Chapter 8
Dario
I step into the gala with the ease of a man who belongs, even if I have no real interest in being here. The chandeliers overhead drip with crystals and reflect the wealth packed into this room, but all I see are vultures in designer suits.
The charity is nothing more than an excuse for the rich to stroke their egos, to throw money around and pretend they aren’t the kind of people who’d slit each other’s throats for less. I haven’t come for the charity, though. I came to remind certain people that I’m back.
Rafa flanks my right, his eyes scanning the crowd like he’s waiting for someone to give him a reason to ruin their night.
"This is a waste of time," he mutters. "You really wanna sit through this circus?"
"Just long enough to make my presence known," I say, accepting a glass of bourbon from a passing waiter. I take a sip, letting the burn settle deep. "And maybe have a little fun."
That fun comes sooner than expected as Enzo Castelli strolls in.
He’s hard to miss, all arrogance wrapped in an expensive suit, his black hair tied back in that ridiculous bun he thinks makes him look sophisticated.
His usual smugness rolling off him in waves.
He shakes hands, kisses cheeks and smiles like he isn’t the same man who spends his nights ruining lives for sport. And then his eyes find me.
I take a slow sip of my drink, letting him come to me. Sure enough, within minutes, he’s hovering near my table and wearing that look he always has—like he knows something no one else does. I set my glass down and lean back, offering nothing.
“Yuri Zaytsev,” he drawls, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Funny,” I say. “I was just thinking the same about you. And it’s Dario Bellini now. A brand-new me, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Of course he does. Nothing moves through this city without him knowing. The minute my luggage cleared, I’m sure he had word of it.
His jaw tightens. “Of course, you always did hate your origins. I didn’t realize you had such a fondness for charity.”
"I have a fondness for good investments," I say. "And for making sure people don’t forget I exist."
His smile thins. "Oh, no one’s forgotten you. Trust me." His smirk falters for half a second before he gestures toward the poker table. “Since you’re here, why don’t we make it interesting?”
I exhale through my nose, amused. “What’s the buy-in?”
“Fifty grand,” he says, and when I don’t react, he adds, “Unless that’s a little steep for you.”
Rafa huffs a quiet laugh beside me, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, I finish my drink and stand. “Let’s play.”
The game begins, and I play it like I do everything else—with patience.
Enzo is reckless, predictable in his arrogance.
He plays like a man who believes he’s untouchable, throwing chips in with a flourish, flashing his teeth when he wins.
But it’s all bravado. He doesn’t like uncertainty. He needs to be in control.
So, I take that from him.
I fold hands that look promising. I call when he expects me to bow out. I let him think he’s ahead, let him ride that high just long enough for the fall to hurt.
Then, when the pot is at its peak, I make my move.
Enzo leans forward, eyes glinting as he slides more chips in. “All in,” he says, voice smug.
I let a small smile play at my lips. “You always think you have the winning hand, don’t you?” I say, almost lazily. “Must be exhausting, living in that delusion.”
His smirk twitches, but he holds his ground as I match his bet. The room watches expectantly as we reveal our cards.
A straight flush beats his full house.
The dealer confirms it. The chips—all of them—are pulled my way.
Enzo’s jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out as he stares at the table. His temper is predictable, too.
I pick up a single chip, rolling it between my fingers. “Nice game.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, shoving back from the table. “What’s your angle, Dario? You’ve been gone for a long time. You think you can just waltz back in and make everyone lick your ass in my city?”
“Your city?” I raise an eyebrow. “Last I checked, you weren’t the appointed mayor.”
He sneers. “Last I checked, you couldn’t even afford a suit. Funny how a stray dog suddenly learned some new tricks and thinks he’s got the whole world watching.”
“I have no need for theatrics, Enzo. You’ve always been the one to put on a show.”
His hand flexes, like he wants to hit something—maybe me. “Well, I suppose I should be glad you’re back, Bellini. Your return makes things more entertaining. Just like old times.”
Old times. I let out a low chuckle, brushing off the weight of history between us like it’s nothing. “An amusing little memory,” I say, watching his face tighten. “Over a decade later and you’re still looking back. You never learn, Enzo. Never did.”
“You still think you're better than me, don’t you? Still trying to prove you're the hero? The good guy?” Enzo leans in, venom dripping from every word. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but you’re no different. You’ve always been the same—you just hide it better.”
“How could you think I’m the same as you? I’m more man than you’ll ever be.”
Enzo’s lips curl into a smirk, he moves in a little closer.
“At least I’ve been man enough to keep a woman in my bed for years,” he sneers, his words sharp like a blade.
“What’s your excuse, Dario? You can’t even hold onto someone.
You’re still alone, just like you were when you were seventeen, abandoned by a father who chose his vices over his own son.
I’ve got what you’ll never have—love. The kind that’s shown to me every day by people who actually give a damn about my existence.
I have a wife who would sell her soul to the devil at my command.
I have a life that’s mine. Something you’ll never be able to take from me. ”
I hold his stare, not letting him see the impact, but the words still linger, like ash settling around us.
“You don’t know what love is, Enzo,” I say, my voice low. “You never did.”
“Oh, right. You’re the expert on love now? You, who couldn’t even protect yourself from a drunk with a mean streak? Look at you, Dario. A well-dressed ghost playing at being whole. You think hiding your demons makes you better than me, but trust me, they’re still there. Always were.”
The jab hits me hard. My father’s face, his hands, the smell of whiskey and blood—it all rushes back for a split second. I can feel the old scars reopen, but I don’t recoil. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, eyes locking with his.
“Maybe I don’t know love. Maybe I never did.
All I learned was that the people closest to you are the first to sink the knife in.
That trusting the wrong person doesn’t just cost you—it breaks you.
So yeah, I’d rather be alone than let someone else rip me apart just because they can. ”
The space between us tightens, like the kind that demands a victor, the kind that teeters between violence and something just as reckless.
I know I’ve hit him where it hurts, just like he’s done to me. The game’s over, and I’ve won—not just the money, but the upper hand.
“You really should keep a closer eye on your belongings, Castelli. Never know when something might slip from your grasp.”
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t understand what I mean. Not yet.
I push back my chair, standing with an easy stretch. “You look nervous, Enzo.” I let my voice drop just enough to make the words sting. “Do I make you nervous?”
His fingers twitch.
I lean in just enough for only him to hear. “You’ve already lost more than you know. Try not to lose your temper too.”
Before I turn to walk away, I let one final comment slide.
“By the way, funny what you can learn when you dig deep enough. The whole ‘wife kidnapping’ thing... quite the spectacle. Still haven’t paid the ransom, though, have you?
Or maybe you’ve just decided to let her rot somewhere.
Who knows? Maybe she’s cozy with some other guy, while you're here playing games. "
His reaction is immediate. His hand shoots to his side, and I know exactly what he’s reaching for. The gun’s out faster than I can blink.
I already know how this ends.
The room shifts, the men twitching, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. But the men here know the rules. Not a single one of them makes a move without my signal. I feel their eyes burning into me, but I don’t budge. I stand tall, eyes locked on Enzo.
His face turns white, and his pupils contract. The tremble in his hand? That’s new. He’s not used to losing control.
“Put it away, Enzo,” I say smoothly. “You wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good evening.”
He doesn’t lower the gun. Instead, he stands there, shaking with rage, but that’s all he can do. He’s in check, and the best part? He hasn’t even realized it yet.
“Who the fuck told you? You think stumbling upon a little dirt on my personal life is gonna shake me?”
I tilt my head slightly, the corner of my mouth pulling into a knowing smile. “I didn’t just stumble upon that information, Enzo. I have a very different set of eyes on the world. I know things. People talk. They tell me exactly what you try to keep buried.”
“You... You have no fucking idea what you’re playing with.”
I laugh, the sound dark and manic. “You ever consider that maybe she staged the whole thing just to get away from you? I mean, who can blame her? Maybe she’s currently warming some other man’s bed while you’re here indulging in whatever pissing contest you can find.”
Enzo’s face flushes with rage. “I’m going to end you. Just like I should’ve all those years ago. You pathetic street rat.”
I lean forward just a little, making sure he hears every word. “I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you, Enzo.”
His hand tightens on the gun again, and I step forward, tapping his shoulder lightly, mocking him. “Put it down, Enzo. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Fuck you, Dario.”
The words are so tempting. So fucking tempting to say it, to rub it in his face. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing to your wife. But I hold back. Not just yet. Soon enough, he’ll get the full picture. I’ll make sure he understands every way I’ve broken her. Every way I’ve made her mine.
I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes how deep the knife’s buried. His men, the ones he brought today, thinking they were loyal? They could’ve shot him at my word. Watching him squirm, not knowing where the next blow is coming from, is pure satisfaction.
I walk away with a grin spreading across my face. I’ve won today, but what’s waiting for me at home? That’s the real victory.
***
In the car, I open my laptop. Raffaele looks over from the front seat.
“You’re playing him, boss,” he says, his voice a little too flat. “I didn’t realize it was all part of the plan.”
I barely look at him. “You don’t have to understand. You just have to follow.”
I type in a few commands, the screen lighting up with information. Enzo’s house. His movements. Sergio planted the trackers, and it’s all coming together.
“We’re two steps ahead,” I say. “While Enzo’s focused on me, he’s missing everything else.”
“You also hacked into his phone?”
I don’t look up. “He’s too busy trying to fight ghosts. I’m already playing a different game.”