11. Alessio
11
Alessio
T he drive to the hotel is a blur of flickering streetlights and the roar of the engine beneath me. My fingers tighten on the wheel, the leather creaking as my grip hardens with each mile that brings us closer to Tomasso.
Every muscle in my body is prepared for violence, every nerve anticipating the opportunity to unleash what has been simmering since I saw the footage of that poor jeweler.
But this isn’t just about what I’m going to do to Tomasso. No, Sal’s here, too, his hulking form a silent promise of what’s coming.
I glance over at him…Sal, the family’s most ruthless enforcer, the man who lives and breathes for moments like this. He’s leaned back, calm as a viper in the shade, arms crossed over his broad chest.
The sleeve tattoos wind up from his wrists, vanishing beneath the cuff of his shirt, but I know they stretch up to his shoulders. A tapestry of scars and ink that tells the story of every fight, every hit he’s ever carried out.
There’s that jagged scar across his cheek from a knife fight years back, and his nose, twisted slightly out of line from a dozen breaks.
If I’m a blade, sharp and precise, Sal’s a hammer…a brutal, unrelenting force. I can’t help but chuckle, the sound coming out low and dark. Tomasso will not know what hit him.
Sal raises an eyebrow at my laugh but says nothing, just nods his head, a grim smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He knows what I’m thinking. I don’t have to say a word for him to know what I’m planning for that rat.
Tomasso thought he could toy with the Lucianas, slip a fake ring into our hands, and walk away unscathed. He thought wrong.
When we pull up to the hotel, the valet looks at us like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Smart kid, he knows who we are. We don’t check in or explain ourselves. We don’t have to.
Sal and I stride through the lobby, the clack of my shoes and the heavy thud of his boots echoing like a death march. The attendants watch us, wide eyed, stiff as boards.
We approach the front desk, and the receptionist stammers, stumbling over her own words. “C-Can I help you?”
I smile, all teeth. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Tomasso Ricci. Which room?”
Her eyes dart to Sal, who’s looming behind me like a dark shadow, his gaze fixed and unyielding. She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Room 419.”
“Grazie.” I give her a mock salute, and we head to the elevators.
By the time we reach his floor, my blood is singing. This is the part I live for…the anticipation, the power crackling in the air.
I kick open the door to Room 419, and there he is, barely dressed, dripping from a fresh shower, and looking at us like he’s been expecting company but not the kind that comes with brass knuckles and bad intentions.
“What the…,” Tomasso says, that arrogance returning to his face. “What the fuck do you…”
I don’t give him a chance to finish. “Shut up.” One word, flat and final. His arrogance still clings to him like a second skin.
That changes the moment Sal steps forward. Tomasso’s eyes widen, and for the first time, he looks like he’s realizing just how deep he’s sunk himself.
Sal doesn’t waste time. With a single punch, he drives his fist into Tomasso’s face, the sickening crunch echoing in the small room. Tomasso cries out, clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers.
He stumbles, but Sal doesn’t let him fall. He grabs him by the neck, lifting him as though he weighs nothing and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of meat.
I step aside, letting Sal lead the way back through the hall and down the stairs. The hotel attendants are still frozen at their desks, watching us wide eyed. I tip my hat to them with a grin, enjoying their terrified expressions, and then we’re back outside, loading Tomasso into the truck like cargo.
The drive is short, taking us into the woods just outside the city. Sal and I don’t say a word; we both know what needs to be done. This isn’t the time for conversation, it’s the time for action.
When we reach the clearing, I step out first, taking in the stillness of the trees, the way the shadows fall across the ground like specters waiting to bear witness.
Sal drags Tomasso from the truck, hauling him like dead weight and dumping him at the base of a tree. Tomasso’s whimpering now, his bravado gone, replaced by the blubbering mess he truly is.
“Please, please,” he gasps, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Save it,” I snap, stepping forward. “You made the fake ring, didn’t you?”
He hesitates, looking between me and Sal, who’s already tying him to the tree with the methodical efficiency of a man who’s done this a hundred times.
He nods, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes, yes, I made it. But I was paid, please…I didn’t do it on my own.”
“Who paid you?” My voice is sharp, like a blade slicing through his excuses.
He hesitates, his eyes darting, calculating. “I…I can’t say. They’ll kill me.”
I nod, exchanging a glance with Sal. “Sal,” I say, gesturing toward Tomasso.
Sal’s expression is blank, his eyes cold, and without a word, he slams a fist into Tomasso’s gut. Tomasso doubles over, gasping for breath, his eyes bulging with pain.
“I’ll ask again,” I say, my voice icy. “Who paid you?”
Tomasso’s voice is a ragged whisper. “The… the Gufos. It was the Gufos.”
The name hits me like a slap, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of surprise. The Gufos. I hadn’t even considered them. They’re such a small problem compared to the Vitales that I didn’t even think of them.
But now, it makes sense…the Gufos, the ones who specialize in operating from the shadows, in tearing down their enemies with whispers instead of bullets. And this, this whole scheme, the stolen ring, the humiliation, it’s exactly their style.
“Of course,” I murmur, almost to myself. “It all fits.”
Tomasso’s watching me with desperate, pleading eyes, his voice breaking as he begs, “Please, I told you everything! Just let me go. Please.”
I look at Sal, giving him a brief nod. Sal steps forward, his fist raised, and Tomasso’s face goes white as he realizes what’s coming. “No! No, please, I…”
Sal’s punch lands with almost superhuman strength. The crunch is sickening as his fist smashes through Tomasso’s skull, and Tomasso’s body slumps, the last shreds of life draining from his eyes.
We stand there for a moment, the quiet settling around us like a shroud. Finally, I take out my phone, dialing Massimo’s number.
He picks up on the first ring. “Alessio?”
“It was the Gufos, boss.” I tell him. “They were behind it all.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Massimo lets out a low, bitter chuckle. “I’m not surprised,” he says. “They’ve always wanted to see us humiliated.”
“There’s more,” he adds, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “They’ve put the ring up for auction at the Ice Box.” It’s happening tonight. ”
I feel a chill creep down my spine. “And what are you planning to do?”
“I’m sending Isabella,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “She’s going to bid on the ring and bring it back.”
I’m quiet, my mind reeling. Isabella, at the Ice Box, surrounded by those vultures?
The thought alone makes my throat go dry, my heart twisting with something I can’t name. I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of her being in the middle of this. But I know I can’t argue with Massimo.
“Then… let me go with her,” I say, barely keeping the urgency out of my voice. “I’ll be outside, a safe distance away. Just in case anything happens.”
There’s a pause, and then Massimo sighs, a hint of irritation seeping into his tone. “You’re getting attached, Alessio. Getting emotional over her. It’s dangerous… it’s stupid.”
I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He’s right. I am attached. I can’t deny it. I hate the idea of her being there without me, of something happening and me not being close enough to stop it.
Finally, Massimo sighs. “Fine. But you’re to stay out of sight. No Luciana can be seen at that auction. Understood?”
“Understood.” Relief floods through me, and as I end the call, I feel a renewed sense of purpose, a steely resolve that settles deep in my bones.
When Sal and I get back to the Lodge, I find Isabella in the main hall, dressed like a queen of the underworld.
Elena has transformed her into someone who looks like she’s born for this, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in waves, a black dress clinging to her figure in a way that leaves me momentarily speechless. Her lips are Chinese red, the color a stark contrast against her pale skin. She’s breathtaking.
“You’re… beautiful,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
She blushes, her eyes darting away, and something about her shyness makes me want to pull her close, to protect her from everything that lies ahead.
“You ready for this?” I ask, my voice soft.
She nods, determination shining in her gaze. “Yes. The ring… it matters to my family, too.”
Nico approaches, handing her a ring and slipping a small earpiece into her ear. “This will let us see everything that happens in there,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And you’ll be able to hear us the whole time.”
I watch as she slips on the ring, her fingers trembling slightly, and then I pull out a plain black mask, handing it to her. “Everyone’s wearing one at the auction,” I tell her. “Most of the families have theirs customized with their family symbol customized, but yours will be plain.”
She nods, slipping the mask over her eyes, and I can feel my pulse quicken as I watch her. This is it. We’re at the edge, and there’s no turning back.
In the car, Nico and I keep a careful distance, dropping her a few blocks away from the Ice Box Club. She’s nervous; I can tell by the way she hesitates before stepping out, but she gives us one last look, a faint smile that’s more for herself than for us.
“You’ll be fine,” Nico says over the comms as she slips inside, his voice steady. I can only watch, tension coiling in my gut, as she disappears into the shadows of the club.
Inside, she navigates the crowded room with a steady grace, taking her seat as instructed. Through the comms, Nico and I listen in, catching snatches of conversation, whispers of rival families eager for a chance to humiliate the Lucianas.
The Gufos are there, wearing their owl masks, and a Vitale stands nearby in a ghostly white mask.
The auction begins, the room buzzing with energy as the coordinator announces no Luciana is present.
Then, the bidding starts, and I feel my pulse quicken as I hear the voice of the masked Vitale make the opening bid. I’d recognize that voice anywhere… That’s Dante, the leader of The Vitale family. He opens with a bid of a million dollars.
“Of course he’d come himself,” I mutter to Nico. “The chance to take the ring is too good to pass up.”
Isabella’s voice crackles through the comms, calm but with an edge of nerves. She bids two million, and the room falls silent.
I can almost see the shock ripple through the crowd, feel the tension building as Dante raises his bid again.
“Outbid him,” I tell her, my voice low. “Don’t worry about the amount. Just win.”
The back-and-forth continues, the stakes climbing higher with each bid, and through it all, I can feel the weight of every eye in that room trained on her.