1. The Debt

CHAPTER 1

THE DEBT

The sharp crack of chips hitting felt punctuated the smoky air of the underground casino. Antonio Lombardi's fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the green felt tabletop as he eyed the growing pot. Sweat beaded on his brow, his designer shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back.

He was in deep. Too deep.

But he couldn't stop now. One more hand. One big win to turn it all around.

"Your bet, Mr. Lombardi." The dealer's voice cut through the haze of cigar smoke and desperation.

Antonio's gaze flicked to the dwindling stack of chips before him, then to the smirking faces of his opponents. He should fold. Walk away while he still had a shred of dignity left. But the siren song of just one more hand sang in his veins.

"All in." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. A chorus of low whistles and murmurs rippled around the table.

The dealer's eyebrow ticked up a fraction. "That's twenty-five thousand, sir. Are you certain?"

Twenty-five grand. The last of the money he'd "borrowed" from the family accounts. His mother would skin him alive if she knew. But it didn't matter. One good hand and he'd be back on top.

"I said all in." Antonio shoved his remaining chips into the pot, chin lifted in defiance. "Unless you boys are too scared to call."

A shark-like grin spread across the face of the man across from him. Some Outfit lieutenant, if Antonio remembered correctly. "Oh, we'll call, pretty boy. Hope Mommy's got some cash squirreled away for you."

Acid churned in Antonio's gut as the final cards were dealt. He held his breath, willing the universe to throw him a lifeline. But when he turned over his hand, he knew it was over.

Two pair. Jacks and nines.

Not nearly enough to beat the full house grinning up at him from the felt.

The room spun as Antonio stumbled to his feet. This couldn't be happening. He was Antonio fucking Lombardi. He didn't lose.

"Gentlemen." The dealer's voice was crisp, professional. "Mr. Lombardi appears to be out of funds. Perhaps we should take a short recess while he arranges to settle his debts."

Ice slithered down Antonio's spine. Settle his debts. Right.

He needed air. Needed to think.

Antonio shoved his way through the crush of bodies, ignoring the knowing looks and whispers that followed in his wake. The back hallway was mercifully empty, the pounding music from the club above fading as he stumbled towards the fire exit.

Cool night air hit his flushed face as he burst out into the alley. Antonio braced his hands on his knees, sucking in desperate lungfuls of oxygen. This was bad. This was so fucking bad.

What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't go to his mother. Vivian Lombardi did not suffer fools gladly, especially not when those fools were her wayward son. And the family lieutenants were all so far up her ass they'd rat him out in a heartbeat.

Maybe Lorenzo? His best friend had bailed him out of scrapes before. But even Lorenzo's patience had limits. And a hundred grand was way beyond anything he could scrape together.

Fuck. Antonio slammed his fist into the brick wall, relishing the sharp sting of pain. How had he let things spiral so far out of control?

A scuff of shoe on concrete had him whirling around, heart in his throat. Two hulking figures loomed at the mouth of the alley, blocking any chance of escape.

"Evening, Mr. Lombardi." The bigger of the two, a mountain of muscle in an ill-fitting suit, flashed an unpleasant smile. "Heard you had some trouble at the tables tonight. Boss wants a word."

Antonio's mouth went dry. He recognized that insignia on their lapels. Rizzo. Rival family. What the hell were they doing here?

He squared his shoulders, summoning every ounce of Lombardi arrogance. "Sorry boys, I don't have time to chat. Why don't you run along back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?"

The goon's meaty hand clamped down on Antonio's shoulder, fingers digging in painfully. "Now now, that's not very polite. And here I thought you Lombardis were all about manners."

His partner chuckled, producing a switchblade that glinted wickedly in the dim light. "Maybe we oughta teach the pretty boy some respect, eh Gio?"

Gio's grin widened. "I dunno, Frankie. Seems a shame to mess up that pretty face. 'Course, there's plenty of other places we could carve him up that won't show."

Ice flooded Antonio's veins. He'd heard whispers of the brutality the Rizzos were capable of. Knew that for all his family's power, he was in way over his head.

"Look," he said, hating the way his voice shook. "There's been some kind of mistake. I don't owe your boss anything. This is Lombardi territory."

Gio's grip tightened, shoving Antonio back against the wall. "See, that's where you're wrong, princess. Boss Rizzo's got his fingers in all kinds of pies these days. Including that little casino you just lost your shirt in."

Frankie pressed the flat of the blade against Antonio's cheek, eyes glittering with malicious glee. "Now, you gonna come along nice and quiet-like? Or do we gotta get persuasive?"

Antonio's mind raced. He could try to fight, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. Could try to run, but there was no guarantee he'd make it far. And if word got back to his mother that he'd started a turf war over a gambling debt...

"Alright," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "I'll come. But you'd better hope your boss is in a generous mood. Because when my family finds out about this?—"

A meaty fist slammed into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. Antonio doubled over, gasping.

"That's enough outta you," Gio growled. "Now move."

They frog-marched him towards a waiting SUV, tinted windows obscuring whatever fate awaited inside. As the door swung open, revealing a shadowy interior, panic clawed at Antonio's throat.

This was it. He'd fucked up for the last time, and now he was going to pay the price. His mother's disappointed face flashed before his eyes. Lorenzo's exasperated sigh echoed in his ears.

As he was shoved roughly into the back seat, Antonio's racing mind latched onto one desperate hope. Someone had to have noticed him leave the casino. Someone had to be looking for him.

But as the SUV pulled away from the curb, engine purring ominously in the night, Antonio knew the truth. He was on his own. And he had no one to blame but himself.

The drive was a blur of neon-lit streets and growing dread. Antonio's captors maintained a stony silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of a radio. He tried to keep track of their route, but the tinted windows and his own panicked thoughts made it impossible.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the SUV rolled to a stop. Gio yanked Antonio out of the back seat, his grip bruising on Antonio's arm.

They were in some kind of abandoned warehouse district. Rusted shipping containers loomed like silent sentinels in the gloom. The acrid stench of polluted water hung heavy in the air.

"Move," Frankie growled, giving Antonio a rough shove towards a dilapidated building.

Inside, bare bulbs cast harsh shadows across crumbling concrete walls. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady plink-plink that set Antonio's nerves on edge.

They marched him down a long hallway, past rooms filled with crates and suspicious-looking machinery. Antonio's imagination ran wild with visions of torture devices and body disposal equipment.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy metal door. Gio rapped out a complex pattern, then stepped back.

After a moment, the door swung open with an ominous creak.

"Well, well." A gravelly voice drifted out from the shadows. "If it isn't the Lombardi brat himself. Come in, boy. Let's have a little chat about your unfortunate gambling habit."

Antonio was shoved unceremoniously into the room, stumbling as he tried to regain his balance. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he took in his surroundings.

The space was surprisingly opulent compared to the rest of the warehouse. Plush carpets, leather furniture, and a massive mahogany desk dominated the room. Behind the desk sat a man Antonio recognized from countless family briefings and whispered warnings.

Vincent Rizzo. The head of the Rizzo crime family and his mother's most hated rival.

"Mr. Lombardi." Rizzo's voice was like gravel wrapped in silk. "Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."

Antonio remained standing, chin lifted in defiance despite the fear churning in his gut. "I have nothing to say to you, Rizzo. This is Lombardi territory. You have no right?—"

A backhanded slap from Gio sent him sprawling into one of the leather chairs. Antonio tasted blood, his cheek stinging from the blow.

Rizzo tsked, shaking his head. "Now, now. There's no need for rudeness. After all, I'm the one doing you a favor here."

"Favor?" Antonio spat, glaring at the older man. "You call kidnapping me a favor?"

Rizzo's smile was cold as a shark's. "Oh yes. You see, I've recently acquired that charming little casino you so enjoy frequenting. And it seems you've run up quite the tab."

He slid a ledger across the desk. Antonio's stomach dropped as he saw the figure circled in red at the bottom of the page.

$100,000.

"That's—that's impossible," he stammered. "I didn't lose that much. I couldn't have."

"Oh, but you did." Rizzo's voice dripped with false sympathy. "Night after night, chasing that elusive big win. It's a shame, really. Such a bright young man, throwing it all away on games of chance."

Antonio's mind raced. He knew he'd been in deep, but this... this was catastrophic. There was no way he could come up with that kind of money without his mother finding out.

"What do you want?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

Rizzo leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "It's quite simple, really. You have something I want, and I have something you need. I'm prepared to make you an offer."

Antonio's eyes narrowed. "What kind of offer?"

"I'll wipe your debt clean. Every last penny. In exchange, you'll provide me with some... inside information on your family's operations."

Ice flooded Antonio's veins. "You want me to spy for you? Betray my own blood?"

Rizzo shrugged. "Call it what you will. I prefer to think of it as... mutually beneficial cooperation. After all, what do you think your dear mother will do when she finds out about your little problem? Do you really think she'll just forgive and forget?"

Images flashed through Antonio's mind. His mother's icy disappointment. Being cut off, cast out. Losing everything he'd ever known.

"I—I can't," he whispered, even as a traitorous part of him considered the offer. "My family?—"

"Your family," Rizzo interrupted, "sees you as nothing but a liability. A spoiled brat who can't be trusted with any real responsibility. But me? I see potential. Talent going to waste under Vivian's iron fist."

He leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Join me, Antonio. Help me take down the Lombardis, and I'll give you everything you've ever wanted. Power. Respect. A real place at the table."

For a moment, Antonio wavered. The offer was tempting. So tempting. To finally prove himself, to step out of his mother's shadow...

But then he thought of Lorenzo. Of the cousins he'd grown up with. Of the family that, for all its faults, had always protected its own.

"Go to hell," he snarled, surging to his feet. "I'll never betray my family. Not for you, not for anyone."

Rizzo's face hardened, all pretense of civility vanishing. "I was afraid you might say that. Gio, Frankie... show Mr. Lombardi what happens to those who refuse my generosity."

The two goons advanced, cracking their knuckles ominously. Antonio backed away, eyes darting around the room for some means of escape. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

As Gio's meaty fist connected with his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor, Antonio's last coherent thought was a desperate prayer.

Please, someone find me. Anyone. Before it's too late.

The taste of blood filled his mouth as another blow landed. Antonio curled in on himself, trying to protect his vital organs as kicks rained down on him. Each impact sent fresh waves of agony through his body.

Through the haze of pain, he heard Rizzo's voice, cold and distant. "You had your chance, boy. Remember that. Everything that happens now is on your head."

Darkness crept in at the edges of Antonio's vision. As consciousness slipped away, he clung to one last, defiant thought.

He was a Lombardi. And Lombardis never broke. No matter what.