The SUV rolled through Atlanta's sleeping streets, leaving Buckhead's mansions behind. Nadia sat perfectly still, her mind racing while her body remained calm. Kamali's men flanked her on both sides, guns ready, but their boss seemed relaxed. Almost amused.
"You are quieter than I expected," Kamali said, watching the city lights blur past. "I thought you would scream. Beg. Threaten revenge like your brother did."
Nadia's jaw tightened at the mention of Theodore. "My brother was seventeen. I am not."
"No, you are twenty-two. Old enough to understand how this world really works." Kamali leaned back against the leather seat. "Alessandro trained you well, I assume. Combat, strategy, the family business. All the tools you would need for your little revenge plot."
"It is not little."
"It is adorable." Kamali's tone was patronizing. "Did you really think you could infiltrate the DeLucas, seduce the heir, and somehow use that to destroy me? Child's play, Nadia. I have been playing this game since before you were born."
The SUV turned onto a highway heading south, away from the city center. Nadia memorized every turn, every landmark. If she was going to escape, she needed to know where she was.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Somewhere we can talk privately. Somewhere your DeLuca boyfriend cannot find you." Kamali pulled out his phone, typed something quickly. "Though I imagine he is already calling his father, assembling his forces. Roman DeLuca does not strike me as the type to let go easily."
"He is not my boyfriend."
"No, he is your mate. Much worse." Kamali pocketed his phone. "Do you even understand what that means? The bond between you will only grow stronger. Every hour apart will feel like torture. Every instinct will scream at you to return to him. The supernatural world does not believe in casual connections, Nadia. You are bound to him now, whether you want it or not."
Nadia's chest tightened. She could already feel it, that strange pull toward Roman growing painful in his absence. Like a hook buried beneath her ribs, tugging her back toward the estate.
"I did not ask for this," she said quietly.
"None of us ask for our fates. We simply live them." Kamali studied her face. "You look so much like your mother. Isabelle was beautiful too. Delicate. Your father was obsessed with her."
"Do not speak about my mother."
"Why not? She is dead because of choices your father made. Just like your brother. Just like everyone you loved." Kamali's voice hardened. "Your father played a dangerous game, Nadia. He tried to expand into territories that were not his. He made enemies he could not afford. And when those enemies came for him, he was too weak to protect what mattered."
"You were his friend. His brother."
"I was his employee." The correction was sharp. "Your father never saw me as an equal. I was useful muscle, nothing more. But I was smarter than he realized. I knew where his weaknesses were. I knew exactly how to bring him down."
The SUV exited the highway, turning onto a rural road. Trees pressed close on both sides, blocking out the moonlight. They were heading deep into Georgia's countryside, away from witnesses.
Away from help.
"The question is," Kamali continued, "what do I do with you now? Killing you would be simple. Satisfying even. But it would also make you a martyr. The last Ferragamo, murdered by the villain. Roman would never forgive me. Neither would the other families."
"So you are afraid of them."
Kamali's hand shot out, gripping her throat. Not hard enough to choke, but the threat was clear. "I fear nothing. But I am not stupid. Killing you creates more problems than it solves."
His fingers tightened slightly. Nadia forced herself not to react, meeting his eyes with cold defiance.
"There she is," Kamali murmured. "There is the fire. Your father had that same look before I killed him. Pride even in defeat."
He released her throat. Nadia gasped air, her pulse racing.
The SUV pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling compound. High walls, guard towers, floodlights illuminating every inch. This was not a home. It was a fortress.
"Welcome to my Georgia estate," Kamali said as the door opened. "Not as elegant as Buckhead, but far more secure. No one gets in or out without my permission."
His men hauled Nadia from the vehicle. She stumbled on the gravel drive, her legs stiff from the ride. Two guards grabbed her arms, marching her toward the main building.
Inside, the compound was surprisingly luxurious. Marble floors, expensive art, the trappings of wealth. But beneath the polish, Nadia sensed the violence. This was where Kamali conducted his real business.
They led her down a flight of stairs into the basement. The temperature dropped. The marble gave way to concrete. At the end of a long hallway, they stopped at a reinforced door.
"Put her in the holding room," Kamali ordered. "Make sure she is comfortable. We are not animals."
The door opened to reveal a windowless room furnished with a bed, a small bathroom, nothing else. A cage dressed up as hospitality.
The guards shoved Nadia inside. She caught herself against the wall, spinning to face them.
"You cannot keep me here forever," she said.
"I do not need forever." Kamali stood in the doorway, his scarred forehead catching the harsh fluorescent light. "Just long enough for Roman DeLuca to make a mistake. And he will. Men like him always do when it comes to their mates."
"He barely knows me."
"The bond knows. That is enough." Kamali stepped inside, and Nadia tensed. But he simply crossed to the bed, pulling something from his pocket. "I brought you a gift."
He tossed it onto the mattress.
A photograph. Old, faded, the edges worn.
Nadia picked it up with shaking hands. It showed her father, younger, smiling. Beside him stood Kamali, his arm around her father's shoulders. They looked like brothers.
"That was taken in Rome," Kamali said softly. "Twenty-eight years ago. Before your father brought us to America. Before he built his empire on promises he could not keep." He moved to the door. "I want you to look at that picture, Nadia. I want you to remember that your father and I were friends once. That I trusted him. Loved him even."
"Then why did you kill him?"
"Because he left me no choice." Kamali's expression went cold. "Your father made a deal with Marco DeLuca. He was going to eliminate everyone who stood in his way, including me. I found out two weeks before his planned attack. So I struck first."
"Liar."
"Am I?" Kamali pulled out his phone again, swiped through something, then held it up.
Nadia's breath caught.
On the screen was a document. Old, scanned from paper. Her father's signature at the bottom. And the words that made her world tilt: Elimination order. Priority targets: Leo Kamali, Vincent Russo, Antonio Marchetti.
"Your father was going to kill me and two other family heads," Kamali said quietly. "Marco DeLuca promised him control of the entire southeastern territory if he could remove his competition. Your father agreed."
"No." But Nadia's voice cracked. "He would not—"
"He would. He did." Kamali pocketed his phone. "I have the original document in my safe. Your father's fingerprints are all over it. So when you sit in this room, plotting your revenge, remember that your father was not the saint you believe him to be. He was a killer. Just like me."
He stepped into the hallway. The door began to close.
"Wait," Nadia called out. "Why are you telling me this? Why not just kill me?"
Kamali paused. "Because I want you to understand. Your family is not innocent. This war did not start with me. It started with your father's ambition." His eyes met hers through the narrowing gap. "And because when Roman comes for you, and he will, I want you to choose."
"Choose what?"
"Whether to believe the pretty lies you have been telling yourself for fifteen years." The door closed with a final click. "Or to face the ugly truth about who your father really was."
The lock engaged. Footsteps faded down the hall.
Nadia stood alone in the windowless room, the photograph trembling in her hands. She looked at her father's smiling face, at Kamali's arm around his shoulders.
Friends. Brothers.
Before everything burned.
She sank onto the bed, her mind reeling. The document on Kamali's phone could be forged. Everything he said could be lies meant to break her resolve.
But something in his voice had sounded like truth.
Nadia closed her eyes, pressing her mother's necklace against her chest. Fifteen years she had spent believing one story. What if she had been wrong? What if her father had been the villain, and Kamali had simply survived?
No. She could not think like that. Could not let him poison her memories.
But the doubt had been planted.
And somewhere in Atlanta, Roman was coming for her, unaware that the woman he was trying to save might be the daughter of the man who had tried to kill his family first.
Nadia looked at the locked door, at the concrete walls, at the photograph in her hands.
Then she smiled.
Kamali had made his first mistake. He had given her time to think. Time to plan.
And if there was one thing Alessandro had taught her, it was that a locked room was only a prison if you let it be.
She stood, examining every inch of the space. The air vent. The door hinges. The bed frame.
Somewhere in this fortress was a weakness.
And Nadia Ferragamo was very good at finding weaknesses.