8. Dario
8
DARIO
I ’m in a good mood today.
It’s one of those days when everything feels as if it’s falling perfectly into place. I’ve got exciting plans, and I can’t wait to see how they unfold. Today, I’ll be launching another phase of my revenge plan against Lorenzo. I like to think of him as a smart man, his ways unpredictable. But lately, he’s been making things little bit too easy.
Holding public meetings, like the one I’m driving to, is a risky move. Every businessman knows that. It’s a double-edged sword, and Lorenzo should know better. Maybe he thinks that addressing stakeholders and investors in such a public manner makes him seem trustworthy, transparent even. And for someone like him, that may work. He’s always had a silver tongue, even when we were younger. It’s what makes him such a good actor.
And a backstabber.
I’m almost insulted that he thinks this event will go off without a hitch. It’s as though he underestimates me. He knows I’m indirectly one of his creditors, and still, he chooses to host this press conference, exposing himself to scrutiny and potential backlash.
Bold move, Bianchi. Bold and stupid.
Then again, it appears stupidity runs in the blood. The memory of Ginny’s soft skin, the way our bodies pressed together, her sharp breaths and sharper tongue—it’s been haunting me. I can still smell her perfume, feel the silky texture of her hair slipping through my fingers.
Stop thinking about her.
I grit my teeth and force my focus back to the task at hand. The Skyline Events Center looms ahead, a massive structure. I pull into a spot near the entrance and retrieve a file from my briefcase before stepping out into the midday sun. The heat is oppressive, but I adjust my suit and make my way toward the entrance.
Photographers and reporters swarm the front door. The moment they spot me, the clicking and flashing increases. As usual, they keep a reasonable distance from me, and the reporters don’t shove cameras in my face and demand answers to their questions. The last man who did that...let’s just say the rest have gotten the message. Today, I don’t mind the attention. That’s exactly why I’m here—to stir the pot.
With a confident stride, I push through the doors. The meeting is already underway when I slip in, the murmurs of disgruntled creditors filling the room like a low hum. Journalists and photographers line the edges of the room, their devices flashing, microphones poised.
Lorenzo’s voice carries across the hall as he stands at the podium, his expression confident.
Perfect. I can’t wait to watch him crumble.
I position myself at the back of the large hall, barely noticed by any of the several businessmen and investors who are currently focused on Lorenzo.
“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, I thank you for joining me today.” He speaks into the small microphone on the podium. “I assure you, the Bianchi empire is far from collapsing. We are navigating through temporary challenges, and I urge you to dismiss any allegations of our impending bankruptcy.”
His voice is strong, his face is relaxed, and he pauses to scan the room, making eye contact with a few of the stakeholders. The man is a good actor, but his immaculate performance doesn’t fool me.
He gently adjusts his tie, a nervous habit I remember from years ago, before he resumes speaking again.
“Our recent setbacks, particularly with the Riverside project, were unfortunate but not unmanageable. We have already initiated legal proceedings against the contractors responsible for the substandard materials that led to the collapse. I have every confidence that we will recover our losses.”
I almost laugh. Legal proceedings, indeed. He can’t even afford the legal cost of such a rigorous lawsuit. Hell, he can’t afford a legal lawsuit against me .
Two creditors raise their hands. I recognize the both of them. The first man, Taylor Johnson, is a seasoned Australian investor who just recently hit billionaire status. That’s the thing about making money solely from investing. The market is volatile, and even if one is an expert, unforeseen events could still happen, leading to severe financial loss.
Who would have predicted that the almighty Bianchi empire would face such a severe crisis? No one but me. I almost feel bad for Mike. He was one of the biggest investors in the project. Now, it seems he won’t be a billionaire for too long.
He leans forward, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Lorenzo, what specific steps are you taking to ensure that future projects adhere to safety standards? We need assurances.”
Lorenzo nods, looking almost relieved at the question. “We’ve implemented stricter oversights and are working with new contractors who have proven track records,” he explains in a firm tone.
Another creditor, a young owner of a tech startup, chimes in. “And what about the financial impact of the Riverside collapse? How are you planning to address the losses?”
“Rest assured, we are negotiating with several investors who believe in our vision, and we’re exploring new financing options,” Lorenzo replies, his voice clear and unwavering.
The crowd murmurs, some appearing convinced. I scoff inwardly. They’re too placated for my liking.
I flick a glance at my Rolex and realize I can’t wait any longer.
Clearing my throat, I step forward, walking down the aisle in slow, steady steps. Heads turn to look at me.
I keep my gaze fixed on Lorenzo, who has an unreadable expression on his face. But the eyes—the eyes always give them away. He tries to hide it, but even several feet away, I see the fear glistening within his black orbs.
“Is that truly the narrative you want to present?” I say, my voice smooth and confident. The room falls silent, all eyes shifting between the both of us. The tension in the air gets thicker. “Because I happen to have evidence that suggests otherwise.”
Lorenzo’s eyes widen slightly in a mixture of anger and surprise before he masks it with indignation. “Dario, this is not the time--”
“Not the time?” I interject, a grin spreading across my face. “I think it’s precisely the time. Would you like to see the financial statements from your own firm? The ones that clearly show your debt has accumulated beyond what you’re willing to admit?”
A sliver of satisfaction rolls through me when his body stiffens ever so slightly.
“It seems your temporary challenges are far more severe than you’d like to admit.”
A roar of questions erupts, capturing the unfolding drama.
He turns away from me to address the murmuring crowd. “As many of you are aware, Dario and I have a longstanding personal disagreement. This is just one of his ploys to sully my name and my legacy.”
A harsh chuckle leaves my lips before I pull out a few pages from my file and hold them up for everyone to see.
“These documents reveal something far more alarming than just budget cuts. You’ve not only tried to siphon money by using substandard and counterfeit materials, but you’ve also misrepresented your financial situation to secure loans. I have copies of the fake financial statements you falsified.”
That’s when the room bursts into chaos. Cries of disbelief and anger mix with the sound of shuffling papers and fists slamming on tables.
Lorenzo stammers, trying to regain his footing. His fingers grip the podium like a vice.
“That’s not true...that’s fabricated. He’s fabricated this to paint it on me!” he exclaims in exasperation. But of course, no one pays him any mind.
“The fact that you’ve used future projects as collateral without informing your creditors isn’t just a risky move,” I call out over the chaos. “It’s outright deceitful.”
Lorenzo’s face turns red with fury as he steps away from the podium, coming to the edge of the stage.
“You can’t just?—”
“Can’t just what?” I challenge, stepping forward. “Can’t just reveal the truth? Your creditors deserve to know that the Bianchi family is neck-deep in financial ruin, and your assurances are nothing but empty promises.”
“Dario!” he booms, stepping down from the stage and storming towards me. “This is... this has gone too far. You could have told me this in private!” He hisses, and I hear the desperation that has crept into his voice. I relish the distress I see in his face.
“Private?” I laugh loudly, crossing my arms and enjoying the spectacle. “You made it public the moment you decided to mislead these people. You’ve cost them millions, and they have every right to know every single thing that’s happening and demand answers.”
The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Anger and palpable emotions crackle in the air, buzzing right beneath all the ruckus. While some of them are hounding Lorenzo for an answer, some exchange anxious glances, and I can see the tide turning. They’re realizing they’ve been played, and now they want blood.
“Mr. Bianchi,” one of the older creditors speaks up, his voice shaky but firm. “Is this true? Are we really at risk of losing our investments?”
Lorenzo’s facade crumbles further, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I can assure you, we’re working on a resolution,” he stutters.
He must think these men are fools. His shaky tone and the doubt in his eyes betray him.
“Working on a resolution?” I echo, feigning concern. “You mean working on a way to keep your family’s name from being dragged through the mud? That’s rich, Lorenzo, even for a man like you.”
The chaos escalates as the voices become louder, turning into full yelling.
“Give us our fucking money back! We made the mistake of investing in this cursed company,” a random man booms across the room. Soon, the hall erupts with different shouts and demands.
“You’ve mismanaged our investments!” another adds.
“You scammer! You’re an embarrassment to the legacy your father left.”
I grit my teeth at the mention of Lorenzo’s father, but I don’t let my mask slip. Instead, I smirk as the clicks increase furiously, capturing the spectacle for the evening news.
Lorenzo is clearly panicking at this point, unable to calm any of the creditors down. Journalists are typing furiously on their laptops. Photographers are taking pictures that will circulate across the internet before the day ends.
I stand back, arms crossed, a sinister smile etched on my face as I watch the display. This is what I wanted—a front-row seat to Lorenzo’s downfall. The people who once held power over me are now powerless, trapped in a web I carefully curated myself.
As the uproar continues, I lock eyes with Lorenzo, who looks like a cornered animal. His breath quickens and his nostrils flare as he glares at me.
I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. The Bianchi’s brought this upon themselves. I just helped hasten up the process of their doom. A smile graces my lips as I savor the moment. I don’t care that pictures are being taken or that several stories and narratives will explode on the news by the time I leave here.
This wasn’t just about business. This was personal. He never saw it coming, never realized that every handshake, every deal he made, was pulling him deeper into the web I was spinning. And now? Now, he’s exactly where I want him. Desperate. Vulnerable. Helpless.
His expression shifts to full-blown rage, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off him.
“Get out!” he shouts, his voice cracking. “You have no right to be here!”
“On the contrary,” I reply calmly and loudly over the voices. “I have every right. I’m here to collect what’s owed, and trust me, I won’t be leaving empty-handed.”
He tries to storm towards me, but a few men hold him back, grabbing his shirt, tie, hand, or any surface of his body they can find.
And my job here is done.
Before I turn to leave, I flash him a wicked grin, the kind that promises more chaos to come. “See you at the top, Lorenzo. Or, you know, whatever’s left of this when I’m done with you.”
As I step out of the hall, the noise behind me fades, replaced by the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The thing about betrayal is, it teaches you how to win.
I remember when we were kids, how we plotted and schemed against our enemies together. We dreamt of building empires together one day, sketching plans for skyscrapers on old exercise books.
Now, I’m the architect of his downfall, and every step I take feels like a victory. The Bianchi legacy, once so secure, is now crumbling, and I’m here to ensure it falls completely.
After all, the Devil doesn’t just plant the seeds of destruction. He watches them grow—and he enjoys every second of it.