Alex gathered me into his arms before I had barely stepped into the room. My arms instinctively looped around his neck as my feet left the ground, a soft gasp escaping me when he spun me once or twice, like he needed proof that I was really here. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, holding me so tightly it almost hurt.
I pressed a gentle kiss against the warm skin just below his ear before resting my chin on his shoulder. I could feel the weight of everything that had happened earlier slightly lifted off my shoulders now that I was here, right in his arms where I belonged.
"Thank god you're okay," he breathed against my skin.
"Why wouldn't I be okay?" I murmured when he finally set me down.
Sergio stood a few feet behind us, arms folded across his chest, observing without interruption. Around him, his men worked in silence. Some hunched over laptops, others monitoring live surveillance feeds.
It was then that I properly took in the safe house. It was tucked inside a narrow alley, the building old and forgotten by the rest of the city. Dust clinging to the worn wooden furniture, the plaster walls already cracked with age.
And yet, the room glowed with modern equipment. Screens lined nearly every surface, streaming footage of the estate from multiple angles. Maps, financial records, internal documents. Files my family and I had carefully sealed.
I didn't even know how they could manage to retain all this.
"What happened?" Alex asked quietly. His hands settled on my waist as his gaze moved over me, assessing, searching for bruises, for blood, anything broken.
"It went as expected," I replied, swallowing the tightness in my throat. "The visit was a courtesy."
I held those green eyes.
"My grandfather declared war."
I chose not to tell him why. Not because I had dismantled his networks in New York, executed his most trusted men. But because I had married his enemy.
"That's not a surprise," Alex said quietly, his hands firm on my shoulders, grounding me. "We knew this would happen."
"I know." My palms flattened against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath. "It's just...living it is different from planning for it." I exhaled slowly. "But we move forward. The plan doesn't change, regardless."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded once.
"Good."
He guided me toward the dining table at the center of the room. A large blueprint was spread across it, weighed down at the corners. Two of his men sat nearby, typing rapidly into their laptops, murmuring numbers and coordinates under their breath.
Alex handed me a thick document, his other hand resting reassuringly at the small of my back.
"This is what we've gathered so far," he said.
I took the document from him, my eyes scanning the first page.
It was my grandfather's last will and testament.
I didn't know how his men had managed to obtain this. The question felt insignificant compared to what I was reading. But he was right, I had already been written out.
"What's the meaning of this?" I muttered, my voice thinning as something inside my chest seemed to drop endlessly. "This...this can't be right."
Because the date...it was signed before New York. Right after Dario's death. Before his incident.
"This is the most recent version we were able to secure," Alex said, his tone measured, careful. "We don't know if he amended it afterward. Considering his condition after the...incident, it's unlikely. But we can't rule it out."
I shot him a sharp look.
The incident. If he hadn't orchestrated that crash to kidnap me like some deranged lunatic, none of this would unfolded the way it did. Then again, I wouldn't have regained my memories. I wouldn't have uncovered the truth and I certainly wouldn't have married him again.
The anger flickered, then receded. But the frustration stayed.
"I knew he wanted me to marry Dario to secure my position," I said quietly, placing the document back onto the table as if it were contaminated. "But I didn't know he rewrote everything after Dario died."
My fingers pressed against the edge of the blueprint to steady myself.
"I only retain my inheritance if I marry a Bianchi."
I looked up, meeting Alex's eyes.
"Why a Bianchi?"
For a fraction of a second, something dark passed over Alex's face. His calculation giving way to something far more primitive.
Then his hand closed around my wrist.
Not painfully, but firmly.
"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice dropping into that dangerous calm I knew too well. "You married me."
His thumb pressed against my pulse, as if confirming it.
"Everything I command is yours now. And I command far more than the Bianchis ever did."
The possessiveness wasn't subtle. It rolled off him, territorial and absolute. The will, the clause, the manipulation behind it, none of it concerned us anymore.
He stepped closer, forcing my attention fully onto him.
"Your grandfather tried to control you even from the grave," he continued. "Fine. Let him think he succeeded for now. But this—" he tapped the document with two fingers, "this changes nothing."
His jaw tightened.
"We don't fight over inheritance. We burn the entire structure down."
A slow exhale left me.
"And we start with Arturo," he added.
Arturo.
My grandfather's right-hand man. The shadow that had enforced every order, every threat, every strategic marriage discussion. If my grandfather had been the architect, Arturo had been his most loyal executioner.
"He's been consolidating power since the funeral," Alex said. "Freezing assets. Reassigning loyalists. Positioning himself as the natural successor."
"No man is that loyal, when faced with this much power," I muttered.
"We'll dismantle him first."
My gaze drifted back to the will. To the blueprint of my family's estate. Then back to Alex.
"Arturo's been skimming from the Manhattan redevelopment contracts," I said evenly, recalling what I've found soon after taking over New York. "Inflated steel orders. Phantom subcontractors registered out of Brooklyn. The payment loop through a holding company tied to some cousin."
Alex's gaze sharpened.
"The Bianchis signed off on those projects."
"Exactly," I said. "That's why he never wanted me in New York. If I took control, I'd see the books."
The realization settled into place as I spoke it aloud.
"He sabotaged the vote. He assumed you were out of the picture, that you wouldn't move against Dante." I glanced at my husband. "You blindsided him. And once Dante, the last of the Bianchis was gone, his buffer disappeared."
It clicked then, cold and precise.
"That's why my grandfather tied the Bianchis into the will," I said quietly. "He trusted Arturo's counsel. He thought he was securing an alliance."
My jaw tightened.
"But Arturo wasn't protecting the family. He was protecting himself."
"You're certain?" Alex asked.
I gave him a look. "Sandro's team traced the transfers. Offshore wires routed through Cyprus, then back into a private holding under an alias. The metadata matches his assistant's login credentials. The assistant who disappeared last month."
Silence settled over the table.
I walked toward the blueprint but tapped the folder instead.
"He didn't just steal from my grandfather," I said. "He stole from everyone who reports to him. From every captain who thought profits were lower because business was tight."
Alex's jaw hardened slightly.
"And you're planning to expose him."
I turned the document so all his men could see.
"Tomorrow morning, an anonymous packet goes to his captains. Copies of the ledgers. Transfer confirmations. Shell registrations. Not enough to trace back to us, but enough to make them question him."
Alex stepped closer, his presence warm at my back.
"They'll demand answers," I continued. "He won't have them. I've already rerouted access to two of the operating accounts. When they check balances, they'll see discrepancies in real time."
A slow understanding settled over the room.
"You're not killing him," he said.
"Not everything's about violence, my love."
I met his eyes, then continued, "When a man loses money, he loses loyalty. When he loses loyalty, he loses protection. I won't need to touch him. His own men will isolate him."
His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist approvingly.
"And when he's alone?" he asked.
"Then," I said calmly, "we decide whether he's worth keeping alive."