Chapter 190 - 0190: Is She Important To You?

Chapter 190: Chapter 0190: Is She Important To You?

Jaxx’s Point Of View

A low, gravelly chuckle echoed through the receiver, rich with amusement and terrifyingly sharp foresight. "You’ve been ignoring my personal line for three straight days, Jaxx. Is that any way to treat the man who handed you your crown?"

I closed my eyes, dragging a heavy hand down my face, feeling the rough stubble along my jaw. "Gramps," I grumbled, forcing my voice into a neutral, respectful register. "I’m in the middle of something. I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to pick up a phone when your grandfather calls?" Dren asked smoothly. His tone sounded light, almost casual, but beneath the surface lay a razor-thin edge... the unmistakable warning of a man who did not tolerate being brushed aside. "Ever since you flew back from Sicily to settle the territory disputes in this city, I haven’t seen your face once. Are you avoiding me, Jaxx?"

I stiffened, standing taller in the empty living room, an old, familiar wariness settling over me like armor.

Fuck.

He wasn’t just making a routine check-in. Dren Moretti didn’t make casual social calls. He called when he noticed a shift in the wind, and nothing... absolutely nothing, happened within the syndicate without his knowledge. He knew something was wrong.

"Avoiding you?" I replied, letting out a dry, forced breath as I walked back toward the liquor cart. "You know better than that, old man. I’ve been clearing out the dead weight in the eastern docks."

"Save the fairy tales for someone who hasn’t watched you grow up, boy," Dren cut in, his voice instantly dropping the playful tone, turning as hard and cold as iron. "I know when you’re lying to me, Jaxx. I know when you’re focused, I know when you’re bleeding, and right now, I know you’re thoroughly distracted."

I picked up a crystal decanter, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a heavy glass, the liquid sloshing loudly in the quiet room. "I have everything under control."

"Do you?" Dren countered smoothly. "Because from where I’m sitting in Naples, I see my most ruthless underboss missing high-level strategy meetings, delaying shipments, and sending his elite personal guards on private domestic errands across the city."

I took a slow sip of the whiskey, the burn doing nothing to soothe the tension knotting my shoulders. "It’s taken care of."

"Who is she, Jaxx?"

The question slammed into the conversation like an artillery shell. Heavy. Direct. Unavoidable.

My hand froze around the crystal glass. My breath caught in my chest, but I forced my expression to remain completely passive, even though he couldn’t see me.

"Who is who?" I played dumb, though my tone was too guarded, too precise to be convincing.

Dren scoffed loudly over the line, a sound of pure disdain. "Don’t insult my intelligence, grandson. I didn’t survive three family wars and two decades in prison by being blind. I know the look of a man who has lost his mind over a woman. You’re acting erratic, Jaxx. You’re acting like a man who is compromised. Who is the girl?"

I took another long swallow of the whiskey, staring out at the grey morning sky. There was no point in lying to Dren. He would simply send his own intelligence team to rip the city apart until he had her name, her background, and her address.

"Her name is Elena," I said softly, the name tasting sweet and dangerous on my tongue. "And she is off-limits to everyone. Including the family."

A heavy, suffocating silence stretched over the line. For a long, tense moment, the only sound was the faint static of the long-distance connection between North America and Italy.

"Elena..." Dren repeated slowly, testing the name on his tongue, searching his vast mental ledger of syndicate families. "Sinclair’s woman? The one married to that weak, arrogant fool Graham?"

"She isn’t his woman," I snarled, my dark eyes flashing with instant, lethal heat, my knuckles turning white around the glass. "She was never his. And if Graham so much as breathes near her again, I’m going to feed his remains to the dogs in the harbor."

Dren let out another long, low chuckle, but this time there was no warmth in it. It was the dark, predatory sound of a patriarch assessing a sudden liability. "You brought a Sinclair’s wife into your home? You risked an all-out turf war over a girl?"

"I didn’t risk anything," I corrected fiercely. "I took what was mine. She belongs with me."

"Does she?" Dren asked dryly. "Because my sources tell me she just walked out of your building ten minutes ago carrying two suitcases. Doesn’t sound like a woman who thinks she belongs to you, Jaxx. Sounds like a woman running for her life."

My jaw snapped shut. The old man already had eyes on my street. The sheer reach of his network was infuriating, but I refused to show a single crack in my composure, even as something cold coiled tighter in my gut.

"She needed space," I growled out. "I gave it to her."

"You gave her space?" Dren mocked, his voice hardening into steel. "Since when does a Moretti underboss give anything away? You’re soft on her, boy. That makes you weak. And weakness in our line of work gets you a bullet in the back of the head."

"I am not soft!" I slammed my heavy glass down on the marble counter with a loud crack, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. "I am handling her my way! She has been through hell for six years, Gramps. If I force her hand, if I lock her down right now, she breaks completely. I need her whole."

Dren was quiet again. When he spoke next, the tone had shifted from anger to a chilling, calculated severity.

"Is she important to you, Jaxx?"

"She is the only thing that matters," I confessed, the raw, unfiltered truth pouring out of me before I could filter it. "Important enough that I would burn this entire empire to the ground before I let anyone touch her."

A heavy, deliberate breath sounded through the phone.

"Then you will bring her to Italy," Dren commanded, his voice leaving absolute zero room for negotiation. "You will bring this Elena to the estate. I want to look into the eyes of the woman who has managed to put a leash on my most lethal grandson."

I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "No. Absolutely not. She isn’t ready for Naples, and she sure as hell isn’t ready for you."

"That wasn’t a request, Jaxx," Dren warned, his voice dropping an octave, terrifying in its absolute authority. "You are running my operations in the States, but you still answer to the Don. If this girl is going to be your strength, she needs to be tested. If she is your weakness, she needs to be removed."

"Touch her," I whispered, my voice dripping with pure, unadulterated venom that made the air in the room instantly freeze, "and you’ll find out real fast if I still respect family blood, Gramps."

Dren didn’t sound intimidated. In fact, he sounded almost proud of the ruthless fire in my voice.

"Good," the old man murmured softly. "The beast still has teeth. But do not forget who taught you how to bite, boy. You will handle your business with Graham Sinclair today. You will clean up this messy situation with the girl. And then you will board a jet and come to the estate."

"We’ll see," I muttered.

"We have a great deal to discuss, Jaxx," Dren said, his tone turning dark, heavy, and ominous. "Things regarding the family’s future. Things regarding your mother’s legacy. And things regarding what happens to little Elena if Graham decides to start a war."

My chest tightened, a cold knot forming in my gut. "What are you talking about?"

"Soon, grandson," Dren replied smoothly. "Do not keep me waiting."

The line went dead with a sharp, definitive beep.

I slowly lowered the phone, staring at the black screen as the heavy silence of the penthouse rushed back in to consume me.

We have a lot of things to discuss.

The old man’s parting words hung in the cold morning air like an explicit threat, a dark promise of the storm brewing on the horizon. Dren Moretti was moving his pieces across the board, and he was setting his sights on Elena. The realization settled into my bones like a verdict I couldn’t appeal.

I tossed the phone onto the leather sofa and picked up my whiskey glass, draining the sharp, burning liquid in a single gulp.

I was fighting a war on two fronts now. Graham Sinclair on one side, my own grandfather on the other, and lena caught right in the crosshairs between them. The thought alone was enough to make even a man like me feel the ground shift beneath his feet.

I looked back toward the front door, my dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal determination.

"Let them come," I whispered into the empty room, my fists clenching at my sides. "I’ll burn every last one of them to the ground before I let them break you, Bambina."