Chapter 3 Control
Dante Caravelli.
I watched Giovanni pull the trigger through the one-way glass while I sipped my morning espresso.
The man had been begging for twenty minutes straight, making promises he couldn't keep and swearing loyalty he didn't have. I'd heard it all before a thousand times, and the begging always sounded the same after a while.
"Make it quick," I told Antonio through the radio. "I have meetings this morning."
Below, Giovanni nodded and ended it with one clean shot; someone would clean up the mess later because that's what we paid them for.
Violence was just business, and death was just paperwork.
"You met the Rosetti girl yesterday," Antonio said as we walked upstairs to my office. He poured himself whiskey even though it was only eight in the morning, but I'd stopped commenting on his drinking habits years ago.
"Briefly."
"And?"
"And nothing, she's a debt payment, she works, she stays out of sight, end of story." I signed papers without looking up.
"Giovanni says she's been asking questions.”
"Giovanni is paid to be paranoid. The girl wants to know where the cleaning supplies are kept, that's not espionage."
"Still, she's Rosetti blood." Antonio sat down and watched me with narrowed eyes that saw too much. "That name meant something once."
"Once, not anymore, her father destroyed their family through weakness and gambling; I won't have that infection here." I signed another document without reading it.
"She works until the debt is satisfied, then she's gone, simple." That's all I have to say about the matter, because that is what it is, simple as.
"How long will that take?"
I smiled without warmth. "As long as I decide it takes."
Antonio shook his head but didn't argue; he knew that I had made up my mind and nothing he said would change my stance on the matter.
The day passed in meetings and territory disputes. A rival family was pushing into our shipping lanes and needed to be reminded of boundaries.
In response, I authorised a response that would leave no room for misinterpretation.
By evening, three of their warehouses would be burning, with all their goods destroyed, and before the fire department arrives, it would be too late.
Although they know better than to call the fire department, that would be a path straight to a police investigation.
No matter what they tried, I would still have the upper hand.
That's how you maintained control, with swift and unmistakable consequences. It's what I've always done, and nothing will change that.
I barely left my office because the empire ran itself mostly; I just made the decisions about who lived and who died and who paid and who didn't.
Simple.
Around five PM, Giovanni came in with his evening report.
"The Rosetti girl had contact with Jasmine today," he said casually at the end.
Everything stopped.
"What?"
"It was a brief encounter. The girl heard Jasmine crying and checked on her. The nanny interrupted within minutes, no harm done."
"No harm done?" My voice came out too quiet, the dangerous kind of quiet. "She went into my daughter's room without permission."
"She heard crying—"
"I don't care if she heard the building collapsing; my daughter is off limits to everyone, especially her." I stood up and walked to the window, my hands clenched behind my back.
"Where is she now?"
"Back in the servants' quarters, she's been working all day."
"Keep her away from Jasmine, I don't want them in the same wing of the villa, is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Don Caravelli."
After Giovanni left, I stood at my window and looked out at the grounds. Everything was in its place and under control, exactly how it should be.
The Rosetti girl was already causing problems, and she'd only been here one day.
I should send her away, pay off the debt and be done with it, but something stopped me from giving that order; maybe it was pride. Her father had tried to cheat me and failed; keeping her here was a reminder to everyone that no one cheated Dante Caravelli.
Evening came, and I did my rounds like always, walking the villa and checking corners, an old habit from my father's training; a king must know every corner of his castle.
I found myself outside Jasmine's room like every night, standing there with my hand reaching for the door but never quite touching it.
Inside, I could hear her talking to herself and playing, her voice so much like Isabella's that it hurt to breathe.
Four years, four years of standing outside this door and not being able to go in.
"Still can't do it," Antonio's voice came from behind me, quiet and sad.
"She's better off without me in there."
"Is she? Or are you better off not having to face her?"
I didn't answer because we both knew the truth. I turned and walked away like always, leaving my daughter alone with her toys and her memories.
Back in my office, I poured whiskey and sat in the dark, the photo on my desk showed Isabella holding baby Jasmine, both of them smiling at the camera like the world was good and safe.
I'd failed them both, failed to protect Isabella, failed to be a father to Jasmine, failed at everything that mattered.
Being the King of Castello Nero meant nothing if I couldn't even walk into my daughter's room.
I drank until the photo blurred, until I couldn't see their faces anymore, until the guilt faded to a dull ache instead of a sharp knife.
Outside my window, the villa was dark and quiet. This is my fortress, my kingdom, my prison.
And somewhere in the servants' wing, the Rosetti girl was probably up to something. Of course, I was not a fool; I knew she had something up her sleeve.
But it wouldn't make a difference to me. Let her try; I have broken stronger people than her.
She was nothing, just another pawn in a game she didn't understand.
I'd make sure she learned her place... eventually.