Mancini At The Gate
Gabriella
Eleven black cars did not pull into someone’s driveway by accident.
They came in a line, slow enough to be deliberate, headlights cutting through the dark as each sedan turned through Niccolo’s gates and rolled toward the house.
Gabriella stood beside him at the top of the front steps, staring.
“Tell me those are yours.”
Niccolo didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
The first car stopped. Then the second. Then the third.
By the time the last one settled behind the others, Gabriella’s pulse was somewhere in her throat. Men were already moving around the property—Niccolo’s men, not the people in the cars. She recognized Teo near the edge of the drive and Leo several feet behind them, both armed.
Nobody had pulled a weapon yet.
Somehow that made it worse.
Gabriella folded her arms over herself. “You knew they were coming?”
“No.”
“That sounded convincing.”
His jaw shifted.
He looked normal. Annoyingly normal. Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair pushed back like he hadn’t spent the last few weeks getting shot at, kidnapped, threatened, married, and dragged through every possible version of hell.
Only his eyes gave him away.
Niccolo was watching the cars like he expected bodies to start dropping.
Gabriella moved half a step closer before catching herself.
No.
That was habit now. Danger appeared, and she moved toward him. Exactly what she had spent the last few days being furious about.
She stopped where she was.
His gaze flicked toward her.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Stay behind me.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Absolutely not.”
“Gabriella.”
“We literally just covered this.”
“We covered me not manipulating you.”
“We covered you not deciding every fucking thing for me.”
“This ain’t a therapy session, princess.”
“And there he is.”
The rear door of the first car opened.
Niccolo’s entire posture changed. Not dramatically. He didn’t reach for the gun she knew was holstered beneath his shirt. He didn’t step forward.
But something in him went still.
Predatory.
Gabriella hated that she knew the difference now.
A man stepped out first, probably somewhere in his fifties, wearing a dark suit and an expression that suggested he’d never once hurried for anybody. Another man exited from the passenger side.
Then a woman emerged from the back.
Gabriella forgot about Niccolo. Forgot about the cars. For one strange second, she forgot how to breathe.
The woman had to be in her sixties. Maybe older. Her hair was dark, almost black, streaked elegantly with silver and pulled into a smooth knot at the base of her neck. Her coat looked expensive. Everything about her did.
But it wasn’t the clothes.
It was the face.
Not Gabriella’s.
Not exactly.
The cheekbones were sharper. The eyes darker. The mouth thinner.
Still—
Something was there.
Something familiar enough that Gabriella’s stomach dropped.
The woman looked at her.
And stopped.
Not a polite pause. Not surprise. She physically stopped in the middle of the driveway.
The man beside her said something Gabriella couldn’t hear, but the woman ignored him. Her eyes moved over Gabriella’s face slowly, almost greedily.
Then she whispered one word.
“Isabella.”
Gabriella’s blood went cold.
Niccolo stepped down one stair. “She’s not Isabella.”
The woman’s attention shifted to him, and whatever emotion had cracked through her expression vanished instantly.
Interesting.
Gabriella had gotten better at watching people lately. At noticing the second before they put the mask back on.
The woman had looked shaken.
Now she looked bored.
“Obviously.”
She started toward them.
The remaining doors opened.
More people got out. Men. Women. Some younger, some older. Too many expensive coats, polished shoes, and unreadable faces. Nobody looked confused about why they were there.
Gabriella counted instinctively.
Stopped at twenty-three.
“This is insane,” she murmured.
Niccolo’s mouth barely moved. “You wanna go inside?”
She glanced at him.
Not get inside.
Not an order.
You wanna go inside?
It shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
“No.”
His eyes held hers for half a second. Then he nodded.
“Stay where I can see you.”
“Compromise.”
“Don’t push it.”
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched.
Then the woman reached the stairs.
Her gaze dropped immediately to Gabriella’s left hand. To the ring. Gabriella’s fingers curled. The woman looked at Niccolo, then back at her.
“You married him.”
Not a question.
Gabriella lifted her chin. “Apparently.”
Niccolo gave her a sideways look. “Romantic.”
“Shut up.”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed.
It seemed their version of newlywed bliss wasn’t convincing.
Good.
Gabriella had no idea who this woman was, but she was already tired of being inspected.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked almost offended.
That made something ugly and satisfying warm inside Gabriella’s chest.
Finally.
Someone else could be the person who didn’t know what the fuck was going on.
“My name is Caterina Mancini.”
Mancini.
The name landed differently now.
Gabriella had heard it enough over the last few days. Old family. Powerful family. The kind of name men like Niccolo actually paid attention to.
Except—
Her grandmother.
Isabella.
Mancini.
Gabriella’s mouth went dry.
Caterina watched the realization move across her face.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I am Isabella’s sister.”
Everything around Gabriella seemed to tilt.
Her grandmother had a sister.
Alive.
Standing in Niccolo’s driveway.
Gabriella had spent her entire life believing her grandmother’s family was some distant, nameless thing that belonged to a story nobody wanted to tell. Then Angelo had started calling her Isabella. The knife had appeared. The necklace. The Conticello name. Every answer had peeled open another layer of something rotten.
And now an entire family had arrived in eleven fucking cars.
“You’re my…”
“Great-aunt.”
Caterina smiled.
Gabriella didn’t.
“Did you know about me?”
The smile weakened.
That was enough.
“No,” Caterina said. “We did not.”
“We?”
“Our family.”
Gabriella looked past her at the people standing near the vehicles.
Family.
Technically hers.
None of them looked happy to see her.
Curious, maybe. Suspicious.
One woman whispered something to the man beside her while staring openly at Gabriella’s face. A younger man looked at Niccolo with unmistakable contempt.
Gabriella’s skin prickled.
Niccolo moved down another step. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Caterina’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to speak with my sister’s granddaughter.”
“You’re on my property.”
“And she is our blood.”
“She’s my wife.”
There it was.
Gabriella felt the words in her ribs.
Not because they were romantic. Nothing about the way Niccolo said them was romantic.
It sounded like a warning.
Caterina’s gaze sharpened.
“Is she?”
Niccolo smiled.
It wasn’t his teasing smile. It was the one that usually came before somebody had a very bad night.
“I was there for the paperwork.”
Gabriella resisted the urge to elbow him.
Caterina looked at her again. “Was this your choice?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
For one second, Gabriella heard Niccolo in the guest room.
How much did you hear?
Yes.
You planned for me to need you.
Yes.
She remembered the tattoo beneath her clothes. The burner phone. The training. The danger he’d shown her exactly when he needed her to understand how dangerous the world was.
Then she remembered sitting across from him with a marriage contract between them.
Her choice.
Except nothing was ever that simple anymore.
Gabriella met Caterina’s eyes. “Why?”
“Because you disappeared into the home of a man you barely knew and emerged married.”
“People have done dumber things.”
Niccolo snorted.
Caterina did not.
“You don’t know what his name means.”
That did it.
Gabriella stepped down until she stood beside Niccolo rather than behind him. “I’m getting really fucking tired of people telling me what I know.”
Silence.
Even Niccolo didn’t make a joke.
Caterina studied her, and something changed in her face.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Her eyes drifted over Gabriella’s features again, and this time Gabriella knew exactly who she was looking for.
Isabella.
“I see,” Caterina murmured.
“No, actually, I don’t think you do.”
A faint smile appeared.
That one was worse than the first.
“You have her temper too.”
Gabriella’s fingernails dug into her palms. “Did you drive eleven cars here to tell me I look like my grandmother?”
“No.”
“Great. Progress.”
“Gabriella,” Niccolo warned quietly.
She ignored him.
Caterina’s smile finally disappeared. “We came because we heard Isabella had a granddaughter.”
“How?”
“That is not a conversation for a driveway.”
“How convenient.”
“We also heard she married Niccolo De Luca before anyone had the opportunity to speak with her.”
This time, Gabriella caught it.
Not before we could meet you.
Not before we knew you existed.
Before anyone had the opportunity to speak with her.
Niccolo caught it too.
His shoulder brushed hers.
Barely.
Accidental, maybe.
Except with Niccolo nothing was accidental.
Caterina looked down at the contact, then at Gabriella’s ring.
“Your grandmother left certain matters unresolved when she disappeared.”
There it was.
Gabriella almost laughed.
Of course.
Nobody came with eleven cars because they missed someone they had never met.
“What matters?”
Caterina’s gaze moved past Gabriella toward the house.
“The kind your husband is undoubtedly hoping to benefit from.”
Niccolo laughed once, humorless. “Careful.”
“Or what?”
The air changed.
Gabriella felt it ripple through every man standing nearby. Hands shifted. Jackets moved. No guns came out, but suddenly Gabriella knew exactly how many people were carrying them.
Too many.
She stepped forward before Niccolo could.
“No.”
Both of them looked at her.
Good.
“If you came here for me, you talk to me.” She looked at Caterina first, then at Niccolo. “Not around me. Not through him. Not like I’m some fucking suitcase everybody’s fighting over.”
Caterina stared at her for a long moment.
Then, surprisingly, she nodded.
“Fair enough.”
Niccolo looked significantly less impressed.
Caterina turned toward the people behind her and made a small motion with two fingers. Several of them began returning to the cars.
Not all.
Apparently this had been a show.
She had wanted Niccolo to see what she could bring to his doorstep.
Gabriella understood that too.
God, when had she started understanding shit like that?
Caterina returned her attention to her.
“We will speak tomorrow.”
“About?”
“Isabella.”
Gabriella’s heart gave one hard beat.
“And the inheritance she left behind.”
Niccolo went completely still.
Gabriella noticed.
So did Caterina.
Her smile returned.
Tiny.
Satisfied.
Oh.
Whatever this was, Niccolo hadn’t known either.
For once, they were both standing in the dark.
Caterina stepped closer.
Niccolo immediately moved, but Gabriella lifted a hand.
He stopped.
Another choice.
Hers.
Caterina came close enough that Gabriella could smell her perfume, something floral layered over smoke. She stared at Gabriella’s face like she was studying an old photograph.
Then she reached up.
Gabriella caught her wrist before her fingers reached her cheek.
Caterina froze.
So did everyone else.
Gabriella didn’t let go.
“I don’t like people touching me without asking.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Niccolo.
He knew exactly what that meant.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Caterina slowly lowered her hand once Gabriella released it. Then she leaned closer, keeping enough distance between them.
“You really are Isabella’s granddaughter.”
Gabriella expected warmth. Maybe grief.
Instead, Caterina’s expression turned almost pitying.
“That may be the worst thing you could possibly be.”
A chill crawled slowly down Gabriella’s spine.
Caterina stepped away.
Gabriella watched her turn toward the waiting cars.
“Tomorrow,” Caterina said.
Then she paused and looked back.
“And Gabriella?”
“What?”
“If Niccolo has told you that marrying him made you safe…”
Her gaze slid to him.
“…your husband has lied to you again.”
Yessss Gabby!!! Man, that drunken delirium has transferred to my brain... cannot focus for a second! Such brilliant writing!
Finally! Yes Gabby! You have the power.
YESSSS GABBYYYYY KSJWJEN I LOVEE HERRR