Dark Mafia Heir (Mafia Vows #3)

Chapter 2

2

Antonio

V ivienne falls to her knees once we get to my VIP section, pulling her sister, who crouches low by the table, into a hug.

“Harper,” she whimpers behind me. “Are you okay? Any injuries? I’m sorry I left you alone.”

“None, Vi. I’m fine. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt too.”

My breath steadies, knowing her sister is not hurt, and my hand moves instinctively to my side, gripping the cold steel of my gun. The sisters huddle close to me, and Vivienne’s eyes flicker from the weapon between my belt back to my face. Her eyes grow wide but are trusting, knowing I won’t let anything happen to them.

“Ready?” I ask, and she nods.

The club is chaos. Lights flash in reds and blues, pulsing with the beat of the music that no one’s listening to anymore. People are screaming, pushing, shoving to get out. Gunfire cracks through the air—sharp, fucking loud, and cutting through everything else. I don’t flinch. They fall behind me, and I keep moving, fast but calm. I shove someone out of our way, pulling them as close as I can. Vivienne’s breathing is rapid. I glance at her once. Her eyes are teary, but she nods. They’re good.

A bullet whizzes past, shattering glass, and people scream louder. In one swift motion, I pull out my gun, aim, not wasting a second, and fire back at the masked attacker. Harper shrieks beside me as the shot rips through the chaos. I push forward, cutting through the panicked crowd. The front exit is just ahead. I can see the throng of people pushing out.

“Stay close,” I growl.

When we get close, I lift my gun in the air and fire. People shriek, clearing a path for us until the cool night air hits our faces. Safety. Glancing around, I scan for my car. I see it parked a few steps away, as well as a dozen of the men surrounding the perimeter. I spot Luca’s broad back and shiny buzzcut, and we keep moving until we get close enough.

“Where’s Lorenzo?”

Luca’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the girls while he responds. “The boss wants to know who’s involved. He sent him to catch one of these fleabags. So, he’s coming.”

“ Portali a casa. ” I guide them forward. Take them home.

Luca’s eyes hold questions, but he doesn’t say a word. He opens the door, and they scramble in with not enough speed.

“ Adesso. ”

He needs to move, now. I keep my stance firm, my eyes trained on every person trooping out from the club. The driver’s door slams, the engine revs, and headlights flash. Luca tips his forehead with two fingers before driving off, but my eyes stay on Vivienne until they’re out of sight.

“Nio!”

I turn around to see Lorenzo, emerging from the back of the alley. With his hair hanging loosely from the bun on his head, the younger man lazily drags an unmasked man across the dirty pavement.

We need answers and maybe this man will be able to provide us with one.

When he gets close, he flashes a cocky smirk, and the man gasps as Lorenzo hauls him forward. Blood smeared across his jaw, and the panic is evident in his eyes now. He’s struggling, but Lorenzo keeps his grip firm. He knows what’s coming. He should.

“Is this the fleabag?”

“ Si.” Yes. “I caught him trying to escape with a few others. Turns out, this one can’t run very fast.”

“You put two fucking bullets in my leg, you psycho!” The man’s screams echo in the now almost empty road. Police sirens wail from a far distance, but I know we’ll be out of here before they arrive.

“Count yourself lucky that the big boss wants you alive, else you’d have more than two bullets in your fucking leg, stronzo. ” Asshole.

I step closer, my shadow falling over the man like a storm cloud. If I allowed their banter to prolong for a minute more, Lorenzo was more likely to lose his shit and beat the crap of the man, regardless of Dante’s request. He’d always been the one with the shortest fuse between himself and Luca.

Gently, I nudge the man’s feet with my shoes to get his attention. Blazing, panicked eyes snap to mine.

“What’s your name?”

Angrily, he glares, hissing through gritted teeth. “Fuck you!”

Lorenzo lunges, twisting his body, and the heel of his shoes slams into the man’s head. His bun falls loose, and all the hair on his head flies when he attacks. “How fucking dare, you? Bastardo… ” he kicks him. “ Puttana… testa di merda…” Scoundrel… shithead.

Cursing, he kicks him again, and again. And again.

“Lorenzo!”

“Aissh…” he swears and brushes his hair behind his ears, blinking back the bloodlust rage in his eyes before backing away from the battered man.

More blood colors the pavement, and the man wraps himself in a fetal position, muttering incoherently to himself.

“Let’s try again , shall we? What’s your name?”

Lorenzo picks him up by the shoulder, lifting him to a kneeling position to face me. “Speak.”

Giving Lorenzo a side-glare, he spits thick, bloody saliva to the pavement. “Hayes.”

Shaking his head, he walks up to me with a bitter chuckle, and shrugs doubtfully. “That’s the vaguest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s just his name. He’ll tell us more.” I smile at the man, and point my gun at his temple. “Won’t you, Hayes?”

“You’re wasting your time on me, Antonio Mancini. Tell your boss I’m not saying shit.”

Before another word escapes my lips, Hayes twists to the side—quick, too quick. His hand darts to his pocket, and in an instant, there’s a flash of green.

A leaf—small, thin, but I know it, even in this dim light.

Poison.

Lorenzo and I lunge at the same time, but it’s too late. His jaw snaps shut, crushing the leaf between his teeth, and he swallows. His eyes lock onto mine, defiant and desperate all at once.

No scream. No curses. No plea. Just silence as his body begins to seize, the toxin working fast. Then, he drops to the floor, the light dead in his eyes.

“I should have just killed him.” Disgusted, Lorenzo spits and kicks the corpse in annoyance. “Shit. He proved to be useless, after all.”

I roll my eyes, and we start walking toward his car parked on the curb. “I blame your fucking temper. Maybe if you’d invited him out to dinner, instead of putting two bullets in his legs, he’d have told you everything you needed to know and offered even more?”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair, before we hop in. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’d think of asking a fleeing culprit out to dinner, before putting bullets in his legs to stop him from escaping.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I face the road ahead when the engine starts. Everyone knew Lorenzo could be a thorn in the side, but his rash, irrational methods had always worked. That is, until today.

It doesn’t matter; Hayes’ death won’t hinder us from finding out who launched the attack. Dante always gets what he wants, when he wants it.

My phone vibrates, and I take it out of my suit and put the phone on speaker.

“What?”

“Nio?” I glance at the screen again. The caller ID says Dario, but it’s not Dario’s voice. “Giovanni? Where the fuck is Dario? Why are you with his phone?”

There is only one reason someone else would handle Dario’s phone, and that was during emergencies.

Giovanni’s voice is quiet and hard, but I feel the weight of his words sink down on my shoulders like a ton of bricks after he says, “Dante’s dead. Dario is with Doctor Matteo, trying to sort shit out.”

Lorenzo’s fingers freeze on the wheel, and he hastily swerves to a corner, stepping on the brakes.

Dante’s dead.

The big boss himself was dead, and I sure as hell knew he didn’t have a fucking accident or fall ill overnight. Blinding rage hits me hard, and my lungs constrict until the air in it burns.

“What the fuck happened and when?”

“Almost an hour ago, right after we got a call about the attack on the club. It was a direct hit. He was lured out to a bay and shot. Six times.”

The air in my lungs turned to flames, threatening to consume everything in its path until I find the person responsible.

Dante wasn’t the best person. His heart was as dark as the evil that plagued the world, and he had many sins he was yet to atone for. Still, he took me in when nobody else did, trained me, made me the man I am today. He taught me all I know now, and for the longest time, I was indebted to him.

Without Dante, there’d be no Antonio Mancini.

No Lorenzo.

No Luca.

I clutched the phone with a death grip, grating my teeth while blood pounded in my ears. “Are there any leads?”

“The last person he was in contact with was Peter Cole.”

Just then, my phone screen lights up with a text message from Luca. I assume he’s telling me what I already know about Dante being dead, so I ignore it. Giovanni is still talking about Dante’s communication with Peter occurring about two hours before the hit when another text comes in.

“Hold on, Giovanni.”

Hastily, I open the messages to type a quick response, and my heart sinks to the bottom of my chest when I read the last one.

Luca: Nio…

Luca: Fuck, Nio, this is urgent.

Luca: Those girls… the sisters… they’re Peter Cole’s daughters.