Chapter 10
ten
DIMITRI
There was a storm coming. I could feel it—the tightness in my chest, the sharpness in the air, the energy of it like a live wire under my skin. Not the kind that shook windows or flooded streets. The kind that cracked foundations. The kind that blew holes in families.
Trust was like currency among the Cristenellos. And now someone was bleeding us dry from the inside out.
“You ready for this, D?” Gio asked me as we moved through the halls of our fathers’ estate to the room they always used for meetings like this.
“I’ve got a list in my head and a bullet for every name on it. So yeah… I’m ready.”
I hadn’t slept in two days while I prepared for this, but I didn’t need rest. I needed answers. And tonight, I’d set a plan in motion that would drag them into the light, one lie at a time—the slow, surgical unmaking of a traitor.
I didn’t have the name of the asshole who’d made the unwise decision to flip on us—to betray the family—but by the end of the week, I planned to be standing over a grave with the answer.
The room was already thick with tension when we walked in, all four of our fathers sitting around the circular table, stone-faced and serious. This wasn’t the time for pleasantries. This was purely business.
The scent of aged whiskey and cedar hung in the air as Gio and I took our usual seats.
Emilio sat at the head of the table like the king he was, surveying all of us with an expression carved from granite. He gave me a nod as I took my place across from him, facing him directly.
“Gentlemen,” I began, letting my voice cut through the silence, “we’ve got a problem.”
Gio leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “A big fucking problem.”
I met Emilio’s eyes briefly, then moved my gaze from Leonardo to Giacomo before finally settling on Matteo, letting my Alpha come to the surface, projecting my authority, even in a room full of the men who’d raised me.
“You all know that the Valentinos made their move on our warehouse,” I said. “They knew exactly where to hit us.” My words landed heavily.
“Then they made a move for our Omega, doing their best to cripple our entire family. It’s a miracle any of us walked away that night,” Gio added.
“I’m sure Emilio has shared with you that we have a mole in our midst. Rocco all but confirmed it—taunting us with the information before he blew the warehouse.”
“He did,” Matteo confirmed, nodding toward where Emilio sat. “Do you have your suspicions of who the rat is?”
I exchanged a look with Gio. “We do. But I’d like to be damn sure before making a move.”
“Being sure is better than being quick.” Leonardo nodded, his weathered hands clasped on the table. “The wrong accusation tears families apart faster than any outside enemy.”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the polished mahogany. The weight of what came next pressed down on my shoulders like concrete. This wasn’t just about finding a traitor. It was about proving I could lead—that I could protect what was mine without burning it all down in the process.
“The Valentinos didn’t just get lucky,” I said. “They knew schedules, security rotations, blind spots in our cameras. They knew we were setting them up and planted the explosives they used to blow the warehouse. They knew Tommy would be home with Kit. And they knew exactly when to hit our penthouse and how to redirect our security detail.” My jaw tightened. “That kind of intel doesn’t come from watching us from afar. It comes from someone who eats at our table.”
Gio’s knuckles turned white as he clenched a fist. “We have a dozen loyal soldiers in the hospital,” he told them. “Three in critical condition. We lost seven men. Tommy took a bullet, trying to protect Kit. Our business is exposed, our family vulnerable, and our enemies are circling like vultures waiting for us to bleed out.”
Giacomo slammed his fist on the table. “Then we hit back. Hard. Make an example of every Valentino we can find.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Gio nodded eagerly. “We light up their safe houses, their compounds. Find Rocco, and make him watch while we dismantle everything he’s built.”
“I’m not in disagreement.” And this is where I knew I’d piss off my brother. “But we’ll never get close enough unless we root out the rat. They’ll always be one step ahead of us. Always hold the advantage of knowing where we’ll be and when.”
“So what’s your play?” Matteo asked, watching me with eyes that had seen generations of blood spilled over territory, respect, and revenge.
I leaned back in my chair, letting my gaze drift from face to face. These men had built an empire with their bare hands. They’d torn down kings and made new ones. And now, I was about to become one of them— if they liked my plan.
“We’re going to feed the beast,” I explained, my voice low and dangerous. “But we’re going to choose the meal.”
Emilio’s eyes flashed with understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close to approval.
“We have a shipment coming in next week that Rocco would kill to get his hands on,” I continued. “High-grade weapons from a supplier in Belarus. The kind that has the potential to shift the balance of power in this city.”
Gio leaned toward me. “We do?”
My lips quirked. “Supposedly.”
I studied each face around the table, hunting for micro-expressions—trying to get a read on the room.
“We also have a shipment of olive oil coming from Apulia, high-end counterfeits we stand to make a fortune off of. Biggest shipment of the year, thus far.”
Matteo leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Olive oil and weapons all in the same week? That’s a hell of a risk.”
I kept my expression neutral, even as I felt Gio’s leg tense next to mine. He was catching on now; the pieces clicking into place.
“It’s not just that,” I continued smoothly. “We’ve got a potential deal with the Russians coming up, too. They’ve been eyeing our territory for a while, and I’ve been entertaining the idea of a partnership rather than a war.”
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been what ?”
“Strategic alliances,” I remarked with a casual shrug. “We’re hemorrhaging resources fighting the Valentinos. Sometimes you need to make friends to destroy enemies.”
Giacomo slammed his hand on the table. “We don’t deal with Russians. Not after ‘98.”
“Settle,” Emilio quipped. “Think about what my son has said.”
I watched the slight narrowing of Leonardo’s eyes, the way Giacomo’s fingers tapped once against the table.
Matteo remained perfectly still. “It’s a coup… a trap.”
“Exactly.”
“Explain,” Giacomo ordered, leaning back in his chair and cocking his head.
I leaned forward, dropping my voice just enough that everyone had to focus to hear me. “None of these operations are real. But we’ll leave here tonight pretending they are.”
The room went still. Even the air seemed to stagnate.
“We feed different versions of sensitive intel to different circles within our organization,” I explained. “Each detail specific enough to be believable, unique enough to be traceable. When Rocco makes his move—and he will—the operation they target will tell us exactly whose lips have been loose.”
“Interesting.” Leonardo steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, thinking, processing.
“It’s not as direct as what I would’ve done, but that’s why I’m not the boss,” Gio relented. “I like it. It’s cunning as fuck.”
“We’ll create four separate operations. The weapons shipment from Belarus, scheduled for Thursday at midnight, coming through the north harbor. That’s one.” I lifted a finger. “The counterfeit olive oil operation through our front in Little Italy, set for Friday afternoon. That’s two.” Another finger raised. “The Russian meeting at the abandoned Parkview Hotel downtown on Friday at 9 PM. Three.” A third finger joined the count. “And finally, a cash transfer of two million from our casino, supposedly happening at the old ice factory at dawn on Saturday.” I lowered my hand, letting the weight of what I was proposing settle over the room.
“Four operations,” Emilio nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Four potential leaks.”
“Precisely. They’re all smoke. But to our rat, one will look like a golden opportunity.”
Gio nodded slowly beside me, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “And when they bite...”
I nodded, knowing he understood my methods. “We’ll know exactly which rat took the bait. And then, we’ll bury them.”
Matteo leaned back, a reluctant smile twisting his lips. “Clever. Very clever.”
“Who gets what information?” Giacomo questioned, looking to Emilio for answers. But my father kept his gaze firmly on me, letting me answer. Letting me lead .
“I have a list of possible suspects. We’ll feed different information to each one. Luckily, they all run in different circles.” I explained, rising from my chair to pace the room slowly. “It won’t take long to ferret out the traitor.”
It was a quiet, cerebral kind of warfare—exactly my style.
Together, we hashed out the rest of the details, shaking hands when we were done. As the meeting broke, Emilio caught my eye, tilting his head toward his private study. The gesture was subtle—imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t spent a lifetime learning to read his silences.
I nodded once, hanging back as the others filtered out.
Gio caught my arm at the door. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Won’t be long,” I assured him.
He searched my face for a moment, then squeezed my shoulder. “Good work in there, D. Dad was right to put you in charge of this.”
I watched him go, feeling the weight of his approval settle on my shoulders. Soon enough, I’d be the one in charge—the one making the final call. But knowing I had brothers I trusted implicitly, who weren’t afraid to call me out when I was wrong and back me when I wasn’t, made the idea of leading feel a hell of a lot less daunting.
I headed into Emilio’s study, and the heavy oak door closed with a solid thunk, leaving just my father and me in the room. My father moved to the carved sideboard and poured two fingers of whiskey into crystal tumblers. The amber liquid sloshed as he handed me a glass, then lifted his own in a sign of acknowledgement.
“Smart play tonight,” he stated proudly. “Not what I expected.”
I nodded and took a sip from the glass, letting the smooth spirit burn down my throat. “I thought about charging straight into their stronghold, guns blazing.” I swirled the whiskey, watching it catch the light from the desk lamp. “That’s what Gio wanted. It’s what I wanted too, after seeing Tommas bleeding out. After watching Kit—” I cut myself off, not wanting to show that particular vulnerability, even to my father. “But that’s what Rocco expects. He’s counting on our rage.”
Emilio nodded, the silver at his temples gleaming as he moved to sit behind his desk. “Rage is a luxury we can’t afford. Not when we’re bleeding from the inside.”
“No,” I agreed, remaining standing. I’d learned long ago that my father granted respect, not comfort. “We can’t afford mistakes.”
He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You’re not just thinking like a soldier anymore. You’re thinking like a boss.”
I didn’t respond right away, just exhaled slowly, unused to hearing him give outright praise.
Truth was, I’d been thinking like a boss for longer than anyone realized. While Gio had been our family’s hammer, I’d been the architect—designing structures that would stand long after the initial blow. Tommy had his charm, Marco his loyalty. Me? I had foresight. The ability to see ten moves ahead on a board most people didn’t even know they were playing on.
“People are going to die for what happened to our family,” I finally said, voice low and certain. “For even attempting to come for my Omega.”
Emilio set his glass down with a soft clink. “Of course they are. But you’re going to make sure you get the right bastards.”
I nodded once, a sharp jerk. “I can’t afford to make mistakes. To miss something. To trust the wrong person.”
“Like I said, thinking like a boss.”
“It’s what you’ve been grooming me for.” I met his stare. “Since I was old enough to understand what our family really does.”
Emilio leaned back in his leather chair, the worn material creaking beneath him. “There’s a difference between being groomed for something and being ready for it.”
“And you think I’m ready now?” I challenged, needing to know where his head was at.
My father’s face remained impassive, but I caught the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes—the closest thing to a smile I’d seen from him all night.
“I think you’ve been ready for a while,” he admitted. “But tonight confirmed it.”
Emilio rose slowly from his chair, moving to the window that overlooked the sprawling family estate. From here, you could see the yard where we’d played as kids, the garage where Marco had learned to strip down engines, the gardens where our mother had taught us how to grow our own tomatoes so we could make proper sauce on Sundays.
“You’ve made me proud tonight, Dimitri. Once you’ve cut out the cancer and dealt with Rocco, I believe it’s time to discuss the succession.”
This is what I’d been working toward for years. I’d sacrificed for it, bled for it. None of it came as a surprise—I’d known this day was coming—but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.
Emilio turned from the window, his profile sharp against the darkness beyond. “You’ve earned it.” For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—something raw and human that made him look older than his years.
“Thank you, father.”
Walking out of the house that night, I felt a tangible shift.
The estate behind me was quiet. That old, dangerous kind of quiet—like the air just before a bomb went off, or that pause before someone pulled a trigger.
Change was coming—fast and inevitable. And soon enough, the house, the property, the whole damn family , would belong to me .
Gio was by the car, arms crossed, shoulder pressed to the frame while he waited for me. He looked up as I approached, sharp eyes narrowing just slightly.
“What was that all about?”
I didn’t answer right away, shoving a hand through my hair, the only outward sign that I was still processing all of this. I exhaled slowly before answering.
“Emilio’s ready.”
Gio pushed off the car, straightening. “Well... shit.” A wry smile tugged at his mouth. “I knew the day was coming, but it still hits differently hearing it out loud.”
He wasn’t fucking wrong.
“Soon as we finish this, we’ll make it official.”
He didn’t say much. Just held my gaze, then gave a small nod. “Congrats, brother. You deserve it.”
A stretch of silence passed between us. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. The kind that said everything without saying a word.
“What now?” Gio finally asked.
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Now we take care of business.”
He smirked. “The plan’s already in motion.”
“Good.” I looked back toward the house, wondering if the mole was inside, just waiting for any tidbits he found useful. Waiting to betray us yet again. “It’s time to see who moves first.”