Chapter Fifteen - Vieri
I lean into the iron balcony rail, the city sprawled out below like prey. Smoke curls from the cigarette in my hand, heat kissing my lips before I blow it out.
Behind me, footsteps echo.
Enzo steps into view, arms folded as he stops beside me.
I tap ash from my cigarette and finally glance at him. “How did it go?”
His sigh stretches longer than I’d like.
“Asking me to kill her if she ran…” he shakes his head, looking out over the city, “was it necessary?”
Yes.
I don’t say it aloud. I sent her out for a reason. Enzo and Riccardo needed to believe it was just a fitting trip. She needed to believe I trusted her. But the truth was—I needed to see what she’d do with freedom just out of reach. Would she run? Beg them to help her? Or would she play along, like the obedient little liar I hoped she was?
“Did she try to run?” I ask, flicking my cigarette over the edge of the balcony.
Enzo shakes his head. “No. She didn’t.”
I smile, not out of warmth. Good girl.
“She said you were nice,” he adds after a minute. “Said you used to come by her Nonna’s café all the time. That you smiled. Helped out. So, was that bullshit, or are you just two different people depending on what you want?”
I turn fully now, waving his question off like dust on my jacket. “She’s my girlfriend. It’s complicated.”
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t lie, Vieri. Not to me, not to us.”
A tightness forms in my chest that I shove down fast. I want to tell him everything. I want to let him in. But I’ve lived long enough to know that trust gets chipped away before it ever gets returned.
“I’m doing this for us,” I say. “For the family.”
He doesn’t answer. But he’s Enzo. He won’t push further. Not unless I give him reason to.
“Try not to hurt her anymore,” he mutters. “She’s fragile.”
I scoff before I can stop myself. Fragile? That girl bit Bugatti like a goddamn pit bull and sent my maid down with a shattered toilet lid. She’s got claws—but Enzo doesn’t need to know that. None of them do.
He starts to turn away, but pauses. “She’s in the room.”
I turn, hands sliding into my pockets, and leave him on the balcony.
The hallway is quiet as I head back to her room. No guards. I step in and I see her on the floor near the window—knees tucked in, arms wrapped around them, her head bowed.
She scrambles upright the second she hears my footsteps. Her hair's a mess again, wild around her face. Her lips are still cracked, one split worse than the other. Her cheek is tinged in red, and her skin looks thinner now—almost bruised by light.
“Enzo told me you behaved,” I say, my voice flat, unreadable.
She nods. “I want to see my Nonna and my friend. I’ll keep my word.”
Too bad I won’t keep mine.
I study her face. There’s no fight there now—only a quiet resolve. It’s impressive how fear softens a person.
“Did you get a dress?”
She shakes her head. “Enzo said it’ll have to be custom made. They’re still working on it.”
I nod, walking a few feet toward her. She keeps her back to the wall like she thinks I’ll lunge. Maybe I will.
“The dinner’s soon,” I say. “Your job is simple. Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just like you played along with Enzo—play along with everyone I introduce you to.”
I watch her expression closely, expecting some flicker of resistance, but she just lowers her gaze and nods.
“Act the way you would with a boyfriend.”
She shifts, awkward now. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
I blink, eyebrows twitching. Of course she hasn’t. Suddenly, her wide-eyed stares, the way she freezes when I touch her—they make sense. She isn’t playing innocent. She is.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
Christ.
I’m thirty-two. Twelve years and a whole lifetime apart. No wonder she feels so... untouched.
I move toward her, and she instinctively backs up a step. My shadow falls over hers. She’s barely five-foot-six—soft curves and delicate wrists—and she’s looking up at me like I might strike her.
I tilt my head. “Have you ever kissed a man?”
Color rushes into her face, blooming red across her cheeks. She grips her rosary.
She shakes her head. “No.”
Of course not.
And here I am, parading her like a trophy I supposedly sleep next to. No wonder my brothers saw through the act in seconds. This girl is a damn nun. If anyone at the dinner gets even half a look at her, the whole charade falls apart.
I need to change that. Quickly.
I grin, letting it curl slow across my face. “Kiss me.”
The color drains from her cheeks just as fast.
She stares at me, horrified, and I take a step closer. “Don’t look so scared,” I murmur. “I won’t force you. But the quicker we finish this deal, the quicker you go back home.”
Her lips tremble. “Why do I have to?”
“Because no one’s going to believe you’re mine if you can’t even touch me without shaking.”
She looks down, fingers white around the beads of her rosary. I watch her closely, fascinated. What will she do?
After a long, shuddering breath, she closes her eyes and stands very still. Her fists curl tight at her sides.
I almost laugh.
She’s bracing like she’s about to be struck by lightning.
I take my time walking over. Her breathing is shallow now, chest rising quickly under that oversized shirt.
I press my hand to her shoulder and she jolts like I shocked her. I gently push, guiding her backward until her legs hit the edge of the bed. She falls onto it with a soft thud, stiff as stone.
I lean down, hands on either side of her, caging her in. Her eyes dart up to mine. Wide. Frozen.
What the hell are you doing? My mind snarls.
But my body doesn’t listen. I lower my head until my face is inches from hers.
Then I kiss her.
Her lips are cracked, chapped from too much crying and not enough water. But they taste like sugar. Like trembling innocence and something I can’t name.
She doesn’t move at first. My mouth works against hers anyway, coaxing movement. I tilt her chin, fingers brushing the soft slope of her jaw, then trace the line to her throat.
Her breath hitches, and she lets out the smallest, most broken sound.
I pull back before I lose the last of my control.
She’s still staring at me, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.
I stand up and straighten my sleeves. “Good girl.”
Then I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and walk out.
The second the door shuts behind me, I drag a hand down my face and curse under my breath.
What the fuck was that?
She barely touched me, and I’m already hard like some teenager who’s never seen a woman undress. I glance down and hiss a quiet “stronzo,” annoyed at myself for letting a girl who looks like she still sings in a church choir get under my skin.
I storm down the hall and into my study, slamming the door shut behind me. The click of the lock is louder than necessary, but I need the isolation. I need distance from whatever just happened in that room.
She felt… different.
Not like the women I’ve fucked. Not like the ones who try to please, flatter, manipulate. She wasn’t trying to seduce me. She wasn’t trying at all. And somehow that made it worse. That innocence. That softness. That goddamn breathless way she braced for me like I was a wave about to crush her.
I drop into my chair, jaw grinding, and reach for the phone on my desk.
Time to focus. Work. Diamonds. The things that matter.
I dial one of the men I tasked with searching the warehouses. He picks up on the second ring.
“Any updates?”
His voice cracks over the line. “Nothing concrete, boss. Still combing through properties. A few leads we’re running down.”
“Run faster,” I snap. “You think we’ve got years?”
“Understood.”
I hang up, tossing the phone down hard enough to rattle the glass on my desk.
Every day that passes without those diamonds puts me at more of a disadvantage. I can’t rebuild without capital, and capital doesn't flow from thin air. It flows from leverage. From secrets. From stolen fucking diamonds.
As if summoned by the thought, my phone lights up again. Bugatti.
“What is it?” I ask as I answer.
His voice is sharp, eager. “We might have something. Before Desmond died, he made several calls to Lapo Rinadini.”
My spine stiffens. Lapo.
“That slippery bastard?”
“Yeah. One of your father’s old associates, but the Don never trusted him enough to keep him close.”
I nod to myself, already remembering the man's shifty eyes and tighter-than-needed smiles. Lapo always acted like the world owed him something.
“He’s a rat,” I mutter. “Never could keep his mouth shut.”
“Exactly. My guys found records. Bank transfers. Small ones. Clean enough to hide in plain sight, but they’ve got Desmond’s name on them. And Lapo’s.”
“You think he knows about the stash?”
Bugatti hesitates, then says, “I’d bet on it.”
My fingers tap the desk.
“Should we pay him a visit?”
“No.” I shake my head. “If he knows anything, a visit will spook him. We need to make him feel comfortable. Like we’re not looking.”
A long pause. “How do you want to play it?”
“I’ll handle Lapo myself.”
I end the call and sit back, piecing it together. Lapo’s name is on the guest list for the dinner. That weasel never misses a chance to rub shoulders with power. He’d crawl across broken glass to be seen on the arm of a don.
The dinner will be the perfect place to test him. If he has something worth hiding, it’ll be in the way he talks. The way his hands twitch. The way his voice strains when diamonds are brought up casually in conversation. And if he’s holding something—anything—I’ll squeeze it out of him.
Lapo was a talker. A bragger. Always had to remind people how clever he was. And clever men loved to flaunt what they shouldn’t have.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk.
All I need to do is bait the hook and let the idiot bite.
Let him open that mouth.
And when he does—I’ll be there.
******
The cufflinks click into place as I straighten the sleeves of my jacket. My reflection stares back—sharp suit, cleaner than usual shave, tie neat.
I walk into the hallway from my study where I got dressed. My brothers are already lined up like a bad movie cast, dressed in Brioni.
“Look at you bastards,” I mutter, lips curving slightly. “Almost look human.”
Alfio adjusts his tie and smirks. “We heard you're bringing your girlfriend tonight.”
“You mean captive,” Omero throws in.
Riccardo snorts under his breath and Enzo—of course—just sighs and glances at the ceiling like he’s been blessed with a higher level of patience than the rest of us.
I arch a brow. “This is a big night. I need you idiots to behave.”
My gaze cuts to Riccardo.
“What?” he barks like a kicked dog.
“Don’t pull anything. Don’t start anything. Keep your eyes peeled. Bellandi’s going to try baiting us—he’ll test the waters, make digs. Let him. Tonight, he’s our loving uncle. Like a father to us. You understand?”
Alfio rubs his neck and mutters, “Sure.”
Omero grumbles a sound that could pass as agreement.
Riccardo stretches his jaw and looks away.
The grandfather clock chimes once—clean, regal. Nine p.m.
I roll my shoulders back. “Wait in the cars. Load your pieces and slide them in clean. No bulges.”
Riccardo groans. “We’re also supposed to act like we know your toy?”
“Like she’s your future sister-in-law,” I deadpan.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grits out.
Omero chuckles behind his teeth. “This is going to be cinema.”
Alfio leans in with a smirk. “Think they’ll make out before dessert?”
Enzo finally speaks, voice flat. “Grow up. Let’s go.”
He leads the way down the corridor. Riccardo flips him off playfully but follows.
Upstairs waits my illusion. My dressed-up lie. The innocent girl I need to fool a room full of wolves.
I climb the stairs with quick steps, each one sinking heavier than the last. The hallway bends, opens to the suite.
The door’s cracked open.
Inside, the old maid is bent low, adjusting something near Lunetta’s chin.
Lipstick. Crimson. A little smudge. The maid’s hands are gentle, practiced.
I clear my throat.
The maid jolts upright like a schoolgirl caught sneaking candy. She bows slightly and steps back. Lunetta rises slowly from the chair and—
The dress is black. Elegant. Full sleeves that hug her arms, a soft draped neckline that pulls just enough attention without being obscene. Fabric cinched at the waist, then dips over her hips like water. Her shape—God, her shape. Hourglass lines that hadn’t been visible under all the oversized clothing. The slit up the side reveals toned legs balanced in black heels that make her calves flex just right.
Her hair’s swept up, a few curls falling free, brushing the edges of her face. And her lips—painted, parted slightly as she exhales.
But it’s her eyes that undo me.
She meets my gaze, not shyly, not boldly—just there. She smiles, small and uncertain.
And I feel it in my fucking chest.
Like something tightens.
Like I've just walked into a trap.
One she didn’t even set.
One I might never crawl out of.