20. Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
I stand in my study, staring out at the rain as it streaks down the glass. The silence in the room is deafening, reminding me that Leo is gone. They will be on the plane by now, on their way to a better life. My phone vibrates on my desk—it'll be the driver to let me know they've boarded safely.
I slide the screen open. It's not my driver. It's an unknown number.
One message.
I swipe the screen, and I have to hold back the puke that rises in my throat. I am sick to my stomach—fear, anger, dread—I feel everything all at once. The image is clear, there is no mistaking what I see on the small screen.
Serafina—bound, bruised, terror in her wide eyes.
Leo—clinging to her, his small face buried in her shoulder.
My pulse thunders in my ears as my eyes drop to the text beneath the image:
Come alone, or they die. The longer you take, the more fun I'll have with them…
The air leaves my lungs in a slow, steady exhale. My hand squeezes the phone, and I feel it crack under the pressure. Glass splinters against my palm, but I barely notice as it slices into my hand, blood dripping onto the floor.
Marco.
"Enzo said they had eyes on him," I whisper to myself, fury bubbling up. "How did this happen? How the fuck did they take her?"
Rage builds higher, hotter. My muscles tense, ready to strike. The room feels too small to hold the shitstorm brewing inside me.
I trusted the wrong man. The driver—vetted, loyal, or so I thought. How much did it take for Marco to buy him? Or did Marco threaten him, and his family?
"I'll kill him."
The picture of her hurt, and afraid. It's burned into my mind—Serafina and Leo, are both terrified. A vivid reminder of my failure.
I sit in the darkened room, slouched in the leather chair behind my desk, gripping the shattered phone so tightly that shards of glass still cut deeper into my palm. I don't care how much it hurts. I deserve the pain. I should feel worse. This is nothing compared to what they're going through because of me. Marco is a fucking maniac. God only knows what he will do to them. When I think of the possibilities, it makes me sick to my stomach, and the urge to hurl comes back with a vengeance.
I stare at the cracked screen. For the first time since I was a little boy, there are tears in my eyes—what have I done? I should have left her alone, let her go. She was happy without me. Even if Marco was circling, he had no way to get what he wanted until I pursued her. Every second that passes is another second Marco has them, another second they could be suffering. But I can't move. I cannot force myself into action—he will kill me—and them.
"I should've driven her myself." The thought lances through me, sharp and unforgiving. "I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want to face it."
I did this.
I sent them away thinking it would protect them, but I put them straight into his hands. I wish I knew what he said to her on the terrace, then I'd have all the pieces. My breaths are ragged, sticking in my dry throat. It's hard to breathe as waves of guilt crash over me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears finally leaking out of them and rolling down my cheeks. The darkness behind my eyelids only brings more terrifying images—the car, the fire, Serafina's terrified scream. It's all happening again. I should call Enzo, mobilize my men—something, anything. I need to make a move before it's too late—Marco is not a very patient man.
I shove back from the desk, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stand. Pacing the room again, I can't sit still. I don't know what to do with myself. My fists clench and unclench at my sides, trying to find a way to save her and not die—but the more I think about it, the fewer solutions I come up with.
Serafina's last words to me cut deeper than any blade.
You're doing this because it's easier than fighting for us.
She was right.
I convinced myself I was protecting them, but the truth is, I was running. Running from the ghosts of my past, from the blood on my hands. From standing up to my family—standing up for myself. I was afraid, just like she said. A coward, wrapped in layers of power and bravado. But when it matters, I failed her.
The cost of all the lives I've taken, the deals I've made, the enemies I've created—it all comes back on me now. This is my karma. I am paying the ultimate price for the things I have done.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat, rough and broken. What a fool I've been, thinking I could outrun the man I was born to be. Thinking I could protect them from a world that I helped create.
I believed I could have it all—I should have known better than that. The sins of the father… I didn't want my son to pay the price. Now he's in the hands of a ruthless enemy.
My mind drifts back to the explosion that killed Serafina's brother. The heat of the flames, the screams, the suffocating smoke—I wasn't fast enough then. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't save my best friend. He died. He died angry at me because I was involved with his sister. He said I was ruining her life—and I have done just that.
He knew what would happen, that being with me would put her in danger. I lost him, and I promised that I'd keep her safe. And now—I broke that vow, to him and myself. I couldn't help that I loved her then, and now, I love her even more. A weakness my enemies will exploit. He was my best friend. I betrayed his trust. I got him killed—nothing will ever set that right.
I feel it rising—the icy panic, the crushing weight of guilt and fear.
Gunfire echoes in my ears, though I know it's not real. The phantom scent of smoke and blood fills my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force it away. The nightmares have been gone for years, the flashbacks and the guilt had subsided. Now they're paralyzing me.
The ghosts of my past have me in their grip, and they're not going to let me go.
I drop to my knees, my palms pressed to the cold marble floor. My breath is ragged and uneven. My heart is beating so fast that it feels like it might burst.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But I can't. Not when the images of Serafina and Leo flash through my mind like a horror movie on repeat—their fear, their helplessness. I put them there.
I slam my fist into the floor, pain radiating up my arm, bringing me back to reality. Pausing the past and reminding me of the present. Slowly, I lift my head, dragging in a deep breath.
Marco wants me broken. He wants me paralyzed by my past. I'm giving him exactly what he wants. But I won't let him win. Not this time. I went down for him once before—even if I couldn't prove it was him, I know it was.
I get up off the floor. It's okay to stumble, to fall—but men like me can't stay down.
I cross to the cabinet, pulling open the drawer to take out my gun. Its weight is a comfort, solid in my hand. I check the magazine—full. I slide it into place with a sharp click. Taking extra ammunition in my inside pocket, I holster the gun.
"No more running," I whisper to myself. Well, I'm about to run headfirst into danger—like a lovesick fool.
I grab my phone, the screen fractured but voice call is still usable. "Dial Enzo."
"Do you want to call Enzo?" The robotic voice replies.
"Yes," I growl, annoyed it's taking so long. Not even the robot-woman in my phone will do as she's told.
"Calling Enzo, mobile." I wait for the call to connect.
He answers on the first ring. "Boss?"
"I need everyone. Now. We're going after Marco," I say with no hesitation.
There's a silent pause.
"Alessandro—" He's about to protest and tell me this is dangerous. But going alone like Marco wants me to would be even more dangerous. I'm not a stupid man. I can be irrational and impulsive—but never stupid enough to walk into the snake pit alone like a lost mouse.
"Now."
I end the call and holster a second gun. I might need it. Marco took my family. This time, I will end him. He took my best friend, and I let it slide—this time he's gone too far. Nothing—not guilt, not fear—will stop me.
My phone buzzes with texts I can't read.
Fuck.
I know there's a spare one somewhere in here. I empty drawers and cabinets until I find an outdated smartphone. I switch it on and swap my SIM card into it, shoving a paperclip into the tiny hole to pop the tray. It works eventually.
Enzo:
I have rallied everyone I can. Some of the other families are not happy, and your father got wind of this. He is not impressed.
Me:
Fuck my father. Marco has Serafina and Leo! I do not give a fuck who is or isn't happy.
Enzo:
How?
Me:
You tell me… your driver must have switched sides. There's no other way.
Enzo:
They must have got to him somehow. I'll check on his family. Has anyone seen him?
Me:
No idea. I got a photograph from Marco saying to come alone. The car tracker isn't moving. They got them right before the turnoff to the airfield.
Enzo:
I'll send someone to check the car. Meet at the warehouse.
I don't reply. There's been enough wasted time. I start the engine of my SUV. I hate driving it, but it's bulletproof and armored better than the popemobile. In here, I am almost invincible. They could still ram me off the road or down a cliff. Marco will have men watching me, warning him that I'm on the way. I can't be too careful. The plan might be to take me out before I even get there.
Me:
Leaving the house. I have three men from my security with me and five in a second car. That cunt will be watching us. He's going to know we're coming. There won't be any element of surprise. This will be a bloodbath from the minute we arrive.
Enzo:
We're about eight minutes ahead of you. And the others will meet us at the warehouse.
I check my mirror and the three armed men in my car. Can I trust them? I trusted the driver to take Serafina to the plane—and he was a traitor. I'm doubting my own instincts. I should have driven her myself, but I didn't want to say goodbye to them. I wanted to hide from the pain and protect my own heart. It was selfish, and now she's in trouble.