Chapter 51 -
Nia closed her eyes for a second, trying to reconcile the image of the man who threatened her in the hallway with the man who sat by a child’s bed asking about flowers.
“He is a good man, Miss Nia,” Gabriel continued, his voice dropping even lower. “He is just sad. He carries a lot of heavy things in his head. I think you make his head feel lighter.”
Nia did not know how to respond. She pulled Gabriel closer, resting her chin on the top of his head. The library felt smaller now, more intimate, as if the walls were leaning in to listen to their conversation.
“I hope I do, Gabriel,” she whispered into his hair. “I really hope I do.”
They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock and the distant, muffled sound of guards shifting position in the corridor. Nia watched the sun set through the high windows, painting the room in shades of orange and gold, and wondered if she was ready for the fire that was coming.
Gabriel eventually fell asleep in her lap, his small hand still clutching the dragon book. Nia did not move. She stayed there in the fading light, holding onto the only piece of truth she had left in a house built on lies.
The dining room of the DeSanto estate felt more like a courtroom than a place of gathering. High above, the vaulted ceiling swallowed the light of the ornate chandelier, leaving the corners of the room in deep, impenetrable shadow. At the head of the long table sat Don Emilio. He was a man who looked like he had been carved out of old, weathered oak—hard, unyielding, and scarred by time.
Nia sat halfway down the table, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. She had learned to occupy as little space as possible during these formal dinners. To be small was to be overlooked, and to be overlooked was the closest thing to safety she had left.
One month and two weeks had passed since she was dragged into this gilded cage. Six weeks of looking over her shoulder. Six weeks of the constant, rhythmic clicking of locks and the silent, watchful presence of Matteo. The routine of the mansion was now a part of her, ingrained in the way she woke up just before the sun hit the heavy curtains and the way she could identify Leo’s footsteps on the marble floor from a flight away.
The atmosphere tonight was particularly thick. The Don had traveled from the city for this update, and his presence brought a cold, predatory focus to the room that made the fine wine taste like vinegar.
“The clock is ticking, Leonardo,” Don Emilio said. His voice was a dry rasp, the sound of parchment being torn. He did not look at his food. He looked only at the man sitting to his right.
Leo did not flinch. He sat with his shoulders squared, his expression a mask of professional indifference that Nia knew was a lie. She could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles were white as he gripped his wine glass.
“We have three possible leads on Jordan,” Leo reported. His voice was steady, calculated. “One in the southern docks, one in a warehouse district in the neighboring city, and a third involving a shell company used for money laundering. My men are closing in on all of them as we speak.”
The Don leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “And Alex Navarro? The man who actually pulled the trigger on my daughter? The man this girl claimed to love?”
Nia flinched at the mention of Alex. Even now, hearing his name felt like a physical sting, a reminder of the betrayal that had started this entire nightmare.
“Still no sign,” Leo admitted. The admission seemed to cost him something. “He has gone deep. He is not using any of his old contacts. He has scrubbed his digital footprint. But if we find Jordan, we find Alex. They are tethered.”
Don Emilio turned his head slowly, his neck creaking. His eyes, clouded with age but sharp with malice, shifted to Nia. It was the first time he had acknowledged her presence all evening. The weight of his gaze felt like a heavy hand pressing down on her chest.
“You have a three-month deadline for a reason,” the Don murmured. “My pistol is restless.”
Nia felt the air leave her lungs. She looked at her plate, the expensive steak suddenly looking like raw, bloody meat.
“Perhaps Miss Wallace needs proper motivation,” the Don continued, his voice devoid of any warmth. “She has been living in luxury for six weeks. She eats our food, she sleeps in our beds, she enjoys the protection of our name. And yet, Navarro remains in hiding. Maybe if she were reminded of what happens to those who fail the Cimmera, her memory regarding his whereabouts would improve.”
The threat was not veiled. It was a naked blade held to her throat.
Leo’s glass hit the table with a sharp, echoing thud. “I have it handled, sir.”
“Do you?” the Don challenged. “Because from where I sit, it looks like you are protecting a liability. You were given a task: use the girl to lure the rat. So far, the rat is still in the walls and the girl is comfortably reading books in my library.”
“She knows nothing more than what she has already told us,” Leo said, his voice dropping an octave. It was the low growl of a predator defending its territory. “Putting her in a cell or spilling her blood will not bring Alex out. It will only destroy a piece of leverage we cannot replace. I am following the leads. I will bring you his head before the deadline. You have my word.”
Don Emilio watched Leo for a long, agonizing minute. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fireplace and the distant, muffled sound of a car driving up the gravel path.
“Your word is a heavy thing, Leonardo,” the Don said finally. “Do not let it break under the weight of a woman. You have six weeks left. If Navarro is not in my custody by then, I will handle the motivation myself. And you know my methods are far less… elegant than yours.”
The Don stood up, his joints popping. He did not say a word to Christian or Micheal, who had remained uncharacteristically silent during the exchange. He simply turned and walked out of the room, his black cane clicking against the floor like a countdown.
The silence that followed was deafening. Nia felt a single tear escape and slide down her cheek. She did not wipe it away. She was too busy trying to breathe.
Leo did not look at her. He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor.
“Dinner is over,” he said to the room at large, though his eyes were fixed on the doorway where the Don had disappeared.