(Alessio's POV)
I've carried unconscious people before.
Drunk idiots. Dead idiots. Idiots who thought they could outrun a moving car.
But this girl?
She passes out like she's auditioning for a Victorian ghost movie.
I catch Diana just before she hits the floor. Again.
Her head falls against my shoulder, light as a sheet. She's breathing fast, trembling like she's about to disappear. For a second, I tighten my grip because she feels breakable. Too breakable for this house.
Marco watches from the hall doorway, arms folded. He looks like a statue someone accidentally taught how to kill.
"She fainted," he says flatly.
"Good observation," I mutter.
Mum rushes toward us, skirt brushing the floor. "Is she hurt?"
"No. Just overloaded." I adjust my hold and lift her fully. "She heard too much."
Mum's expression softens in a way that makes my chest twist, just a little. She looks at Diana like she's her own.
"Bring her to the guest room," she orders quietly. "She needs rest."
I nod and head down the hall. Diana's fingers twitch near my collar, like she's trying to hold on even in her sleep. I ignore the feeling that gives me.
The guest room is warm. Mum's touch. She refuses to let this house look like what it is.
I lay Diana on the bed, careful not to jolt her. She breathes out in a shaky exhale, and her eyelids flutter like she's trapped in a nightmare.
Probably is.
I stand back, fold my arms, and take a long look at her.
She looks nineteen. She acts nineteen.
Too young for Giovanni's world.
Too young for Victor's shadow.
Too young for whatever her father dragged her into.
Her pulse is fast. Stress. Fear. Shock. Not dehydration or injury.
"She'll wake up soon," I say without turning.
Mum stands in the doorway. "Will she be alright?"
"She'll panic," I answer honestly. "But physically? She's fine."
Mum steps closer, adjusts Diana's blanket, smooths her hair back with this soft, motherly motion that makes something uncomfortable shift in my chest.
"This poor girl," she murmurs. "She didn't choose any of this."
"Most people don't," I say. "Still doesn't stop it from happening."
Mum gives me a look. "You should be gentler with her."
I huff a quiet laugh. "I am gentle."
She raises an eyebrow. "For you, maybe."
Fair.
Mum touches my arm before leaving the room. "Don't let Giovanni scare her again today."
"I'll try," I say. "Not promising anything."
When she's gone, I look back at Diana.
"You really picked the wrong family to be born into," I mutter.
A soft knock pulls my attention.
It's Salvatore.
He's leaning against the hall wall, arms crossed, grin wide. Same age as me. Same height. Same stupidity threshold.
"You done babysitting Sleeping Beauty?" he asks.
I shut the door behind me. "If she faints one more time, you're carrying her."
He snorts. "I'll drop her."
"Exactly."
He laughs as we start walking.
---
Marco leads the way down the corridor toward Giovanni's study. I can tell by his posture he's in full "I serve the boss" mode. Back straight. Expressionless. Dead inside.
"Who else is coming?" I ask.
"Everyone," Marco replies. "Giovanni wants the full board."
Great.
We reach the study door. Voices leak from inside.
Demitri is already talking — fast, technical, and absolutely unintelligible unless you have a computer for a brain.
"…and the timestamp doesn't align with the geo-ping since the signal was spoofed from two separate—"
Inside, Gabriel interrupts with a loud groan.
"Speak human, Dem," he says. "Please. I haven't had coffee."
Demitri adjusts his glasses like he's preparing for battle. "I am speaking human. You all just have prehistoric brains."
Salvatore leans toward me. "If we choke him, is that a crime or a public service?"
"Depends how loud he screams," I say.
Marco turns and gives us the Look. The one that means: behave or die.
We both straighten.
Then Giovanni speaks.
"Enter."
The room goes quiet.
Marco opens the door, and the atmosphere shifts immediately. Giovanni stands at the head of the table, expression carved from stone. His presence hits like cold water.
Salvatore and I take our seats. Gabriel gives me a nod. Demitri avoids eye contact, probably offended we exist.
Giovanni lets the silence drag before he says:
"First order of business. The girl."
Everyone looks at me.
Of course they do.
I keep my expression calm.
"She overheard the discussion about Daniel," Giovanni continues. "How much she processed is unclear."
"She processed everything," I say. "She was close enough to count Demitri's nose hairs."
Demitri glares. "It's not my fault she lurks."
"She wasn't lurking," I say. "She was walking. You all were the ones plotting in surround sound."
Salvatore laughs under his breath. Gabriel smirks. Marco pretends humor died before he was born.
Giovanni ignores all of it.
"What matters now," he says slowly, "is whether she will remain manageable."
Ah. Here it comes.
The test.
It always starts like this: a simple sentence that means something much worse underneath.
I don't flinch. "She's nineteen. Terrified. Her only family is missing. She's manageable."
Giovanni studies me carefully.
Too carefully.
"And if she becomes a problem?"
I hold his stare.
"She won't."
He tilts his head, as if weighing every word I've ever said. The room holds still. Even Salvatore stops breathing.
Finally Giovanni nods once.
"Your responsibility then."
Demitri coughs. "Define responsibility."
Giovanni shoots him a look so sharp even Gabriel winces.
"Next topic," Giovanni says. "Daniel Romano."
The room chills instantly.
---
Demitri slides a folder toward me. Brown. Thick. Too heavy for someone who's supposedly an ordinary young man.
I open it.
The first page:
Daniel Romano. Age 22. Missing: 48 hours.
Photos. Reports. Surveillance shots.
Who knows maybe I remember him.
Marco speaks quietly. "His trail ends at the bus stop near East Harbor."
"After that?" I ask.
"Nothing," Demitri says. "Signal wiped. Camera looped."
"Professionally?" I ask.
He nods. "Extremely."
Great.
Someone competent. Someone close. Someone who knows how to make people disappear without noise.
Someone dangerous.
I flip a page and stop.
A symbol.
Burned into a crate photographed near where Daniel vanished.
A half-circle. A vertical slash. A dot.
My stomach drops.
Oh hell no.
I recognize it.
And if this symbol is here…
Then we are already too late.
I close the folder slowly.
"Giovanni," I say, keeping my voice flat. "You're not going to like this."
He looks at me sharply. "What?"
I push the file toward him and tap the page.
"The symbol."
He stares.
And for the first time in years—
Giovanni's expression changes.
Something like anger. Or dread.
Either way, it's bad.
Very bad.
Because this symbol belongs to someone we never wanted to see again.
I say the name quietly.
But loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Rafael Cortez."
And the room goes still.