Chapter 29- More Trouble Coming

Chapter 29- More Trouble Coming
The Don was waiting before I’d even stepped fully into his study.

He sat behind the massive walnut desk, back straight, hands folded over a stack of papers he probably hadn’t touched since seeing his daughter. The heavy curtains were drawn, shutting out the night. Only the amber glow from the desk lamp lit the room, painting deep lines into his face.

“Tell me,” he said.

I closed the door behind me and stood at ease, hands behind my back. “There was a shootout at the new club—Club Dagger.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“The owner had a large debt to the Russians. They found out about the opening and decided to make an example of him.” I kept my tone even, clinical. “They brought the place down. Your daughter was there. One of her friends—Camilla—was caught in the crossfire. She didn’t make it.”

The Don’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak right away. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping slowly against the armrest, his eyes fixed on some point beyond me. Then he sighed, a long, slow release that carried more weight than any shout could.

“If she had just listened… stayed home… and not pulled that stunt to escape…” His voice trailed off, hardening again. “Maybe none of this would have happened.”

I didn’t respond. There was no point in saying what we both knew—Aria had been determined to get out tonight, no matter what it took.

His gaze snapped back to mine. “She won’t let this go.”

“I know.”

“Especially since it’s Camilla. They’ve been together since they were babies.” He shook his head, almost to himself. “I know my daughter. She will look for whoever did this. And when she finds them…” His mouth twisted into something between pride and warning. “It won’t be pretty.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“You’ll do more than that.” He stood, walking around the desk until he was close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cigar from earlier. He set a hand heavily on my shoulder. “Guard her. Watch every move. If she tries something, you stop it before it starts. Understand?”

“Yes, Don Moretti.”

His hand gave one firm pat—less affection, more a seal of command—before he stepped past me toward the door. “You have your orders.”

When he was gone, the study felt larger and emptier, though the weight in the air hadn’t lifted.

I made my way through the quiet halls of the mansion, past servants who lowered their eyes as I passed. The house was like a museum after hours—grand, polished, and utterly lifeless. My boots barely made a sound on the marble, but every step felt deliberate.

Her room was at the far end of the east wing. I found myself slowing as I approached, not from hesitation, but because I could already hear it—the muffled sound of someone crying on the other side.

I stopped in front of her door.

Aria Moretti.

She’d spent the night outsmarting us. One minute she was in the wine cellar, pretending to browse bottles. The next, the lights went out, and she was gone. It had taken us nearly two hours to track her, and by then the night had already gone to hell.

I’d seen the look on her face at the hospital. The way she’d held her friends. The way she’d stared at me like I was the executioner.

Now… the sobs coming from inside weren’t the furious, sharp-edged kind I’d seen before. They were softer, breaking at the edges—like something inside her was unraveling thread by thread.

And for reasons I didn’t care to examine too closely, they were cutting into me in a way they shouldn’t.

I stayed exactly where I was, hands clasped behind me, my shadow long in the dim hallway light. I’d been called cold before. Unfeeling. Calculating. All true. My job didn’t leave room for sentiment. But tonight, hearing her grief seep through that door, I felt something claw at my chest, something I didn’t have a name for.

She’d played me. I’d known from the moment I saw her smiling in front of her father's door that she was up to something. And still… she’d slipped right past. That couldn’t happen again.

I shifted my weight, scanning the hallway automatically—habit. No threats. No movement. Just the quiet hum of the mansion and the faint, broken rhythm of her crying.

She wouldn’t stop. That was the thing about her. She’d lost her friend tonight, and that kind of loss doesn’t fade. It festers. And when it’s someone like Aria, it turns into something dangerous.

The Don was right—there would be more trouble.

I could almost feel it coming.

The way she’d looked at the covered body in the hospital told me everything I needed to know. She’d made a promise to herself, one she wouldn’t break.

Which meant my job just got a hell of a lot harder.

I adjusted my stance, settling in. I’d be here all night if I had to. The east wing was silent except for her. My eyes drifted to the door again.

It was strange, the contrast—how much noise she made when she was angry, and how small she sounded now. For a moment, I almost knocked. Almost told her something I didn’t believe myself—that it would be all right.

I didn’t.

Instead, I stayed silent, the way I always had. My presence would be enough. A reminder that she wasn’t alone—not that she’d see it that way.

Hours passed like that. She didn’t come out. I didn’t move.

And as I stood there, I knew this was only the beginning.

She’d outmaneuvered me once. It wouldn’t happen again.

Whatever she was planning, whatever fire she was stoking inside that room, I’d be here—between her and the door, between her and the world—until I was ordered otherwise.

Because I wasn’t just guarding her.

I was guarding the storm she was about to unleash.