Marcello
Mallard was right. I didn't like the way Raffael looked at my sister—I didn't give a shit how he looked at Roberto—in the surveillance footage.
Which is why I'm wasting my morning at Stephano's place.
Of all the names rattling through my head, Stephano's is the one that won't settle.
I've gone through every angle, every motive, and still, I come up short.
I can think of a million reasons why someone might want Roberto dead.
Hell, I could hand you ten myself. But Sophia?
My sister? Her disappearance doesn't fit.
And the carnage at their house? That wasn't strategy. That was personal.
You don't torture servants and guards unless you're trying to send a message—or cover something up.
I'm shown into Stephano's sunroom, all glass and overgrown vines, as if he's cultivating chaos with a sense of style.
He's already sitting at a stone table, espresso in hand, sunglasses hiding whatever expression he's wearing this morning.
The moment I enter, he takes them off. "I've heard about your sister. Is there anything I can do to help?"
I'm not surprised he knows. His family runs fraud and cybercrime for our organization. He is a little bit of a mystery. He's also a computer genius. None of that matters to me right now, though. I lean forward, elbows on the table, gaze locked on his. "Where the fuck is Raffael?"
"Raffael? You think he has something to do with your sister's disappearance?
" He frowns. He leans back from me, but not in fear.
He might spend hours at a keyboard, but the definition in his arms suggests he logs serious time at the gym too…
and by the way he isn't flinching from me, despite the lack of guards around us, I think it's prudent to assume his muscles are not only for show. He has the flex to back them up.
"Would I be wasting my time here if I didn't?" I press out.
Icy blue eyes regard me thoughtfully. For a second or two, he twirls his sunglasses between his fingers, daring me to rip them from his grip. With a sudden grunt, he flicks the glasses to the side and leans forward, pressing a number on his phone.
I glare at him while he waits for someone to pick up. After a moment, he hangs up and dials a different number. "Dre, where the fuck is Raffael?"
Whatever the guy on the other end is saying makes Stephano narrow his eyes. He hangs up and looks at me, "What makes you think Raffael is involved?"
I hold up a finger, "He was at the hospital the day Sophia visited me.
" I hold up a second finger, "to get his arm stitched up.
" I pull out the hospital report Luciano got for me.
It states that Raffael cut himself peeling a potato.
The cut wasn't deep and only needed six stitches.
There was no reason in hell for him to go to the hospital.
Fuck, I've stitched up larger cuts myself.
Not to mention, how the hell do you cut your arm with a potato peeler?
Stephano shakes his head. "He's supposed to be in Puerto La Cruz."
"He's not in Venezuela." I show Stephano a few photos with time stamps of him lurking and watching Sophia.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You think he's involved?"
"I think someone's pulling strings. And your guy looks good for it."
He rubs his jaw as the tension finally cracks through his cool exterior. "I swear to you, Marcello, I didn't know. If he's gone rogue, I'll take care of it."
I nod once. "If he hurt her—if he even touched her—he's yours for five minutes. After that, he's mine."
Stephano meets my stare head-on. "Understood."
The silence stretches between us. Birds chirp somewhere beyond the glass walls. The scent of citrus from his garden drifts in like a taunt through a half-open window.
"You think Carlos and Edoardo are involved?" Stephano asks.
"I don't see any reason why he would want his son-in-law dead. And Edoardo…" My jaw tightens. "The two of them have been tight lately, ever since Enrico killed Giovanni." I shake my head. "I don't know what to think right now. I know Fabio's name came up…"
Stephano looks startled. "Margarita's Fabio?"
"The one and only," I mutter.
A beat passes before he says. "Margarita's name keeps popping up."
I nod, "Her and the fucking Venezuelans. But I'll be damned if I know yet how they fit together."
"You talked to Toni?" He changes the subject, since neither of us knows anything, and it's futile to speculate without much evidence.
"Not yet. Soon. If we're still moving forward with the plan, he needs to be in the loop."
"We're still on," Stephano says. "Carlos rots in jail, Edoardo gets cut out, and the family resets."
"Without traitors," I say. "Without old ghosts."
He lifts his cup in a silent toast, waiting for me to raise mine.
"I'll keep you updated," he says. "If Raffael contacts anyone in my crew, I'll know. I'll also put word out that I want him."
"You better."
I rise, pain flaring through my hip, but I keep my spine straight. Weakness is a luxury I don't have—not anymore.
As I turn to leave, Stephano calls after me. "Marcello."
I pause.
"I hope she's still alive."
I nod tightly. If anybody knows what I'm going through, it's him.
His younger brother vanished a few years ago and is presumed dead.
Having your own blood go missing is bad enough, but waiting years for answers?
I'd probably go insane. No wonder he turned to computers; if there's any trace to be found of Nico, it'd be somewhere in cyberspace.
I don't respond, but I knock my fist against the doorframe in acknowledgement.
I'm not ready for commiseration about sibling loss.
I just walk out. Because I'm not sure what I hope for at this point.
If she's still alive, it could very well mean a world of hurt for her.
Also, hope is for people who can afford to lose. And I've already lost too fucking much.
"Anything?" Luciano asks when I join him in the car.
I shake my head. "Nada."
"Well, I have a gift for you," he grins.
I'm not in the mood for games. I haven't slept a lick between not having seen Violet in over twenty-four hours and discovering my sister is missing. "What?"
"The boys picked up Fabio. They have him at the harbor."
Now that is good news. Finally, an outlet for my pent-up frustration. "Let's go."
The drive to the harbor takes about forty-five minutes, which we spent mostly in silence.
Both of us are busy with text messages and emails.
I catch up on the news of my father's trial and find out that he and the jury have been sequestered.
As much as I would normally enjoy the news that he's locked up again, the timing is inconvenient.
Not only does it add a shitload of more work for me, it also takes away any help he might have been able to offer.
The grin I've come to recognize—the one Luciano only ever makes when he's getting a text from her—crosses his face.
"Her?" I ask, pretending not to care, even though I've been waiting all morning for an excuse to bring her up.
"She's worried about Sophia," he says.
A petty, childish part of me stings at that. "Would be nice if she worried about me, too," I mutter, dragging my gaze out the window so I don't have to watch him type back.
But still… It's something. A sign she hasn't buried me completely.
The truth is, I wish I had the luxury of time to pursue her the way I would like to.
Properly. Fully. Ruthlessly. Wear her down until she's begging to come back to me.
But I don't. I know I could have her picked up and brought to me today, kicking, screaming, and cursing me out with that fire in her eyes I crave like a fix. But I haven't.
Because if I brought her here, I wouldn't be able to let her go.
And I don't have the bandwidth to keep her close and keep her safe—not at the same time. Not now.
And yet, the urge is there. Always. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Hear her. Feel her. I don't know when it happened—when Violet Meade stopped being the nurse at my bedside and started becoming mine. I only know that now she is. Whether she knows it or not. Whether she likes it or not.
She broke it off. Said it was too much. That she couldn't handle the weight of who I am. But I'm not done with her. Not even close.
I can still feel her pussy wrapped around me, that tight, wet heat pulling me under like a riptide. The way her body clung to mine when she came, like she never wanted to let go. Like some part of her wanted this just as much as I did, even if her mouth couldn't admit it.
She's addictive. But it's not just the sex.
I like the way she fights me. The way she tries to control the uncontrollable. The way she stands her ground even when she's shaking. That spark in her eyes when she's pissed off? The blush in her cheeks when she's trying not to moan? I'd kill a man just to see it again.
And I will if I have to.
She doesn't get to walk away from me. Not forever.
Let her have her distance now, if it makes her feel in control. But eventually, I'll come for her. And when I do? I'll make her remember exactly what it feels like to belong to me.
We enter the harbor district, and I shove all thoughts of Violet from my mind. It's showtime. The car stops at the door to one of our buildings. Four guards are stationed outside, opening the door as soon as I exit the car.
It's cooler inside. Bright artificial lights illuminate Fabio, who is hanging by his arms from the ceiling. He's got himself all worked up, swinging in circles, and there's puke on the ground.
I snap my finger at one of the soldiers standing to the side to stop his swinging motion, then I give Fabio a minute to recover his equilibrium. I have to give the motherfucker his due; he's a tough son of a bitch.
"Marcello Orsi?" He croaks hoarsely, probably from all that puking.
"Where are your manners? Give the man some water," I order, watching one of the soldiers do my bidding.
Fabio is not too proud to drink from the bottle the man is holding to his mouth, but his one good eye is throwing daggers at me. When he's done drinking, he spits a good portion to the ground, before he addresses me, "Are you fucking suicidal? Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Refresh my memory," I turn to Luciano.
He indulges me, pulls out his phone, and acts like he's reading a file, "Fabrizio Fabio Becattini. Former enforcer for the Giordano family, current lover," Luciano pauses for dramatics and looks up as if this is news to him, "to none other than Donna Margarita Giordano."
"Fabio," I crease my brows and scratch my chin, "where have I heard that name before?"
The soldier who stopped Fabio's swinging is a wise ass and cracks, "Wasn't that some hot model for some women's porn? For the covers or some shit like that?"
"That one?" I play along, taking Fabio in from head to toe, pretending to mull it over. "I don't know, he might have had the body once, but look at that face. All those scars and only one eye."
"Cut the bullshit, Marcello, why the fuck am I here?" Fabio demands.
I step forward and return the questions."Why are you trying to have me killed? Who gave the orders?"
His single black eye glares at me. He doesn't deny the accusation.
"Margarita will have your balls for breakfast if you don't let me go, right fucking now," he boasts.
I land a hard kick against his stomach, making my hip cry out in pain, but it feels so damn good to finally release some of that fury that has been simmering inside me ever since the fucking parking garage.
A quick nod at the soldier stops Fabio's swinging. He glares at me. I punch him in the stomach while the same soldier holds him so he doesn't go spinning again.
"I know that Casimo was related to Helen, and I know that Edoardo does whatever pleases her. What I don't know is how Margarita is involved in all this." I fill the bastard in.
He laughs. Actually laughs. "You know shit, Marcello."
The fury in the pit of my stomach returns full-blown. I use Fabio as a punching bag for a few minutes until I have myself back under control; by then, he's coughing up blood.
"I don't care what you do to me, but Donna Margarita will filet you for this," Fabio threatens.
"Oh, will she now?" I raise my bloodied hands and wiggle my fingers in front of his face. "Is that all you got? Hiding behind an old woman's skirt? Donna Margarita will… fuck, what kind of man are you if you need a woman to fight your battles?"
He stops laughing and simply glares. I hold out my hand, and without having to say anything, Luciano places a knife into it. I hold it up to Fabio's one good eye. "I wonder if she'll still fancy a blind old fart."
He spits at me.
Luciano puts a hand on my shoulder, just in time to stop me from stabbing the spineless coward to death. That won't give us any information. I realize it's what he wants.