Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Enzo
I hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
The face in the mirror was barely recognizable.
Hollow eye sockets, bloodshot whites threaded with red, two days of stubble making my jaw look filthy.
The shirt was the same one I'd put on three days ago, cuffs stained with dried blood.
Couldn't tell if it was someone else's or from when I'd punched the floor.
I stared at myself for three seconds, then drove my fist into the mirror. The crack of shattering glass exploded through the bathroom. Shards buried themselves in my knuckles. Blood ran down my fingers.
Did it hurt? Hell yes. But compared to the image looping endlessly in my head, it was nothing.
That image: Chloe smiling at me over a baby catalog. Then the scene shifting to that dark red stain on the bedroom floor. Loop. Repeat. Couldn't stop it.
Luca stood in the bathroom doorway, watching me pick glass from my knuckles piece by piece. His expression hovered between worry and fear. He was scared of me. I could see it. After all these years, this was the first time he'd looked at me like this.
I didn't blame him. Because right now, Enzo Falcone wasn't the man he knew anymore. The old me calculated every move, kept escape routes for every play. But now there was no chessboard in my head. Just one name screaming on repeat.
Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.
Julian was the most likely suspect. I was dying to ask him about it, but ever since I'd shattered his leg twice, the coward avoided any chance of meeting me.
My men had been watching his safe house for two days. He hadn't stepped outside once. The bastard probably guessed I was looking for him, so he stayed holed up.
Fine. I'd force him out.
How? Use what he cared about most. The only thing that could give him the Don's seat.
Carmine Falcone.
Three a.m., North Shore of Long Island. Carmine's stone manor.
Luca tried talking me down three times in the car.
He said this was suicide. Carmine had twelve armed guards, four of them elite shooters trained by Palermo himself—reaction time under point-three seconds, zero-error accuracy within fifty meters.
If I got caught, I'd be Swiss cheese before I touched the study door.
"I know."
"Then why are you going in? At least let me bring backup."
"More people just means more exposure." I checked the gun at my waist, tightened the suppressor. "Besides, Luca, if I die in there tonight, that's fine. Better than living through this hell."
Luca's face changed. "What the fuck are you saying?"
"Joking."
I wasn't joking. But Luca didn't need to know that.
Truth was, ever since I'd knelt by that bloodstain, I stopped caring about my own life.
I used to value it because it was worth something—the foundation of the Falcone empire.
But now, that empire looked like scrap metal to me.
An empire without Chloe was just an empty shell.
Sit inside, and all you'd hear was echoes.
So tonight's solo mission—either I'd win and take Carmine down, or I'd lose and get shot dead. Either outcome, I could live with.
Dangerous thinking. But I was out of options.
Guard rotation gap. Ninety seconds. That's all I had. But it was enough.
I almost slipped climbing the wall. Two days without sleep dulled my reflexes, my grip on the iron bars at least thirty percent weaker than usual. When I landed, my knee slammed into the stone, pain shooting through my teeth.
The study window wasn't locked. Carmine never locked his study window. He didn't think anyone in this world would dare touch him.
In that respect, he and Julian were remarkably alike.
I made too much noise climbing in, shoe scraping the window frame. Carmine's eyes snapped open instantly. The old man's reflexes were still terrifyingly sharp. His hand went under the couch cushion and pulled out a revolver.
He was faster than I'd estimated.
The bullet grazed my left arm, a searing pain exploding through my bicep. My shirt sleeve was soaked through with blood instantly. But my gun was already pressed to his forehead.
"Don't move, Daddy."
Carmine stared at me, his gun still smoking. His hand shook—not from fear, from rage. Sixty-seven years old and he'd missed his son's vital organs. Probably bruised his ego.
"You just broke in? You've lost it, Enzo." His voice rasped.
"You got it. I've lost it." I kicked the revolver from his hand. It skidded across the floor and hit the bookshelf. Blood dripped from my left arm onto Carmine's Persian rug.
Carmine looked at the wound on my arm, then at my face. I knew what he saw. A maniac with bloodshot eyes, covered in blood, three days without sleep, ready to devour someone.
"Enzo, Julian's already lost to you. The Don's seat is yours for the taking. Risking killing me now—that's not like you."
"Doesn't sound like a good deal," I moved the gun one inch from his forehead, but just one inch.
"But I never cared about the Don's seat.
You turned me into a monster with your own hands, Carmine.
You know what my greatest pleasure has been all these years?
Slowly backing you and Julian into a corner, watching you squirm.
I lost my humanity a long time ago. You snuffed it out yourself. "
Carmine's composure finally cracked. Probably just realized how serious this was. He probably thought I still held some fantasy about him.
"I thought this game could go on much longer. But Julian crossed the line. He touched my woman, touched my child. Once that line's crossed, the game's over."
"What woman? What child?" Confusion spread across Carmine's face.
"You don't need to know." I pulled out my phone and dialed Julian's number, put it on speaker.
"What the fuck do you want in the middle of the—"
I cut off his cursing. "I've got Carmine. You have one hour to get to the manor. Clock's ticking."
Julian would come. No matter how much he hated me, Carmine was his last card. Without Carmine keeping the conservatives in line, Julian would be dead within days—and I wouldn't have to lift a finger.
I pocketed the phone and sat in the chair across from Carmine. My left arm was still bleeding. I tore a strip from my shirt and wrapped it roughly, cold sweat beading on my forehead from the pain. But I didn't care. Compared to the anxiety tearing me apart inside, the pain in my arm was nothing.
Carmine watched me bandage the wound. Long silence.
"You're using me to threaten Julian." Not a question.
"You're finally experiencing what you've done to others your whole life." I looked up at him. "Being a bargaining chip. Doesn't feel good, does it?"
The grandfather clock ticked. Blood seeped from my sleeve, pooling on the chair's armrest.
"Let him go, Enzo." Carmine finally spoke, voice much lower than before. "Even I have feelings for my two sons."
I pulled out my gun without hesitation and shot him in the left leg.
The suppressor muffled most of the sound. Carmine's body arched violently, a muffled groan forced through his clenched teeth. His hands gripped the armrest, nails digging into the leather. His face turned gray within three seconds, cold sweat beading like rain on a window.
"Crocodile tears." I watched his blood seep through his pants, mixing with the blood dripping from my arm, pooling on the carpet. "Save your devoted father act."
I paused, then added, "Julian still hasn't figured this out. He really thinks you love him more, that he's your chosen heir. He doesn't know he was just a dog you raised to trip me up. After all these years, he can't even see that. Tell me, isn't he an even sadder fool than me?"
Carmine said nothing. He kept his head down, pressing hard on the gunshot wound, breathing heavily.
"You're just like your mother," he finally forced out through clenched teeth. "Crazy in your bones."
"You're right." I nodded absently.
Forty-seven minutes later, the sound of Julian's cane striking the floor echoed from the hallway.
He came alone. No guards. He dragged his broken leg into the study, his cane hitting the floor with each heavy thud. He walked slowly, but his eyes swept the room lightning-fast. The blood on the floor, Carmine's ashen face on the couch, the blood-soaked bandage on my arm, and the gun in my hand.
"What do you want?" Julian's voice was tight. "Enzo, I've been keeping my head down lately."
"Chloe Bennett," I said. "Was it you?"
"That woman who ran crying from your wedding?" Julian's mouth curled. "I knew she was connected to you. A woman that beautiful, pregnant, showing up at your wedding crying like that—even a blind man could see it."
"Answer the question."
"Wasn't me," Julian said it cleanly. He sat down in a chair, leaning on his cane, his broken leg stiff and straight. "The day she disappeared, I was in Brooklyn nursing this leg you ruined. You think I could sneak off to your secret villa in the middle of the night?"
I studied his eyes, watching for any microexpression.
"But I know where she is."
My heart slammed against my ribcage. The world went silent for one second.
Still alive? Chloe was still alive!
"What did you say?"
"I had someone tail her from the wedding," Julian tilted his head, that calculating look making my stomach turn.
"A woman who could make Enzo Falcone lose his composure at his own wedding—that's your biggest weakness.
So after she disappeared from your villa, my men followed Valentina's people to the airport. "
Valentina's people.
My nails dug into my palms. All the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Valentina let Chloe go. From beginning to end, it was Valentina.
"Where is she?"
"This information isn't cheap, brother." Julian dragged out the words, his tone sickening.
I stood up. The chair scraped harshly across the floor. I walked to Julian and pressed the gun barrel to his good leg's kneecap.
"Do I look like I'm in the mood to negotiate right now?"
Julian looked down at the gun, then up at my face. I don't know what he saw there, but it made his pupils contract. He licked his dry lips, voice dropping half an octave.
"I want your position. All the power, all the territory, all the business. Everything. You leave New York. From now on, the Falcone family has one head. Me."
Carmine's head snapped up from the couch. "Julian!"
Julian ignored him, just stared at me.
I pulled the gun back from his knee and straightened up.
"Deal."
The air in the study froze. Carmine's mouth hung open. Julian's eyes widened. He looked like he'd prepared several contingency plans, only for me to surrender before he'd finished round one.
"You—you serious?"
"The transfer documents will be delivered by Luca tomorrow. Territory, business, connections, funds—everything's in there. Just sign." I tucked the gun back in my waistband. "Now. Tell me where she is."
"Enzo!" Carmine slapped the armrest, struggling to get up. "You can't do this!"
"Shut up, Carmine." I didn't even glance at him. "From today on, the only thing you need to do is keep your mouth shut and heal that leg. Otherwise, the next shot won't be in your leg."
The old man's lips trembled, but no words came out.
Julian stared at me for a long time. The calculation and mockery in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by something complicated. Probably confused that the position he'd fought for, dreamed of for so long, suddenly came to him so easily. Before joy could arrive, confusion hit first.
"North Carolina," Julian said. "Small town out there."
Chloe was alive. She was somewhere on this earth.
That hope burned into my brain. I turned toward the door, moving three times faster than when I came in.
"Enzo," Carmine called after me.
"Was it worth it? Giving up everything you spent thirty years building—for a woman?"
I didn't turn around. Didn't bother answering.
Outside the manor, the sky was still dark.
Luca saw the wound on my left arm and the blood on my shirt. His face changed. He pulled out the first aid kit from the trunk. I waved him off, got in the car, and said three words.
"Airport."
"Let me look at your arm first." Luca's eyes lingered on my wound.
"Airport!"
Luca shut his mouth and started the engine.
On the way, I told him to hand everything over to Julian. Luca reacted exactly as I expected. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Two minutes of silence. For Luca, that was an emotional collapse.
"What did you give Julian?"
"Everything."
"What do you mean, everything?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Territory, business, connections, money. Everything."
Another minute of silence. Then Luca's voice came muffled from behind the steering wheel.
"Fuck. That doesn't include me, right?"
"It does. But you're free to leave."
Luca didn't ask anything else. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, then looked back at the road.
At the airport, a small helicopter was already waiting on the tarmac. The rotor wind whipped my clothes violently. The bandage on my left arm seeped another ring of blood. Before I climbed into the cabin, Luca called out.
"Enzo."
I turned. He stood on the tarmac, wind blowing his hair, an expression on his face I'd never seen before. On anyone else, I'd call it heartbreak. But that word seemed too strange for Luca.
"I'll come find you after I resign."
I nodded once and boarded.
As the helicopter lifted off, New York's panorama spread out below.
Manhattan's skyline was gilded cold gold in the rising sun, Central Park embedded in the heart of that steel jungle.
This city had devoured the first half of my life, chewed up a kid who should've grown up normal, swallowed him whole, and spit out a monster.
But today the monster was leaving.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out that wrinkled baby catalog. Opening to the page with the stars, Chloe's pencil marks were nearly rubbed away by my fingerprints.
Wait for me, Chloe.
Please. Let me see you one more time.