anyway.
“No face. No confirmed identity. Just fear.” His smile widened slightly. “People are terrified of someone they’ve never even seen.”
Dante looked irritated already.
“Pietro—”
“She should go,” Pietro interrupted smoothly. “Reveal herself properly.”
That made me pause because this was the first time since my return to Italy that Pietro sounded genuinely supportive of anything involving me.
It felt wrong. But strangely… satisfying.
“You think it’s a good idea?” I asked carefully.
“I think power means nothing if nobody sees it,” Pietro replied. “Right now you’re becoming a blonde myth.”
His gaze sharpened slightly.
“But visible power? That changes entire cities.”
Dante scoffed softly. “Or starts wars.”
Pietro shrugged. “The war’s already started.”
The exact same words I had told Dante days ago.
I looked between them both carefully. One trying to stop me. The other encouraging me. So for the first time in my life, I found myself agreeing with Pietro.
Maybe grief truly had changed me. Because caution no longer interested me. I wanted impact. I wanted Nikolai to look me in the eyes and realise exactly who had struck him. Exactly who had become powerful enough to challenge him openly.
“Prepare the jet,” I said calmly.
Dante exhaled sharply in frustration.
“Elena—”
“I’m dying my hair dark again. I’m going to New York, and you’re tagging along.” I said, looking at Dante.
All Dante’s effort to convince me to stay were futile. We were already in New York in no time. The city looked the same from above. Beautiful, but I had returned with a touch of ugly.
As the car drove through Manhattan that evening, I stared silently out the tinted window while memories clawed their way back one by one.
The underground pit, his mansion, his hands, his voice. My chest tightened briefly before I crushed the feeling immediately. That woman no longer existed.
Jasmine belonged to New York. Elena belonged to war.
The car finally stopped outside a private building overlooking the river, one I had booked beforehand.
The moment I stepped inside, guards straightened instantly. I barely acknowledged them. Instead, I walked straight towards my room prepared.
The room was dim, elegant, and quiet. I removed my gloves slowly before sitting behind the desk. I stared at the phone in front of me for a while, unsure whether to do it or not.
Then finally, I picked it up. Dante stood nearby watching carefully, with an obvious tension in his posture.
“You can still reconsider. It’s not too late.”
I dialled the number from memory.
“No,” I said softly. “I can’t.”
The line rang once, twice, then, he answered.
Silence filled the space between us immediately as I was nervous to speak. Nervous to hear both our voices for the first time in months.
And then, finally, I braced myself.
“Nikolai,” I said quietly.