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Chapter 3

VALERIO

8 years ago

T he warehouse was vast, lit by a few flickering overhead lights that did little to chase away the cold.

The air reeked of sweat, oil, and metal.

An echo of rumbling trucks filled the atmosphere as they moved in and out of the depot, tires screeching against the concrete floor.

Shadows clung to every corner, interrupted only by the occasional beam of headlights or the flickering of the harsh florescent lights above.

The entire place felt alive, not with warmth or life but with the hustle of greed and avarice.

The constant motion of labor was indifferent to me as I sat alone in the office above, watching it all.

The harsh and cold light cast a sterile glow over the room.

Security monitors lined the walls, each displaying a different feed—grainy images of trucks loading, men shouting orders, and crates stacked with mechanical efficiency.

Slumped, bleeding out, aching like hell, I shook with livid rage.

Cazzo!

I was pissed off at myself for letting my guard down when the freakin’ Tirone teppisti grabbed me during smoko on the street outside our Calibrese family offices.

Now I sat at their mercy, my hands bound tight to armrests, the rope cutting into my wrists.

I twisted my mouth in annoyance and then winced, feeling every edge of the bruising on my face, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

They’d gone hard, and my head throbbed from the hours of beating.

Still, I lived.

My eyes, dark and cold, stared with dispassion from between swollen eyelids at the screens in front of me.

Watching stone-faced as the Tirone drugs and stolen goods network of trucks and delivery men unfurled, taking their illicit wares all over Naples.

My attention was jerked away from the screens by the squeak of the opening office door.

The three thugs entered, and their cackling filled the room with a foul stench.

The first swaggered in with broad shoulders, heavy, sagging features, and eyes gleaming with amusement.

Behind him, the other two thugs followed, thick around the middle from years of pasta, drink, and indulgence.

Their faces flushed, breaths labored, stinking of cigarettes and cheap cologne.

‘U n tale perdente , what a sorry-ass loser,’ the first man sneered, his voice rough and grating as he looked down at me. ‘Sitting all high and mighty, like we haven’t got him where we want him.’

The other two chuckled, their laughter crude and hollow, but I didn’t flinch.

A slight twitch of my jaw was the only sign of the venom bubbling underneath.

My eyes, sharp as knives, regardless of their bloodied bruising, locked onto them, and they froze. My gaze had a way of making mofos rethink their choices.

I stared at them, unblinking, my expression carved from stone, but the fury in my gaze was unmistakable. My soul had no fear—only contempt and a promise of retribution.

The first man, the burly big shot, was a mid-tier mob Don.

Olivio Tirone ran drugs and trafficked humans all over Naples, a member of the Camorra.

By kidnapping me, he’d broken a sacrosanct Mafia code, one of cooperation between certain families in Napoli.

Whoever had paid him must have made my capture so enticing to sidestep the social contract.

If I survived this encounter, and I would, I intended to find out who had the balls and tear them from their sac.

‘ Vaffanculo . You think this changes anything?’ I rasped, voice raw and hoarse. ‘You’ve made your move but don’t realize the game’s over. If not now, hell will come for you in due time.’

Olivio’s grin faltered, and he stepped closer, his breath hot and rancid as he leaned in. ‘We’ll see about that, ragazzo duro . But first, we’re going to have a little fun.’

I canted a brow, and he jerked his chin at one of the extensive security feed screens in front of us.

It showed a live view from a truck camera.

It lumbered through Naples narrow as shit, high-traffic streets navigating crazy lanes designed in the middle ages.

It pulled out onto the seafront and wound down Partenope Street with the sunset panorama of Vesuvius with the Posillipo Hill and Capri.

It stopped at the waterfront, where clubs, bars, restaurants, and pizzerias animated the street.

The truck’s driver opened, and a man slid out and slammed it shut behind him, sauntering into the foot traffic and disappearing among the crowd.

‘Where is this fuckin’ going?’ I growled.

‘ Pazienza ,’ Tirone snarled. He brought up the phone in his hand and made a call.

He muttered into it, even as the screen switched.

This time, the view appeared from a sedan parked a few cars down from the Fiat Fiorino lorry.

The same one the live feed had been coming from.

With a squeak, the door to the office swung open, and a figure staggered inside.

I sliced my eyes to the newcomer and widened them, even though it hurt like fuck.

A woman, skinny and lean, eyes glassy, mouth slack.

Eyes rimmed and bloodshot, streaked with black mascara. Lips matted, caked with dirt and crimson lipstick. Skin broken all over her face, hair knotted.

She clutched a bag to her side, her emaciated body almost floating underneath the ripped mini dress.

Her feet tottered, shoved in designer heels in utter dissonance with her junkie styling.

Still, beneath her ragged state, I tagged her beauty, evidenced by her sculpted cheekbones and sultry pout.

‘Papa,’ she slurred as she lurched forward.

Olivio Tirone’s fleshy face convulsed into rage.

‘Take her the fuck out of here,’ he snarled to one of his men.

When the thug lunged for her, she ducked, moving fast for her condition.

Landing on her father’s desk, she planted herself with a husky laugh.

He glared at her as she opened her bag, withdrew a cigarette pack, and took one slim fag from it.

Her fingers twitched, her entire body shuddering as if coming off a major high.

Lighting the thin cylinder of tobacco, she brought it to her lips with a shaky hand.

‘What do you want, Chiara?’ Olivio growled.

‘What else?’ she smirked, blowing a smoke ring in his face.

He bristled, and I sensed that he’d have slapped her clean across the room if it not for the present company.

She grasped it too, shining long legs in nonchalance yet eyeing him with a deep-seated hatred.

These two were not on good terms. Not in the fuckin’ least.

Her eyes, with enlarged pupils, swung to me. ‘Who’s he?’

I twisted my lips, raking her from head to toe.

‘He’s had some work done,’ she said in husky, raw utterance, staring at my face, covered in blood and bruising. ‘What did he do?’

‘It’s not what he did. It’s what his family’s been up to and the retribution they’re about to receive. He’s here to witness it.’

My body locked. ‘ Che cazzo fai ?’

Olivio perked up at my obvious distress.

‘Ah, didn’t I mention? You’re here for a front-row seat to your parent’s demise. In moments, they’ll pull up to Cafe Emiglio on the waterfront. We got wind of your uncle’s birthday, and we’ll soon be helping them celebrate with a fireworks extravaganza specially designed for them.’

I went cold, teeth gritting, limbs trembling.

‘Why?’ I managed.

‘It’s a love letter, a message, amica , from one Carlo Abrazzio.’

Our fucking mortal enemy.

‘Rumor has it, from a contact in prison, that your father conspired against The Abrazzio famiglia . The ruthless mofo ordered this hit because we’ve access to the best ordinance in the city. We also like the price agreed on.’

The man shrugged, his piggy eyes gleaming with greed.

Awash with rage, I exploded from the chair like a wounded bull. Aiming my head straight for his soft center mass.

Just before I rammed him, two bodies crashed into me, and I flew across the room, landing in a heavy, painful thud on the floor.

I only managed to turn my face to the ground as a barrage of kicks and hits rained on my back and shoulders.

I roared from the pain until, finally, the torture ended with a growl from Olivio.

‘Set the fucker back up. He can’t miss the show. Ah, here they come.’

Despite the rough rivulets of blood streaming down my face, my eyes pulled to the screen, attention locked on the view from the auto.

In the distance, a vehicle made its way down the avenue.

It was not a crowded evening, and only a few cars were nearby.

My heart lurched as I recognized my father’s Alfa Romeo 2000 1973 series sedan, distinguished in gold, with 130 horsepower.

He fuckin’ loved that car in that particular color.

I sent a prayer, whispering under my lips as the vehicle drew closer to the truck.

My stomach churned, tears running down my cheeks.

I sensed Chiara’s eyes on me, and for a moment, I flicked my gaze to hers, seeing the abject sorrow in her eyes.

‘Chiara, will you have the honor?’ her father called out.

In his hands, he held a remote control detonator, and my limbs froze as even more dread washed over me.

She shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t want to rob you of the joy, papa.’

‘No,’ I moaned. ‘Don’t do this.’

Olivio ignored me as he chortled, amused by the desperation in her eyes and mine. ‘You’re sure?’ he urged his daughter. ‘I’ll pay you for it.’

He was getting a kick out of it, the fucking sadist.

He flung open a box on his desk and withdrew a thick wad of notes, dangling them in front of her face.

‘I’m sure,’ she trilled, her face a canvas of wretched addiction and greed.

Fast as a whip, she snatched the cash from him with a sneaky snicker. ‘I’ll take the money anyway.’

Fotto, how dare they laugh in the face of my impending agony?

Hate bloomed in me at the pudgy-faced gangster and his strung-out and cackling daughter, baying like hyenas.

That’s when I caught a tiny furtive glance from her aimed at me and realized she was playing up to him.

For the cash, so she’d get her next hit.

I growled at her, and she flinched.

Olivio bared his teeth at her in a grotesque smile. ‘You got what you came for, ragazza . Now get the hell out of here so we can finish this.’

‘ Si, papa .’

She slithered off the table and swung her bony hips, her trajectory coming near to me.

She paused, eyes on my shattered face, and leaned in.

For an underweight woman, she sported great tits.

But my misery erased the thought from my mind the second it took root.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,’ she whispered into my ear before stumbling out of the room.

I closed my eyes, unable to handle the agony inside me.

A slap across my cheek flung them open once more.

‘Keep your eyes on the prize,’ Olivio snarled at me, his fetid breath washing over me. ‘Close them, and we consider the communication unsent. You’ll be shot dead, and we’ll find a fresh Calibrese son to make sure the message doesn’t get lost in translation.’

I glared at the man, imagining all the ways I planned to rip his throat out and cut his shit up.

‘It’s time,’ the Tirone don crowed. ‘See, we stole a Fiat Fiorino lorry last night and packed it with a quarter of a tonne’s worth of explosives.’

My eyes sliced to the screens, my inner voice screaming.

The gold sedan came ever closer, and out of nowhere, a new vehicle screeched from a side street, stopping before my father’s car, effectively blocking it in.

Its driver leaped out and disappeared into the alleyway.

My grief-stricken eyes picked out the silhouettes of my father and mother in the front seats and a third person in the back—my uncle.

On their way to dinner like they did every Wednesday at their favorite restaurant.

This occasion was distinctive, too—Uncle Costa’s special day.

I sent a final prayer and wish for their eternal peace.

Just as Olivio snarled. ‘Now.’

My world detonated.

I roared as the screen flared with the heated implosion.

This time I didn’t flinch,

Instead, I forced my eyes to stay trained onscreen.

Chest heaving, shoulders trembling, as I witnessed the sudden and rapid discharge and wild release of energy, flames, shrapnel, and dust clouds.

The display froze and then went black.

I sagged into the chair, devastated, destroyed.

Eyes emptied, soul bleak, a hole punched into it that might never heal.

Olivio patted my cheek, his hand heavy and mocking. ‘Message sent.’

I glared at him and held eye contact.

My lips curled into a smile—cold, dangerous, and full of virulence even as my heart broke. ‘Message received.’

Don Tirone didn’t see it yet, but I comprehended something he didn’t.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I’d hunt the man down for eternity and follow him through the gates of hell until I tore him apart with my own hands.

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