LORENZO'S POV
The warehouse smelled of rust and blood. I'd been standing there for twenty minutes, watching Carlo Bianchi cry.
It was two in the morning. Most people would be in bed. I was in a suit with my hands in my pockets, waiting for him to stop lying.
"Please, Lorenzo." Carlo begged. "I've worked for your family for fifteen years…"
"Sixteen years and four months." I corrected him. "Which makes this so much worse, Carlo."
He was tied to a chair in the center of the warehouse. Marco stood behind him. Marco was "The Butcher", my enforcer, my friend, and like my own brother.
"I didn't steal from you." Carlo insisted. "I would never…"
"Stop." I held up one hand. "Please. Don't insult me with lies."
I walked closer. Carlo flinched. I crouched down to look into his eyes.
"I have bank statements showing $2.3 million missing from our accounts. I have wire transfer records to a Cayman Island account in your cousin's name. I have photographs of you meeting with Rossi intermediaries at a restaurant in Naples."
Carlo's face went white.
"I know everything, Carlo. Everything except one thing." I tilted my head. "Who else is working with you? Give me names, and this ends quickly. Your wife and kids will be protected. You have my word."
He was shaking now.
"I can't…"
"Can't or won't?"
"They'll kill my family if I talk!"
"And I'll kill your family also if you don't. So, you're actually choosing which family kills them. Mine or theirs. At least with mine, it'll be quick."
I was lying, of course. I didn't kill children.
"I..." His voice broke. "I can't."
I stood up, brushed invisible dust from my pants.
"You've worked for me for sixteen years and four months, Carlo. You've been to my home. You've eaten at my table. You were family."
"I still am…"
"No. Family doesn't betray. Family doesn't steal." I turned to Marco. "Get the names. I don't care how."
"Lorenzo, please…"
I was already walking toward the exit. I didn't need to watch what happened next. Marco knew what to do. Behind me, Carlo started screaming. I didn't look back. I just kept walking until I was outside.
I wasn't a monster, no matter what people thought. I didn't enjoy this but Carlo had betrayed us, and betrayal in our world meant death.
I waited by the car. Ten minutes later, Marco came. There was blood on his knuckles. He was wiping them with a cloth.
"He talked?" I asked.
"Eventually. He gave three names. All of them are Rossi connections. I wrote them down."
He handed me a piece of paper. I read it quickly, memorized the names, then lit it on fire with my lighter.
"The body?" I asked.
"Cleanup crew is on the way."
"Good." I opened the car door. "Let's go."
Marco drove. I sat on the passenger seat. Marco had been with me since we were sixteen, since my father first put a gun in my hand and told me to be a man. We drove in silence through empty streets.
"We didn't have to kill him." Marco finally said. "He talked. He gave us what we needed."
"But it was necessary because mercy is a luxury we can't afford." I turned to look at him. "You know what happened the last time my father showed mercy to a traitor."
Marco's jaw tightened.
I was sixteen when it happened. My mother had died giving birth to me, something my father never let me forget. Rosa, our housekeeper, had raised me instead. She was kind. The only person who'd ever hugged me without wanting something in return.
One of my father's man got caught stealing. My father found out, he beat the man, then let him live.
Two weeks later, that same man planted a bomb in our car. It was meant for my father but Rosa was the one who got in the car that morning.
I still remembered the explosion. The smoke. Running outside in my school uniform to find pieces of metal and glass and….
I stopped the memory before it could finish.
"Mercy got Rosa killed." I said. "I learned that lesson once. I won't learn it twice."
Marco was silent for a moment.
"Not everyone who steals is planning to kill you, Lorenzo."
"No. But I can't tell the difference until it's too late. So I treat them all the same." I looked at him. "You think that makes me a monster?"
"I think it makes you tired." Marco glanced at me, then back at the road. "You ever wonder if we're the bad guys in someone else's story?"
The question surprised me. Marco rarely got philosophical.
"Every day." I admitted.
"Then why do we keep doing this?"
"Because wondering makes us different from the people who don't wonder. My father doesn't question himself. Giovanni Rossi doesn't question himself. They're monsters who think they're right." I turned to watch the sunrise. "I'm a monster who knows exactly what I am."
Marco was quiet.
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Probably." I almost smiled. "But it's true."
We stopped at my penthouse in the center of the city.
"Get some sleep." I told Marco.
"You try to sleep too, Lorenzo. You look like hell."
"I always look like hell." I got out of the car. "That's a part of my charm." He smiled and drove away.
I watched him drive away, then headed inside.
The elevator ride to the penthouse was quiet. I stared at my reflection in the mirrored walls. Marco was right. I looked tired.
The penthouse was dark when I entered, exactly how I liked it. I poured myself a whiskey, stood by the window, looking out at the city as it woke up. I finished my whiskey and headed for the shower. I had a family meeting in five hours. And my father was going to remind me, once again, that I needed to get married.
My father's estate was massive. I reached on time. A servant opened the door before I could knock.
"Mr. Vitale, your father is in his office. Your siblings are already here."
Of course they were. Isabella was always early. Dante was always trying to prove something.
I walked through halls lined with paintings. My father collected art, though I doubted he actually looked at any of it. It was just another way to show status. I collected art too but I actually cared about it.
The office doors were open. I walked in without knocking. My father sat behind his desk, looking like a king. Isabella stood by the window, looking like she'd stepped out of Vogue. She was my half sister who was beautiful, cold, and ambitious. She ran the family's legitimate businesses: the casinos, the restaurants, the real estate.
Dante sat on the leather couch, scrolling through his phone. He was my younger brother, charming when he wanted to be, but useless most of the time. He handled... I actually wasn't sure what Dante handled. He just showed up to the meetings and looked handsome.
"Lorenzo." My father didn't look up from the papers he was reading. "You're late."
I checked my watch.
"It's 9:58. The meeting is at 10."
"Early is on time. On time is late."
I didn't argue. I just sat down in the chair across from his desk. Isabella turned from the window.
"Did you handle the Carlo situation?"
"It's handled."
"And the money?"
"Irrecoverable. It was moved through too many accounts but we have the names of his contacts."
My father finally looked up.
"Rossi connections?"
"All of them."
He nodded slowly, then coughed. Isabella's face flickered with concern for a second.
"We need to discuss succession." My father said once he caught his breath. "I'm stepping down in six months. Lorenzo, you'll take over as head of the family but there's a problem."
"What problem?" I asked, though I already knew.
"You're thirty years old. Still unmarried and no heirs." He leaned back in his chair. "It makes us look weak."
"I'm not weak."
"I didn't say you were weak. I said you look weak. Perception matters in our world."
Isabella spoke up.
"There are several good options. The Castellano family has a daughter…"
"No."
"The Moretti family?"
"No."
"Lorenzo, you're not even considering…"
"Because they're all terrible options." I looked at my father. "The Castellano daughter is sleeping with a prosecutor. The Moretti girl is a drug addict. Every good option comes with strings attached to families I don't trust."
"Then find someone you do trust." My father said.
"In our world? That's a short list."
Dante snorted from the couch.
"Maybe if you spent less time with your paintings and more time with actual people…"
I turned to look at him. He shut up immediately.
"Six months." My father repeated. "Pick someone, or I'll pick for you. It's an order."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him I didn't take orders, not even from him but he was right. A leader without heirs, without family, looked weak.
"Fine." I said. "Six months."
My father nodded, satisfied.
"Good. Now, onto other business..."
The meeting dragged on for another hour with the usual topics. I half listened because my mind was elsewhere.
Marriage. Family. Heirs.
The idea made my skin crawl. I didn't trust anyone enough to marry them. I didn't want children who'd grow up in this world the way I had, didn't want to repeat my father's mistakes. But I didn't have a choice.
By the time I left my father's estate, it was early afternoon. I was exhausted, frustrated, and needed to be somewhere peaceful. I drove to my gallery.
It was my favorite of the three I owned. It was small, intimate, focused on Renaissance art. I parked in the back and entered through the private entrance. My assistant, Elena, was in the main gallery, directing the installation of new pieces. She saw me and smiled.
"Mr. Vitale. I wasn't expecting you today."
"Needed to get out of a meeting before I killed someone."
She laughed, thinking I was joking.
I wasn't.
"How's the setup for Friday's opening?" I asked.
"Going perfectly. Though we did have one small problem. Gabriella Fontana dropped out last minute. Family emergency."
I frowned. Fontana was supposed to be one of the featured artists.
"Did you find a replacement?"
"Actually, yes. A young artist from Florence sent her portfolio last month. I loved her work but didn't have space. With the opening, it was perfect timing." Elena pulled out her tablet, showed me some images. "Sera Moretti. Her pieces are stunning. I think you'll love them."
I looked at the images. They were good.
"Fine. Book her."
"Already did. Her pieces arrive tomorrow." Elena smiled. "Friday's going to be spectacular."
I nodded absently and headed to my private office in the back. I poured myself a whiskey and sat on the chair. I was reviewing the exhibition catalog when someone knocked.
"Come in."
Marco entered, closing the door behind him. He looked serious.
"Security briefing." He said. "Got a minute?"
"Always."
"Rossi family has been moving in the southern territories. Nothing aggressive yet, but they're positioning themselves. Setting up surveillance."
"They're planning something."
"That's what I think too."
"Increase patrols. I want eyes on every Rossi connection in the city."
"Already done." Marco hesitated. "There's something else."
I waited.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
"This came through one of our contacts an hour ago. There was no name. Just instructions to give it to you immediately."
"The contact said anything else?"
"No. Actually seemed scared. Wouldn't answer questions, just handed it over and left."
I took the envelope and opened it carefully. Inside was a single photograph. I pulled it out.
A woman in her mid twenties with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was sitting at an outdoor café, with coffee in one hand, and book in the other. She was pretty. At the bottom of the photo, someone had written in bold letters with black marker:
INCOMING THREAT
There was no other information. I stared at the photo.
"You recognize her?" Marco asked.
"No." I turned it over.
"Want me to run facial recognition? Check databases?"
I considered it. If this woman had a record, we'd find her. But something stopped me.
"Not yet." I said.
"Lorenzo, if she's a threat…"
"If she's a threat, she'll surface. If she's a distraction, investigating her is exactly what someone wants me to do." I put the photo on my desk. "Whoever sent this wants me paranoid. I won't give them that satisfaction."
Marco didn't look convinced.
"That's dangerous."
"Everything is dangerous." I leaned back in my chair. "If this woman is real, if she's actually coming for me, I'll find out soon enough."
"And if she's already here? Already close?"
"Then we deal with it when it happens."
"I'll increase security protocols anyway." Marco stood up.
"Good idea."
He left, closing the door behind him. I sat alone in my office with the photograph on my desk. I picked it up again, studying the woman's face.
She was unaware of being photographed.
Who was she? Why did someone think she was a threat to me?
I opened my laptop, typed incoming threats into my notes, added the date, the time, the way the photo had arrived. Then I locked the photograph in my desk drawer.
If she was coming, let her come. I'd survived assassins, bombs, betrayals, police investigations, and three decades in this world.
One woman, no matter how dangerous, wasn't going to end me.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Elena:
Done with the preparations. Friday is going to be amazing.
I glanced at the message, then dismissed it. My mind was still on the mystery woman in the photograph. I finished my whiskey and stood at the window, looking out at the city. Somewhere out there, a threat was moving toward me.
Let it come. I'd faced worse.