17. Sixteen
Sixteen
Fabrizio
T he engine of the car dies down as soon as I park it in front of my house, but I remain seated for another moment.
Throughout the whole day I couldn’t shake my earlier conversation with Sienna from my mind. But no matter how often it replays in my mind, I am still torn in between wanting to put her over my knee for overstepping every possible line and feeling the need to apologize to her for doing the same.
Depending on how the rest of the day passes, I might do both.
The thought brings a smug smile to my lips as I get out of my car and walk towards the front door.
The house is wrapped in an eerie silence, a void where there is usually a racket of laughter and playful screams. No screeching echoes through the halls, no peals of laughter, and no giggles bouncing off the walls. The absence of Sienna and the kids is palpable, and their usual chaotic energy is sorely missed.
Just as I decide to head upstairs to search for them, my phone vibrates insistently in my pocket. I pull it out and unlock it, only to be greeted by a barrage of images that flood the screen. Pictures of my children—sitting in the small classroom we’ve set up at home, playing and laughing in the garden, and romping around with Sienna.
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer: whoever took these pictures is on my property in order to get so close to my children.
A chill runs down my spine as I read the accompanying messages:
‘What a beautiful family.’
‘What a pity if something were to happen to them.’
The blood in my veins turns to ice, and a wave of panic surges through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before. My mind races with a single, terrifying thought: my children are in danger.
Instinctively, I reach for my gun, my hand trembling with a volatile mix of fear, panic, and uncontrollable rage.
With my gun in one hand and my phone in the other, I stand frozen in the foyer, feeling an unprecedented sense of helplessness. Gathering my resolve, I take long, determined strides toward the glass door in the kitchen and swing it open with force.
“Boss, what’s wrong?” a voice calls out.
Before I can respond, a cacophony of noise and the familiar, comforting sounds of my children’s voices ring out.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Stop that, Flynn.”
My heart leaps at the sound of my children’s voices. I hastily shove my gun into the waistband of my pants as my daughter’s playful scream pierces the air.
“Daddy!” she cries, flinging herself into my arms. I kneel down to catch her, holding her tightly against my chest, the relief washing over me in waves. Behind her, Flynn bounds towards me, his face lit up with a huge, innocent smile.
“Dad!” he exclaims.
I ruffle his dark hair, trying my best to muster an honest smile despite the turmoil churning inside me. Oliver, my right-hand man, steps beside me, his demeanor stiffening as he senses my tension.
“Please take the children inside and up to their rooms. Make sure they stay inside until I say otherwise,” I command firmly. Oliver nods curtly, guiding the confused children indoors.
With my hands shoved deep into my pockets, I linger by the door, my eyes fixed on Sienna as she approaches. Her smile fades with each step, replaced by a look of worry. The moment she is within reach, I grab her arm and pull her inside, shutting the sliding door behind us with a decisive thud.
I press her against the kitchen counter, my hands on either side of her body, effectively trapping her. My breath comes out in ragged gasps as I struggle to calm my racing heart. Sienna’s eyes meet mine, a turbulent mix of confusion, hurt, and underlying venom. The way she looks at me now cuts deeper than any physical blow from this morning.
“What the hell is going on?” my younger brother demands to know, his eyes wide and wild as he watches me storm into the room. I can see his hands trembling slightly as he grips the edge of the table.
“I have no fucking clue,” I respond, my voice cracking as I struggle to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. If I had, I wouldn’t be here.
“Are the children okay?” Concern threads through Marcello’s voice, the deep worry evident.
Both of my brothers love my children nearly as much as I do, and the thought of harm coming to them won’t be taken lightly.
“Who the hell would target children?” I seeth, my voice breaking with a mix of anger and fear. I yank my phone out of my pocket and throw it onto the desk in frustration before pacing to the window. Staring outside, I try to keep my nerves in check, but it’s a losing battle.
“Bastards,” I mutter under my breath, my fists clenching and unclenching as I try to process the situation.
“Now I understand why you want to keep the teacher around,” Romeo says, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
I glare at him, my anger flaring. This is no time to be thirsting after some woman.
“Stop it. We need to take this seriously,” I snap, my voice steely.
“It’s one thing to mess with our business,” Marcello chimes in, his voice filled with grave seriousness, “but this—” he holds up my phone, “—this is personal.”
My mind races, trying to pinpoint who could be behind this. There’s only one person who holds a grudge so deep, someone who has nothing left to lose.
“Silvio Vitarelli,” Marcello voices my thoughts.
Silvio Vitarelli was my father’s archenemy. For as long as I can remember, he was trying to overpower and overthrow my family. The tension between them was a ticking time bomb that never exploded, not even after I killed Silvio’s only son.
The memory floods back—how I had pulled the trigger without knowing who he was, without caring about the consequences. When I did find out, I was bracing for an all-out war, already blaming myself for the bloodshed that was sure to come. But the war never came. The Vitarellis vanished, and we never heard from them again. Only my father might know what happened to Silvio.
“Seven years later? That doesn’t make sense,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Don’t underestimate a father’s wrath when his children are hurt or even threatened,” Marcello says, his eyes burning into mine. His words strike a chord. He’s right. I have to consider that possibility.
“If you’re right and I started this, I will also end it,” I declare, my voice firm with resolve.
“That’s bullshit, Fabrizio, and you know it,” my younger brother scoffs, his eyes flashing with anger. Before I can respond, Marcello steps in, his voice calm and authoritative as he assumes his role as the family’s head.
“We don’t even need to discuss this. You are a father,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. “Charging into a battle without knowing what you’re up against might lead to nothing more than your children losing another parent. We will find out what’s going on, and whether the same person who attacked you is behind the recent interferences with our shipments.”
“Did you find out anything during your trip to Mexico?” Romeo asks.
“Our guys checked out. I don’t believe any of them were involved, and they reacted the best way they could when they realized something was wrong,” I answer, my voice steady.
“That’s good to hear,” Marcello states, nodding in approval.
“So, what do you suggest we do now?” I ask, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on me.
“ We do nothing,” Marcello says firmly. “It would be best for you to take the twins and disappear for a while to make sure they are safe.”
“Over my dead body,” I state, my voice filled with defiance.
“You know that’s the reasonable thing to do,” he replies, his tone softening slightly.
I sigh deeply, struggling to accept that he is right. The idea of continuously exposing my children to danger is unbearable. “Fine, but I will be informed of every single piece of information you obtain,” I say, my voice laced with determination.
The fact that I will be the one who ends the son of a bitch responsible doesn’t even need to be voiced.