Chapter 7

LORENZO

M y home in Italy, nestled in the charming corners of Napoli, held a special place in my heart.

Surrounded by sprawling residences, gardens, and stunning views of the ocean gulf, it was packed with cherished memories of intimate gatherings, a kitchen overflowing with love and laughter and the aroma of beautiful food.

Villa Teroso, a testament to our family's history, was built by my great-great-grandfather in the 1920s. This sprawling residence, spanning over six hundred square meters, symbolised our family's legacy.

An eccentric, he'd favoured the local style of decorated portals, stucco frames, twisted columns, vaulted ceilings, and Arabian chimneys.

It boasted three levels and offered breathtaking views of the sea, Mount Vesuvius' stunning beauty, and its underlying volcanic threat.

Which like my family's impending battles, was always in one's sight, heart and mind.

I prowled through a vast reception with two halls overlooking the arcades and a trio of patios, two dining rooms, a kitchen and bathroom, and open-airy ensuite bedrooms.

The second floor consisted of a spacious living room, a primary bedroom with a restroom and a walk-in closet.

A patio enveloped the chambers on three sides, offering a breathtaking panorama stretching from Via Posillipo to the sea.

I made my way through the house, pausing by the salon to gaze out of its enormous windows.

Outside on an expansive terrace stood immense twin fireplaces, massive majolica stoves, and a generous brick oven for pizzas.

I'd planted oranges and lemons in the luscious grounds and built a sprawling pergola with olive leaves around it.

Adjacent was a tennis court, a sizeable swimming pool, and a hydro massage, served by a bar and locker rooms with bathrooms.

The garden also featured monumental trees and grass lawns for days, with a stunning descent to the sea.

Yet, standing in the opulent setting, the magnificence and grandeur surrounding me appeared to mock the emptiness inside me, a hollow ache that refused to be silenced by my surroundings.

The growing upheaval in my heart highlighted the stark disparity between my external world and internal reality.

Still, to conceal my disquiet, I kept on my sprezzatura armour, the Italian art of making complex sophistication appear effortless.

On the outside, my appearance was relaxed, like I'd put little effort into it. My stylistic choices were a mask, a cover-up that emphasised a rakish personality and projected ease.

When I left the villa for meetings, my clothes were my shield, my unrehearsed and natural style crafted for nonchalance to conceal my innermost turmoil and unrest.

My soul, unsettled and in a whirlwind, longed to leave this place and make a new home elsewhere.

I'd been brooding for weeks, unable to escape the sense that life in this empty, grand mansion had little meaning.

My brothers lived in other cities, my parents had passed away, and my business in the region was winding up. My few ties to Italy were wilting away.

I entered my office and sank into the plush leather chair behind the mahogany desk, which had a panoramic view of the Gulf of Naples.

I pulled out the now-worn rose gold envelope that had travelled with me from jacket to suit, city to city.

When the purposelessness got too much to bear, this had become my ritual, a comfort of sorts, a tangible link to a memory I tried so hard to recreate.

I brought it to my nose, breathed in the faint traces of perfume, and imagined her voice speaking the words she'd written on the delicate paper.

Lost in my fantasy, I started when my phone vibrated with a message.

With some reluctance, I checked it.

Mauri and the car were waiting outside.

I sheathed the envelope once again in my breast pocket next to my lighter and silver cheroot case. Rising, I gathered my laptop bag and headed outside.

My housekeeper, Mrs Venetio, gave me a slight wave from the hallway.

I greeted her, smiled and powered to the SUV idling in the carport.

Mauri stood by the vehicle, his expression unreadable as always.

His sharp gaze met mine, and a flicker of something passed through his eyes before he masked it with his usual stoic demeanour.

‘Boss,' he nodded in acknowledgement as I approached.

‘Come stai?' I murmured in greeting.

‘I'm well,' he rasped, giving me his customary response, which I took with a chin jerk.

On paper, Mauri was a qualified executive protection professional, ex-military, and a trained threat specialist who'd become a close friend and my consigliere because of his smart-as-a-whip mind.

I trusted the man with my life, even though he lived alone with his cat, whom the mofo would kill for over me.

His dry statement when he'd interviewed with me a few years ago had nailed the job for him. ‘Celeb work is shit. I'm done with the long shifts, low wages, egos, and pain-in-the-ass clients. I'd much rather toil for a man like yourself who will pay me well, listen to me, has a normal schedule, and is human. I'll work all hours, any day of the week, unless my cat needs me. Then you're on your own.'

He'd said it with such savage fierceness that I believed all of it, especially the latter part.

We'd shaken hands on a practical relationship based on mutual respect.

I'd never regretted the hire. Over the years he became a confidant, a silent partner in all my dealings. His loyalty was unwavering, his skills unmatched.

The day he'd decided to stop protecting celebrities and movie stars was my lucky strike.

I slid into the passenger seat of the SUV, the leather cool against my skin.

The engine purred to life as Mauri pulled out of the driveway, navigating the winding roads of Napoli with practised ease.

The silence between us was comfortable, a testament to the years of working together.

The drive was unremarkable, broken only by the occasional sound of tyres on pavement.

We'd enjoyed relative quiet since coming back from Australia.

The families and clans of Napoli were playing nice, almost too so.

My brothers and I didn't mind as we wound up any loose business ends, links and connections to our former crime associates.

Nonetheless, we'd been made aware of a growing whisper campaign against our moves towards independence. Mauri had intel on several clandestine meetings amongst Alliance members that were a prelude to an unforeseen storm threatening to unravel the plans we were working toward.

A few volatile confrontations and threats we nipped in the bud, and we continued unhindered in severing the ties to our illicit past with surgical precision.

Yet, a lingering unease settled within me, a sense of an impending storm brewing on the horizon. Mauri's stalwart presence was a reassuring anchor amidst the uncertainty clouding my thoughts.

‘Don Abrazzio today?' I clarified.

‘Si. 10 a.m. at his office.'

The Abrazzio clan were the most vocal of the Alliance members, resisting our gentle but insistent efforts to end our contract. They were adamant we would continue managing their money and secrets.

I'd become irritated with them at our last meeting, and this check-in was a chance for me to reiterate they needed new financiers for their ‘flower' exporting business.

The Don was old-fashioned, and to him, our exit meant we were either going to the competition or seeking the authorities' attention.

None of which was true.

A unique initiation ritual had to be performed before one could earn the title of a ‘man of honour' or a ‘made man' within the Omertà protocol. It involved a recruit sacrificing a drop of his blood, a powerful symbol of his unwavering commitment, and spilling it onto a card bearing the likeness of a saint.

It would be set on fire, and as the novice passed the blazing totem from hand to hand, he'd take an oath of loyalty to the family and the clan.

From then on, his clan expected his silence to remain absolute.

We were the enforcers of that silence and would never betray our code. We'd spilled too much blood and walked through flames as a family to uphold it.

Don Abrazzio accusing us of speaking out was the utmost disrespect.

We were the feared Omertà keepers.

We weren't these families' errand boys anymore, and I needed to remind the ageing man of this today.

We entered the heart of Naples and into the neighbourhoods controlled by the Abrazzio family, where an eerie stillness enveloped the streets.

Mauri sensed it, too.

His jaw clenched as he navigated the winding, chaotic thoroughfares, his knuckles tight on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

My phone buzzed with messages. I glanced at it, scrolling through my list of things to do.

The bullet came out of nowhere.

All I heard was a thump as it hit through the armoured windscreen and Mauri's warning roar.

A second thud and crack followed, and I jolted like someone had punched me. I lurched back into the seat as the SUV spun around at Mauri's hands.

‘Merda! Shit!'

His voice was a mix of alarm and fury as he manoeuvred the spinning SUV, tyres screeching against the pavement.

The squealing echoed in my ears as the world outside blurred into a dizzying whirlwind of chaos.

Bullets tore through the air, shattering glass and ripping through metal with a deafening roar. Mauri's expert manoeuvring saved us from plummeting into disaster down a steep level of stairs, the SUV sliding about corners with precision born of desperation.

Instinct took over as Mauri navigated through the tumultuous streets, dodging cars and pedestrians in a desperate bid to escape our assailants. Each turn we made into a new avenue felt like being thrust into a labyrinth of danger and betrayal.

Through the chaos, I caught a glimpse of masked figures on motorbikes weaving through traffic, their intent clear in the brutality of their assault.

I reached for the gun pouch in the back of the seat and pulled my Sig Sauer out, managing to squeeze a few rounds through the now blown-in SUV windows.

The once-familiar streets of Napoli had transformed into a battleground, and we were trapped in an unceasing crossfire.

Mauri's face was a cold mask of grit as he navigated the SUV with precision, his years of training evident in his swift reactions.

The distant wail of sirens grew louder, a sign assistance was on its way, but for now, we were on our own.

When the car rounded a corner at great speed, I was thrown into my seat belt as a wave of agony went through me.

I must have yelled out because Mauri called out to me.

‘Hang in, boss. I'm getting us the hell out of here.'

I concentrated on breathing, my heart pounding in my chest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I braced myself against the seat, trying to make sense of the sudden attack.

‘Who the fuck dares to target us like this in broad daylight?' I murmured.

By now, Mauri had engaged the in-car display and made a series of calls.

When he roared round a corner, three Calibrese SUVs appeared, guns blazing from their vehicles, targeting the gunmen who'd been tearing after us.

In seconds, we were engulfed in a chaotic symphony of gunfire, the deafening blasts echoing through the narrow streets of Napoli.

Our security cordon formed a protective shield around us, and our high-threat-trained squad of guards fired back at our assailants with precision and deadly accuracy.

The already volatile city was transformed into a battlefield, with bullets flying and bystanders fleeing in terror as the sounds of sirens grew louder in the distance.

We pulled away from the madness as our men beat back the attackers.

Hit with relief and a healthy dose of disbelief, I leaned forward to Mauri.

Blood covered one side of his face, which he was wiping away as he flung about the gears.

‘You hit?'

‘No,' he rasped. ‘Just glass from the blow-in.'

I sat back and let him do his thing, thankful for his quick thinking and decisive driving that had saved us from what could have been a fatal ambush.

As the gunfire subsided and the smoke cleared, Mauri manoeuvred the SUV out of the line of fire, joining the Calibrese convoy as they flanked us to safety.

We raced back towards my home, wheels screaming, blasting through red lights, getting the hell out of the fucked up situation as fast as possible while minimising any civilian impact.

Minutes later, we were back at my villa.

The three-vehicle cordon skidded to a stop in the driveway.

Mauri came to a screeching halt, leapt out and came to my door.

Yanking it ajar, he pulled me out.

I pushed him away. ‘I'm OK.'

‘The fuck you're not,' he gritted, ripping my suit jacket open to reveal my entire left side, my arm and below the breastbone covered in blood.

I swayed, and he caught me.

‘Dammit, Mauri,' I muttered through clenched teeth, dizziness threatening to overwhelm me as he supported my weight.

The pain was a sharp, biting sensation radiating through my rib cage, each breath a struggle against the agony pulsing through me.

Mauri's expression was clouded with concern and urgency as he half carried me into the calm sanctuary, a stark juxtaposition to the chaos we had just escaped.

I tagged the commotion outside from my staff, voices raised in alarm and disbelief at the sudden assault.

Mauri dragged me to the living room, settling me onto the plush sofa before disappearing, only to return with a first aid kit.

The adrenaline that had fuelled me through the attack began to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and throbbing agony threatening to pull me under. I stared in silence as Mauri assessed my injuries.

‘The bullet missed your heart, spared by this.'

He pulled out my lighter, which was crumpled and destroyed, followed by my Cheroot case, which had held up better.

Finally, my precious envelope from Mia, which, to my surprise, was charred on the edge but otherwise untouched.

‘The three combined somehow deflected the ammo, and it ricocheted through your upper chest and top shoulder.'

‘Fuck,' I breathed. ‘They saved my ass?'

‘Appears like it, boss.'

I shut my eyes in stupefaction.

‘You're bruised up bad, but you're going to be okay,' Mauri went on. ‘I've got Dr. Scattizzi on his way to make a proper assessment.'

He finished cleaning and applying a temporary bandage, his deft hands working fast.

‘Get my brothers on the phone,' I rasped, fighting back the wave of nausea overtaking me.

‘Padrone.'

Summoned by Mauri, Dr Scattizzi arrived at my home within half an hour.

He patched my shoulder up, sewed the open wound together and treated my bruise that was blooming into a nasty red and blue contusion across my chest and flank.

He also declined to give me the all-clear to leave my residence at will. I had to stay put for a few days.

I was incandescent at the imposed lock down, but after understanding the threat of a blood clot, I relented.

That afternoon, my brothers listened in grim silence over a video call as I recounted the harrowing events in Napoli.

‘Qualcosa bolle in pentola. Brothers, something is boiling in the pot. A plot against us is underway, and we're sitting ducks,' I rasped to my siblings.

The near-miss bullet to the torso had left me rattled to the core.

Along with the betrayal and audacity of the attack, it pointed to a festering wound within our closely guarded Alliance circle.

One or a group of our fellow members was not pleased with our so-called defection from organised crime.

‘I need to leave this crap-awful place.' I groused. ‘We can't divest in peace while still living in a city where our former partners are planning our demise, the cops are in with the mafia, and the streets are blood baths.'

‘I'm sorry. I was in Rome,' Valerio muttered, his face stricken. ‘I should have been with you.'

‘No matter, fratello,' I grunted. ‘You can't be everywhere all at once. Perhaps your being in Rome was what it was meant to be. They might have planned to take you out, too, if you'd been here in Naples with me.'

‘I'll rally our local crew to protect our interests across Europe,' Valerio growled, keen to make up for his imagined transgressions. ‘I'll also fly to Naples tomorrow morning to deal with the attack's aftermath.'

‘Sounds good. Meanwhile, familia, the attempt on my life is a stark reminder we're teetering on the edge of a precipice,' I stated.

‘What do we do?' Vitto asked.

‘We can fight back and annihilate the Abrazzios,' Alessio growled.

‘Or?' Valerio urged.

‘Become ghosts, disappear into thin air, shut shop in Italy like we've been planning all along and use our associates to conduct any remaining business on our behalf,' I said.

‘So we're fast-tracking our Sydney relocation?' Alessio asked.

‘We have to,' I growled. ‘It has almost closed borders, and we have a legitimate base due to Bianca, a healthy bank balance, and the most control over knowing who's coming after us. We'll be legit with no Australian authorities on our backs.'

‘Still, this Omertà cleansing has escalated into all-out conflict; we need to strike back before they think we're weak as shit,' Valerio grunted.

‘Found out anything more?' I asked him.

‘It was either Carlo and Ricco Abrazzio, or both who called the hit. According to whispers on the ground, they didn't want you dead, just scared so you'd reconsider walking away.'

‘Fuck the pair of them in particular,' I growled. ‘We could go after their family. But do we want to sink our resources into fighting a gang war? Or can we, remaining true to the Omertà code, stop our clandestine funding of his fugitive life? It'll flush him out of hiding and put him in jeopardy. We can only hope it also leads to his capture, which might provide closure for us.'

My brothers took a moment to mull over my idea.

‘I vote the latter,' Alessio said. ‘Let's shut down our taps to them.'

I jerked my chin to my brothers on screen. ‘Should anyone still come after us, perhaps it's worthwhile calling in a few favours to cover our asses if required. Regardless, if the Abrazzios come for us again, they will pay with blood, no less.'

A week later, after my doctor's clearance, I left Naples.

Throughout the entire flight back to Australia, I was aching, sleepless and cranky as shit.

As we winged over Asia in a private plane, I tried to stay as still as possible in my chair.

I spent most of it half up in my expansive seat, shifting, twisting, unable to find a comfortable position for my bandaged flank and shoulder.

Mauri, who sat across from me, lifted a brow. ‘Do you need a pillow, relaxant, or meds?'

I shook my head and sucked my teeth, irritated at the situation. ‘I'll survive.'

He gave me a sceptical, narrowed glance, unwavering as he monitored my every move with a vigilant eye.

When I did discover a spot to recline in without too much pain, my mind wouldn't rest.

So I used my free, healthy hand to root around my jacket pocket for the trio of precious objects that had saved my ass from sure death.

I discarded the lighter and cigar case, pulled the envelope to my nose, and breathed in.

Mia's letter had become my omen, a symbol of beckoning hope, a delicate yet potent tool of destiny.

The scent of her perfume calmed me, soothing me almost to sleep.

Letting out a heavy sigh, the tension eased from my body, and the sharp pain in my chest dulled somewhat as I finally let go, the events of Napoli seeming a distant nightmare.

I traced the edges of the envelope with my fingertips, over the slight singe where the bullet had grazed it.

Mia's face flashed through my mind, her eyes brimming with affection and understanding. It was sheer madness that the memory of her was the only thing calming the storm raging inside me, this churning, relentless need for escape.

Caught between wakefulness and dreams, her name echoed through my thoughts like a whispered promise. Even as her face floated before my closed eyes, framed by her gleaming auburn hair and her lilac eyes filled with the warmth and softness I fuckin' needed right now.

Mauri's voice broke through my musing. ‘Boss, we'll be landing soon.'

I sensed the plane descending and sat up to witness Sydney waking to a fresh dawn.

The city spread out beneath us, a patchwork of lights fading as the sun peeked over the horizon. Casting a warm glow over the urban landscape, from the stunning Harbour Bridge and Opera House to the glittering tapestry of treelined avenues and parks.

The metropolis appeared peaceful up here; best of all, it was like coming home, which was strange given that I'd hardly spent time in Australia.

What made it home was the promise of a new future and perhaps, if the stars aligned, the love of a good woman, one woman in particular. Fuck, I deserved it.

The wheels touched down on the tarmac, and we taxied to a stop. The hum of the engines faded into silence as our attendants prepared us to disembark.

I gathered my strength and pushed myself up from the plush chair, the lingering ache in my chest protesting the movement.

Mauri unbuckled his seat belt and was by my side in an instant. He offered a steadying hand as we stepped off the plane and into the waiting SUV.

The consigliere collected our bags and discussed plans with our private flight manager on the ground to retrieve his cat, Lupo, from quarantine in a few weeks.

The familiar sights of Sydney passed by in a blur as we sped through the waking city, the early morning light painting everything in a soft, golden hue.

Bianca's lawyers, Jones & Jones, now on retainer to me, had procured a stunning property in the beachside suburb of Manly, overlooking the water, that came furnished with high-end pieces I did not care a wit about.

The house purchase was in settlement, so we had to stay at a hotel in the city until then.

‘Where are we booked into again?' I sighed.

‘The Park Hyatt.'

‘As long as I have a fuckin' horizontal mattress and Wi-Fi, I'll be fine.'

All I wanted now was to rest and regroup before making plans for how the balance of my freakin' life was going to unfold.