Chapter 4

Leo stands by the plaza, his gaze shifting between the lively crowd and the sleek van where his father and Giovanni had disappeared. He glances at Antonio, who stands like a statue—calm, composed, and with his eyes fixed on the van as if trying to peer through its tinted windows. Silence hangs between them like a thick fog, and Leo, sensing the weight of the moment, decides to break it.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" Leo says with a clever grin, though Antonio doesn't bite. He stares ahead, unbothered, his focus solid. Leo shifts on his feet, frustrated at the cold response.

Sighing, he gestures to one of his men, who swiftly steps forward and hands Leo a small, stylish box. Leo flips it open, revealing a fine cigar, the rich scent floating into the air. He cuts the end with a small silver cutter, lights it, and takes a long, deliberate drag, letting the smoke twist into the afternoon breeze.

Antonio's eyes dart toward Leo, finally acknowledging his presence. "Montecristo," he says coolly, identifying the cigar just from the scent. "Not bad. You've got good taste."

Leo's grin widens. "It's the best. Only for special occasions, of course." He pauses, exhaling smoke, testing the waters. "You want one?" He extends the box toward Antonio.

But Antonio shakes his head. "I don't accept cigars from anyone who isn't a friend."

Leo chuckles, a bit taken aback but still undiscouraged. "Fair enough. Can't fault a man for having a code." He takes another drag, shifting tactics. "But hey, who knows—maybe that'll change."

The conversation flows a little easier now, as Leo leans into more neutral topics—discussing Sicily's unpredictable weather, a mutual dislike for the press, and even a few thinly veiled jabs at the authorities who constantly pester their families. Antonio remains restrained, giving just enough of a response to keep the conversation alive but never revealing too much. He was still hard to read, like a man with secrets stitched into his skin.

Suddenly, the van door slides open, interrupting the exchange. Giovanni and Bruno step out, their faces unreadable, but the tension between them is palpable. The two suited men quickly climb into the van, and without a word, the vehicle pulls away from the plaza, disappearing into the city streets.

Leo straightens up, watching his father's expression carefully. "How'd it go?" he asks, trying to assess the situation.

Bruno merely gives him a brief nod, avoiding any real answer. "We'll discuss it later," he says dismissively, already walking toward their waiting car.

Leo's eyes narrow, but he knows better than to push. He throws his cigar to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel before following his father. As they leave, Leo shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at Antonio, who watches them with that same calculating gaze.

Once they're out of hearing range, Antonio turns to Giovanni. "Everything alright?"

Giovanni, always the tactician, gives a tight smile. "It went as expected. Nothing to worry about, Antonio. Let's head home."

Antonio nods but remains silent, his mind clearly racing with unspoken thoughts as they turn to leave the plaza.

Toro pulled the car smoothly into the parking lot of the radiant highrise. Livia sat in the back, her eyes distant, still processing the pressure of the day. When the car stopped, she quietly gathered her things and stepped out.

"I can carry those," Toro offered, his deep voice calm but concerned.

Livia shook her head. "I've got it," she said, her tone firm.

He didn't press. Instead, he fell into step behind her, his broad frame silently watching over her, as he had for years.

The doorman greeted her with a warm smile. "Back earlier than usual today, Miss Conti," he commented.

She ignored him, her mind elsewhere, and headed straight into the lobby, her pace brisk, like she wanted to outrun her thoughts. Toro hung back for a moment, approaching the concierge. Without a word, the concierge handed him the key card, and Toro quickly moved to join Livia in the elevator.

The silence inside the elevator stretched on, broken only by the soft hum of the elevator. Toro watched her from the corner of his eye, the tense atmosphere around her perceptible. She stared at the doors, her mind miles away, her fingers drumming against her bag.

After what felt like forever, Toro cleared his throat, keeping his voice low. "You alright? About earlier?"

Livia didn't turn to look at him. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice steady but carrying an edge that Toro recognized.

He nodded, understanding. Throughout the four years that he'd been her personal guard, he learned when to stay silent and not press further, and it seems today was one of those days.

The elevator dinged softly, and they stepped out into the quiet hallway, walking to their shared apartment as the soft carpet muffled their footsteps. They reached their shared apartment, Toro moving ahead to unlock the door with a practiced motion. He held it open as Livia walked in, her expression still unreadable.

Just as Toro was about to head into his own section of the apartment, Livia's voice stopped him. "Remind me about our evening run," she said, her tone lighter, almost a small attempt to regain some regularity.

Toro nodded, a brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Will do," he replied before disappearing into his side of the apartment.

Livia sighed, standing in the middle of her apartment for a moment, surrounded by the tranquility. She dropped her bag on the couch and took out her phone, activating Alexa. "Alexa, prepare the bath," she commanded, and the sound of water filling the tub echoed from the bathroom.

She entered her room, taking off her clothes and preparing herself for the bath, hoping the warm water could wash away the weight of everything that had built up today. But even in that moment, the memories she was trying so hard to suppress were already creeping back in.