Chapter Two
Enzo
I stand knee-deep in chaos, my living room light flickering above me, casting jagged shadows on the walls.
Blood darkens the carpet, soaking into the cheap fibers beneath my boots.
The battered man on the floor clutches a wound at his side, gasping for air through clenched teeth.
He’s alive, but just barely.
He’s also a problem—one I need to dispose of quickly.
This scene is already too close to home, literally and figuratively.
My father always taught me to keep business far away from where I sleep.
Now I’ve broken that rule and risked bringing the entire Rossi family’s war to my doorstep.
The man glares up at me with defiance, though his face twists with pain whenever he tries to move.
It’s only a graze, but bullet wounds bleed a lot, and he’s lost enough blood that fear has started to creep into his eyes.
I should haul him out of here before someone else hears the commotion.
If the neighbors call the cops, the problems multiply.
But I’ve already heard a knock on my door.
I know who it was: Luna.
When she tapped, my heart jumped.
I told her to go away. It tore me up inside, but the last thing I want is for her to see me like this.
I kneel next to my intruder and press the barrel of my pistol against his ribs.
He hisses, his muscles seizing in pain.
I keep my voice low, almost calm.
“Who sent you?”
I demand.
My free hand bunches a fist in his shirt collar so I can yank him closer.
He tries to spit at me, but he’s too weak.
A string of bloodied saliva dribbles from the corner of his mouth.
“Alessandro,”
he rasps. “Who else?”
His laugh is bitter, stained with blood. “He knows you’ve gone soft, Prince.”
I grit my teeth. Being called “Prince”
always pisses me off, especially when it’s laced with mockery. It’s a reference to my father, Don Rossi, and our position in the mafia. I slam the man back against the wall so hard his head cracks on the plaster. The impact stuns him. “You shouldn’t have come here,”
I snarl. “That was your first mistake.” My tone is calm, but a cold fury kindles inside me. Alessandro is my father’s greatest rival—a threat that’s been growing like a cancer in our territory for months.
The man breathes in ragged gulps, each exhalation hitching in his chest. He looks up at me, eyes bloodshot. “Kill me or let me go,”
he says. “Either way, you’re making a mistake.”
He thinks I won’t pull the trigger. He has no idea how many times I’ve done this dance. Still, I can’t kill him here. That would be messy. The landlord might come by to investigate. Worse, Luna might hear something else.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s probably one of my men who’s waiting outside. Before I left the alley behind the building, I told them to stand by in the SUV, just in case. I keep my voice clipped as I answer. “I’m handling it,”
I say, then I hang up on whoever’s calling before they can reply. My hands are already full.