Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RENZO
Fina’s scream will haunt me for years to come.
I couldn’t unlock the manacles fast enough.
My hands were clumsy, my panic clawing at my throat.
She lay crumpled on the stone driveway, her face swollen, blood trailing down her legs.
That white rubber suit bunched at her ankles like some grotesque costume.
And standing over her, clutching an eye, was Settemo Accardo.
The image is burned into me, violent and permanent. Her battered body. His enraged expression. The sick silence only interrupted by the cackle of a nearby rooster.
Before I could deal with Settemo, she stopped me with news I never saw coming. Massimo took Dante, a man who’s been a big brother to me and who I owe the fucking world to.
I’ve lived a life of chaos. I don’t flinch. I don’t stumble. I thrive inside it.
But I’m dealing with dual mindfucks. Both deeply personal.
I’ll break Settemo Accardo.
Bone by bone.
Breath by breath.
Until nothing remains.
While weighing what’s the best way to deal with the Massimo situation.
I held Fina in my arms the entire boat ride. Cleaning her wounds the best I could with the gauze and antiseptic my father’s men had on hand. Refusing to let them touch her. Keeping her safe and protected, knowing I was almost too late.
We’re in my brother’s villa, seated in a chair across from him. She squirms on my lap, uncomfortable beneath his intense scrutiny. I don’t release her, no matter how angry she gets or how the tension between Sandro and us builds.
“I want every man at your disposal hunting for Settemo Accardo.”
She stiffens at his name.
Sandro stays quiet, taking it all in, missing nothing.
Rage has its claws in me and won’t let go.
The jagged scrape on her cheek from being dragged across the stone driveway stokes it hotter.
The deep gash on her knee, bleeding through the bandage, sends violence pulsing through me.
The raw, bloodied fingertips where she clawed at the ground to stop him have me strung tight as a drum, seconds from snapping.
Every wince, every flinch, every sigh. I log them like I’m taking names.
I won’t rest until that bastard is dead.
“Not going to happen,” my twin says. “In case you missed it, your friend Massimo Grassi has started a war.” His gaze shifts to Fina, then back to me. “As for her, I want her gone.”
Fina mutters something into my neck that sounds like asshole.
I want to pull her closer, replace Settemo’s fingermarks with mine. Instead, I set her on her feet and then, without warning, launch across the desk. My hand locks around Sandro’s throat, driving him and his chair back until we crash to the floor.
We start swinging.
Twins have their own language. Ours is brutal.
He lands a shot to my head.
I drive a fist into his kidney.
We’ve fought before, but this is different. I’m actually furious, when it’s typically the other way around.
“Get the fuck off me,” he growls.
“Tell me again you don’t want her here,” I snarl.
He stops fighting. Then laughs. It’s sharp and throws me off. This fucker never laughs, and I don’t understand what’s so bleeding funny.
“What in God’s name is going on?” a woman’s voice cuts in. “Renzo, get off him.”
Riley. Sandro’s girlfriend.
She shoves me, and I roll onto my back, while he’s still laughing.
“You must be Fina,” she says.
“You must be the woman whose underwear I’m wearing,” Fina replies, a smile in her tone.
I almost miss it, too caught up in the underwear part.
“You said to inform you when the doctor arrived,” Riley tells Sandro. “I put him upstairs in my room.”
“Your former fucking room,” Sandro grumbles.
“Come with me …” Riley gestures to Fina. “… and let these two …”
“… fools wrestle like they’re auditioning for WWE?”
Both women chuckle; their friendship’s off to a fucking stellar start. Riley’s great and a calming influence on my brother. Just what Fina needs after the shit she’s been through, even my bullshit.
I spring to my feet. “I’ll carry her.”
“She can walk,” Fina answers, exasperated. Similar to how she’s been for the duration of our journey to Sardinia. Brave and courageous, while I spiraled into a deep hole where all I can think about is revenge.
“We need to talk,” Sandro says, the chill back, then turns and, sweet as melting motherfucking butter, addresses his girlfriend. “Riley, mind showing her to the casita?”
“Will you two be okay?” she asks.
I offer him a hand up as proof.
He smacks it away. “We’ll have a nice lunch tomorrow before shit goes down. Would you arrange that, too?”
Born from the same womb, my twin and I dance to the same rhythm. Move the same. Talk the same. But sometimes he does shit like this, and I’ve got to ask, Who the fucking hell is this guy?
Riley flashes a smile at him. She’s too good for the bastard. “Sure.”
But it’s Fina’s voice, drifting back toward us as they leave, that I cling to. “I’d rather eat dirt than have a meal with that A-hole.”
“She hasn’t changed much.” Sandro moves to the bar. “Want a whiskey?”
“No.”
I hear liquid pour into a glass. Are the cravings still there? Yeah. My demons will always torment me, and recognizing the fact is fucking progress. But a different kind of monster stirs inside, a hungry, violent fuck. A monster ravenous for another taste of Accardo blood.
“You look … different,” Sandro comments. “Is it the drink?”
I cross the office to sit on a couch, and Sandro follows, mirroring my every move like a shadow that never left.
“You know, I never thought I’d hear you turn down liquor.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I never thought you’d act like a pussy-whipped dick, but guess everyone has their moments.”
He glares at me, then softens. “Don’t get me wrong. I love her. But pussy-whipped I’m not.”
“If you say so.”
“Says the black pot.” He sips his whiskey, his fingers tightening around the glass like he's barely containing something darker beneath the surface. “So, Elia Seraphina Lombardi? Seriously? I expected you’d show up with a girlfriend one day but not that hellhound. Always up your ass. Always following you around like a lovesick girl. You couldn’t shake her, and now she’s here?
You playing games or what? You trading in your sex club admission for idiot-for-hire? ”
He’s practically salivating, waiting for me to rise to the bait.
I don’t … can’t. My emotions are shot to shit.
“Well, damn.” He studies me intently, searching for clues without fully understanding the history between Fina and me, then lets it drop. “Father wants all resources directed toward Massimo.”
I lean my head back on the couch, my eyes heavy. I fucked up. Missed a chance to correct this misunderstanding. And now shit’s hit the fucking fan.
“How much time?” I ask.
“With Dante as collateral, I’m guessing a week? Father will want everything in place first.”
Time for me to get busy. Situate my men in Sicily. Watch every frame of footage from our holdings and Massimo’s and analyze each fucking detail for clues.
The cushion beside me shifts again as Sandro leans back. I glance sideways. His posture is almost identical to mine, legs sprawled, arms loose, breathing slow but controlled. Twin symmetry, which used to mean the world to me. We were close as kids, even as teenagers.
When did the cracks dividing us begin? Was it when his daddy issues kicked in? Was it after Rome, when my own began? When rumors about what happened began circulating?
Well, shit.
“You always wanted to be in the Life?” I ask.
“That’s random.” He turns his head to look at me. “I guess.”
“You’ve built quite the reputation. It suits you.”
He blinks. “You fucking with me?”
I give him a faint smile, tired, so damn tired. “Thanking you. For a long time, I blamed you for my shit when no one but my own twisted soul was at fault. You tried to help. Tried to cover for me. Tried to keep me clean. I just need you to know I see that now.”
That lands harder than expected. His mouth parts, closes, then finally, he says, “You’re my brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
The silence between us stretches, tense, raw, and oddly soothing. No bullshit, no pretense, we see each other clear as day.
Then his brows draw together. “I just got played, didn’t I?”
“Nope.”
“This isn’t about freeing up a few of my men to sic on Settemo Accardo?”
I tense at the name, the thirst for Accardo blood alive and well. “It wasn’t. But if you’re offering …”
“I’ll be going against Father’s order.”
I stare at him, unwavering. Whether he sends men or not, Settemo’s a dead man. I’ll burn Italy to the ground until I find him. And when I do, I won’t stop until he’s screaming in agony.
“If Riley looked half as bad as Elia … Fuck it, I’ll have them report to you tomorrow.”
“I owe you.”
He rolls his eyes, but his voice softens. “Stay clean. That’s all I ask.”
I nod, the pressure in my jaw easing slightly.
“You know, something about this bullshit with Massimo is off,” he mutters.
“Agreed.”
“Massimo’s a prick but a calculating one. Why kidnap Dante and not kill him?”
“To catch our attention.”
Sandro scoffs. “Mission fucking accomplished.”
“Who else has had their holdings hit?” I already know, but I want to hear him say it.
“Just Massimo’s and ours. Dante included, but only investments tied to me, like the pistachio farms.” His eyes sharpen. “You think we’re being played? Pitted against each other?”
“That’s exactly my thought.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, every cell on high alert. “I bet Massimo suspects it too.”
“You both always had similar perspectives on things.”
“I need to speak to Father.”
Sandro sits up straighter, elbows on his knees. “Already handled. Conference call’s set for tomorrow.”
But as helpful as he’s being, I understand how this ends. To Father, Massimo’s motives are irrelevant. You strike at the Beneventis, you bleed.
What I need are eyes in the sky and a full picture of what we’re dealing with. Yeah, reconnecting with Massimo is the priority, once I’ve men on the hunt for Settemo.
“Don’t act on your own. Capisci?” my brother warns.
I ditched the drink and the drugs. Took to the Life better than anyone imagined. Shared a raw and long-overdue moment with my twin. But I’ll never be the Beneventi lapdog.
“Yeah, I understand,” I reply.
The question is: Will I obey?