Chapter Twenty-Five – Bugatti
“…Can’t even believe it’s working so well myself.”
I exhale through my nose, fingers pinching the bridge.
“Everything’s aligned,” I continue.
Static hums.
Then finally—low, sharp, amused: “You sound confident, Bugatti.”
I smile into the quiet. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
The guard steps in. “Sir. The Tavano brother is outside.”
“Send him in.”
The door closes. The sound barely fades before it opens again.
Riccardo walks in.
“I was so worried. I was going to call you,” I say quickly, voice light, feigning relief. “How did it go?”
He closes the door behind him.
“I returned the girl.”
My smile falters. Not enough for him to catch.
“You what?” Then—masking the tremor—I add, “What do you mean?”
Riccardo pitched it to me as a perfect mark. He was all fire. The kind who breaks things before asking why. The kind who worships justice when it’s shaped like revenge.
When Vieri went to prison, I approached Riccardo as a dealer. He loved what I gave him, I fed him a lot of it, it was part of the buffer. When I built a bridge, I offered Riccardo a story dressed in just enough truth to taste real. I told him about the diamonds, the gold—the inheritance from The Six. I told him Vieri was hiding it. Hoarding it. That he’d taken their father’s share and built his empire on it, keeping the rest of them in the dark.
And Riccardo believed it, because deep down, he’d always feared it.
What I never told him? That I worked with Desmond to execute Lena and Vasco. That I stood beside Desmond when he silenced Mother J. That after her funeral, her son came knocking on doors, piecing together things no one wanted unearthed. That I had him taken, silenced like the rest.
Except he got away. And before disappearing, he found the girl.
Lunetta.
I had no intention of splitting anything with Riccardo. He was just the knife I meant to throw. After I promised him half the stash, I moved the crates. The real plan was to keep it all. But then Mother J’s son vanished, and I panicked. If the girl knew—even fragments—she had to go.
Vieri came out just in time so I turned him loose on her. Fed him trails, half-truths wrapped in loyalty. My men watched the girl until I led him to take her. My plan? He would kill the girl, Riccardo would finish him off for it. One brother gone. Then the other.
And I’d be the last one standing.
But now Riccardo is standing in front of me. And the way he’s looking at me…
“I have a feeling,” he says slowly, “that you’ve not been honest with me.”
I laugh, but it’s all teeth and twitch. My fingers drum against the edge of the table like I’m trying to outpace my own heartbeat.
“Hey man, what do you mean?” I say with a shaky grin. “Listen, I know it’s hard to turn on your blood, but he was going to take everything your father worked for—all for himself. Didn’t I tell you?”
Riccardo’s arms are crossed. His expression doesn’t budge.
“You did,” he says. “You told me he was going to disappear to Europe with his share. Said he didn’t care about the family anymore. I believed that.”
I nod quickly, sensing an opening. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. He was ready to walk away. Just like that. Leave you and the others with nothing.”
“But I’ve been thinking. Something’s been bothering me.”
My grin starts to strain at the edges.
He taps the wood between us. “Why did you want the girl too?”
The pause is long. I laugh again, thinner this time. “I didn’t,” I say, too fast. “Your brother did. I just wanted to make sure she didn’t hear anything that could put her in danger.”
He tilts his head, watching me. “That’s noble of you.”
I spread my hands. “She was a civilian. I was looking out for her.”
Riccardo shifts in his seat. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s with her grandmother now. She’ll forget all this in a week.”
My eye twitches. I reach for the pack of cigarettes beside the ashtray but stop when Riccardo speaks again.
“And by the way,” he says slowly, “speaking of the girl... I heard your men were hovering around her grandmother. Right before the old woman had a heart attack.” He keeps his tone light. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I scoff, recovering. “I would never hurt an innocent woman. That’s all Vieri. He had me watching the woman. Ask anyone.”
Riccardo studies me, jaw shifting.
“My brother’s ruthless,” he says. “But even he has lines. And you...”
I let out a sharp breath and gesture at the room. “So what now, Riccardo? You come here, play prosecutor?”
He stands slowly, gaze steady.
“Your plan isn’t working for me anymore,” he says.
I stand too. “Don’t do this. You were on board with taking out your brother.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him.”
My eyes flash. “I wasn’t either! Just keep him in chains for a while. Let him cool off. You think he’ll let you live if he finds out what you’ve been doing behind his back? You know what he’s like.”
Riccardo nods once. “That’s the only true thing you’ve said tonight.”
He steps toward the door, then turns halfway.
“I took three days off,” he says. “Cleared my head. No molly. Nothing in my system except my conscience.”
My shoulders tighten.
His voice drops. “I want to hear my brother’s side of the story. In fact, I want to hear it with you in the room. I’ll bring him in from the car. If his version matches yours... I’ll knock him out myself. Again.”
My face twists. “Stronzo figlio di una baldracca,” I snarl. Son of a whore
I draw my gun from under the table. Riccardo already has his out.
I attack first, throwing my full weight forward, both of us crashing to the ground with a thud that vibrates through my spine. My gun skids out of reach. So does his.
He recovers fast. His elbow drives up hard into my chin, snapping my head back. I twist, grab for his collar, and ram my knee into his side. He grunts but doesn’t fold. He throws me off. I slam into a chair leg, wood splintering at my back. Pain bites, but I push up fast. Riccardo’s already on his feet. I duck his swing, grab the edge of the toppled table, and slam it into his chest. He stumbles but doesn’t fall.
“You’ve always been dramatic,” I growl, circling.
“And you’ve always been a snake,” he spits.
He charges again—this time, I’m ready. I twist his arm behind his back and slam him into the wall. His shoulder hits with a sharp crack, and he snarls, head whipping back to catch me in the jaw. He kicks my shin, hard. I grunt, lose my grip, and he spins, landing a punch that sends me reeling.
We hit the floor again, tangled in each other, blood on our knuckles, gasping for space.
I claw for the closest weapon. My fingers graze the edge of a paperweight—just as he plants his knee on my wrist.
The shot slices through the room and Riccardo stiffens mid-breath. His body lurches. Then crumples beside me with a dead weight that slams the floor hard. And blood spreads under him.
I don’t have to turn. I already know who fired.
Leather shoes cross the threshold, slow and casual. I push Riccardo’s body off with my boot, roll my shoulder back, and glance at the door.
He holsters the pistol, steps past Riccardo without a glance, and closes the door behind him with one hand.
“The kid was never going to stay on script,” he mutters. “You rushed him.”
“Gee, maybe you should have told me you were coming when you hung up,” I say to Cesare Bellandi.
The mastermind, the brain behind the mission. The one who birthed the idea. The one who watched over his late brother's affairs with eagle eyes, waiting to take out nephews and have it all. The one who helped me take out Desmond after he served his purpose, the one who pointed me to Riccardo as the brother who was the weakest link.
With him, I was going from a measly 20% to a whopping 50%. We just needed to get rid of the very last rough ends.
“What are you waiting for? Get my nephew off the floor and clean him up. He isn’t dying of a bullet wound. He’ll die a much more torturous death,” Bellandi says, sitting carelessly and smoothening his shirt.
“Vieri is in his car.”
“Beautiful, lock them both up. They die together.”