Chapter 55: Deception

Lucia’s POV

If deception had a face, I think it would belong to Casteelo.

Because a man does not sit across from you with a glass of wine in his hand, speaking about patience and power shifting slowly from one place to another, only to blow up one of your husband’s buildings less than forty-eight hours later.

At least, I thought he didn’t. Apparently, I was wrong. Very wrong.

The explosion happened yesterday.

I wasn’t there, but the aftermath arrived anyway—through hurried footsteps in the halls, men speaking in lower voices than usual, phone calls at odd hours, and Dante disappearing into meetings before sunrise and returning long after midnight.

I pause near the study door, fingers tightening slightly around the mug in my hand. I knock softly before entering.

The room goes quiet for half a second. Not because I interrupted. Because they noticed.

That still surprises me sometimes.

Dante stands near the large table in the centre of the room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand braced against the edge, while maps and files are scattered around him.

His jaw looks tighter these days. More than usual.

Enzo is arguing about shipment routes. Fabio—who arrived sometime this morning—has several photographs spread before him.

Burn damage, destroyed property, and men injured.

I force myself not to stare too long.

Dante looks up first. His eyes skim over me briefly before returning to the table.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

Simple but not dismissive. I shake my head once and step further inside.

“No.”

I pause and then:

“The building…”

The room stills slightly.

I hate that. How quickly one sentence can change the air.

I look at Dante.

“What exactly happened?”

Enzo answers first.

“Explosives.”

His voice is clipped.

“Timed well enough to avoid major casualties but expensive enough to send a message.”

Fabio scoffs quietly.

“Not expensive.” His eyes remain on the photographs. “Strategic.”

That word settles badly. Because strategic means intentional.

I look back at Dante. He finally lifts his gaze fully to mine.

“Casteelo wanted us to know he could reach our operations,” he says..

With the kind of calm that means anger has already gone beyond shouting.

“He’s escalating.”

I blink.

Because hearing it aloud somehow makes it heavier.

“And what happens now?” I ask carefully.

Enzo straightens immediately. “We answer.”

Simple.

Fabio nods once. “Tit for tat.”

No hesitation, no morality. Just rules.

The room falls quiet again. I study them for a second. Three men. Different personalities.

Same certainty.Retaliation.

I look back at Dante. His expression gives almost nothing away.

Almost.

Because I catch it—

The exhaustion beneath his eyes. The anger underneath control.

His empire is being tested. And for the first time since meeting him…

I think I understand what pressure looks like on Dante Vitale. The kind that sits on your shoulders until it either makes you stronger—

Or breaks your spine.

I set my mug down carefully. Then ask the question that has been bothering me since yesterday.

“If Casteelo wanted a war…”

My eyes stay on Dante.

“…why start with a building?”

Enzo exhales sharply. Like the answer is obvious.

But Dante—

Dante answers.

“Because buildings can be replaced.”

Silence.

Then his voice lowers slightly.

“Trust cannot.”

And suddenly—

I realise this stopped being about money days ago.

For all the tension currently hanging over the estate, life somehow continues.

Not normally.

I don’t think anything around the Vitale family counts as normal anymore.

But people still eat. Still complain.

Still argue over ridiculous things as though buildings have not exploded and war is not quietly unfolding outside the gates.

Which is exactly why I find myself sitting with Alessia in one of the smaller living rooms while she speaks with the seriousness of someone discussing national security.

“I’m telling you,” she says, lowering her voice unnecessarily. “That man wants to kill me.”

I stare at her over the rim of my cup.

Then blink.

Once. Twice.

“…Who?”

Her expression turns incredulous immediately.

“Giovanni.”

The word leaves her mouth like it should explain everything.

I almost laugh. Actually— I do laugh.

A small one. Disbelieving.

Alessia gasps dramatically.

“You think I’m joking.”

“I think,” I say slowly, trying not to smile, “that maybe spending too much time in this house is affecting your brain.”

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t believe me.”

“No,” I answer honestly. “I really don’t.”

Because Giovanni? Cold sometimes. Quiet. Intimidating occasionally. But murderous toward Alessia? That sounds ridiculous.

Alessia sits forward immediately.

Offended.

“Lucia, I caught him staring at me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That means nothing.”

“No.” She shakes her head firmly. “Not normal staring.”

I pause. There is concern in her expression now. Actual concern. And that catches my attention slightly.

“What kind of staring?”

Her mouth opens instantly.

“The kind where everyone was laughing downstairs the other night—Enzo was saying something stupid, Alex was making fun of him, Rita nearly threw a spoon at someone…”

I smile faintly. That sounds accurate.

“And Giovanni?”

Her voice drops. “He wasn’t listening.”

I frown slightly. Alessia leans closer.

“He was looking at me.”

The smile slips from my face a little. Not because I believe her. Because Alessia sounds sincere.

“And when I looked back…” she continues quietly, “he looked away immediately.”

I blink.

Then blink again.

Before I can respond—

Movement near the entrance catches my attention. The front doors open.

My body reacts before my mind fully catches up.

Nico.

He walks inside like he belongs here now.

Which is strange in itself. Black clothing. Expression unreadable.

A presence that somehow pulls attention without asking for it.

For a second, I simply watch. Because sometimes seeing him still feels odd. Like my past and present continue colliding in ways neither asked permission for.

Beside me, Alessia keeps talking.

“…and another thing, Lucia, his face genuinely looks capable of crimes—”

I touch her wrist lightly.

“Hold on.”

Her brows pull together immediately.

“What?”

But I’m already standing. Nico notices me almost instantly. Of course he does.

His eyes meet mine briefly before shifting away like he already knows something is coming.

Good.

Because it is.

I cross the room before I can think too much about it. His expression changes slightly the closer I get.

More cautious.

“Princess,” he says lazily.

I stop in front of him.

“Don’t.”

His eyebrow lifts.

Interesting.

Because once upon a time, that nickname annoyed me differently. Now it simply irritates.

“We need to talk.”

His gaze flickers past me briefly. Toward the room. Toward whoever might be watching.

Then back to me.

“…Need?”

His mouth almost curves.

“Sounds serious.”

I don’t entertain it.

I reach for his wrist before thinking too much about what I’m doing and begin leading him toward one of the quieter hallways near the side of the house.

Behind me I hear Alessia—

Very faintly:

“Oh my God.”

Which I choose to ignore.

Nico follows without resistance. That surprises me more than it should.The moment we turn the corner and voices from the rest of the house fade, I let go immediately and face him.

His eyes drop briefly to where my hand had been around his wrist. Then rise back to mine.

“What exactly are we doing here?” he asks quietly.

And suddenly—

I remember the last private conversation we had.

A gun.

My temple.

His voice.

The truth.

My stomach tightens before I force it away. Because I’m not here for old wounds.

Not this time. This time— I need answers.