Chapter 6 - The Kiss That Changed the Rules
We escaped through a tunnel built beneath the old bank during World War II.
Because apparently my week had decided normality was no longer necessary.
Carlo held my hand as we ran through darkness.
Behind us, gunfire echoed through stone corridors.
Ahead, Matteo led us toward an old service exit near the Spanish Quarter.
When we finally reached daylight, I was shaking.
Carlo wasn’t.
Until he looked at me.
Then his hands gripped my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Elena.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You have blood on your face.”
My heart stopped.
He wiped it away.
Then exhaled.
“Not yours.”
Something inside him broke.
He pulled me against his chest.
For a second, I forgot everything.
The mafia.
The ledger.
The bullets.
My dead father.
I heard only Carlo’s heartbeat.
Fast.
Much faster than I expected.
“You were scared,” I whispered.
He released me immediately.
“No.”
“Liar.”
He looked away.
“You’re terrible at admitting feelings.”
“I don’t have many.”
“Another lie.”
That evening, we listened to my father’s cassette.
His voice destroyed me.
I had forgotten it.
That was the worst part.
Memory had preserved his face but slowly stolen the sound of him.
Then suddenly he was there.
“Elena, if you’re hearing this, you’re old enough to know that your father made mistakes.”
I cried silently.
Carlo sat beside me.
He never interrupted.
My father explained that the ledger was hidden somewhere nobody connected to organized crime would search.
Inside one of Elena’s childhood drawings.
I laughed through my tears.
Carlo frowned.
“What?”
“My mother saved everything.”
“Where?”
I looked at him.
“My apartment.”
The place had already been searched.
But whoever broke in had been looking for something valuable.
Nobody steals children’s drawings.
We returned after midnight with security.
The apartment still looked wrecked.
I found the cardboard box beneath my bed.
Untouched.
Inside were dozens of drawings.
Houses.
Dogs.
Princesses.
A terrifying interpretation of a giraffe.
Carlo held it up.
“This is disturbing.”
“I was 6.”
“It has 3 legs.”
“I was still developing technically.”
Then we found it.
A picture of Mount Vesuvius.
The paper felt too thick.
Carlo carefully separated 2 glued sheets.
A tiny memory card fell out.
The ledger.
After 18 years, we had it.
Matteo loaded the files onto an offline computer.
Hundreds of records appeared.
Names.
Accounts.
Payments.
Murders.
Bribes.
Then Carlo went completely still.
“What?”
He pointed at one name.
GIULIO FERRETTI.
“Who is that?”
“My uncle.”
Carlo’s father’s younger brother.
The man who had helped raise Carlo after Alessandro died.
The man who currently managed half the Ferretti legitimate businesses.
The traitor had been inside the family all along.
Carlo stood abruptly.
“I need to go.”
“Where?”
“To deal with Giulio.”
“No.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You don’t get to tell me no.”
“I do when you’re walking into an obvious trap.”
“He betrayed my brother.”
“And my father. Which means I want him too.”
“This isn’t your world.”
“It became my world when someone shot at me.”
“Elena.”
“Stop saying my name like it ends arguments.”
“It usually does.”
“Not with me.”
He stared.
Then suddenly he laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I had apparently pushed him beyond irritation.
“You are the most impossible woman I have ever met.”
“And you’re an arrogant criminal with control issues.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“By getting yourself killed?”
His face changed.
I stepped closer.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“What?”
“If something happens to you, I care.”
Silence.
There.
I had said it.
Carlo stared at me.
I should have stepped backward.
Instead, he moved forward.
His hand came to my face.
Slowly.
Giving me every opportunity to stop him.
I didn’t.
His forehead touched mine.
“Elena.”
This time my name sounded different.
“Still arrogant,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“Still controlling.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Very slowly.”
“I’ve had a difficult week.”
I laughed.
Then he kissed me.
Not violently.
Not possessively.
Carefully.
Almost uncertainly.
That surprised me more than anything.
I gripped his shirt.
The kiss deepened.
For a few seconds, Carlo Ferretti was not feared by half of Naples.
He was simply a man holding me like I mattered.
Then Matteo opened the door.
“Boss, we have—”
He stopped.
I jumped backward.
Carlo closed his eyes.
“Matteo.”
“Yes?”
“Leave.”
“Gladly.”
“No,” I said. “What happened?”
Matteo looked uncomfortable.
“We found Giulio.”
Carlo became cold again.
“Where?”
“At the marina.”
“Get the cars.”
Matteo did not move.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“He has someone.”
Matteo handed Carlo a phone.
On the screen was a live video.
An elderly woman sat tied to a chair.
Lucia.
Carlo’s mother.
A man stepped into frame.
Gray hair.
Expensive suit.
Giulio Ferretti.
He smiled directly at the camera.
“Bring me the ledger, Carlo.”
Carlo’s hand tightened around the phone.
Giulio leaned closer.
“And bring Elena Bennett.”
May you like
My blood went cold.
“Because there’s something about her father,” Giulio continued, “that neither of you knows.”
