Chapter 13
Vittorio
The abandoned church stood like a sentinel against the night sky, its stained glass windows dark and hollow. I parked the Bentley a block away, checking my watch. Ten minutes early. Antonio would be waiting.
"You don't have to do this," Enzo said from the passenger seat.
I adjusted my cufflinks, feeling the weight of my Beretta against my ribs. "Yes, I do."
"He's still your brother."
I turned to face him. "Blood doesn't make family, Enzo. Loyalty does."
The streets were empty as we approached the church, but I knew better than to trust the silence. Two of Antonio's men stood outside the entrance, their hands resting conspicuously on their weapons. They nodded as we approached, patting us down before letting us pass.
"Boss said to take you to the safe house," one of them grunted. "Not here."
I exchanged a glance with Enzo. A change of venue meant Antonio was being cautious—or setting a trap.
"Lead the way," I said, my voice betraying nothing.
They drove us to an abandoned warehouse by the docks—neutral ground that belonged to neither of our territories. The building had once been a shipping facility, now gutted and forgotten. Perfect for a meeting with no witnesses.
Antonio waited inside, lounging in a leather chair that looked absurdly out of place in the dilapidated space. A small table with two glasses and a bottle of scotch sat beside him. He smiled when he saw me, that same smug grin he'd worn since childhood.
"Vittorio. My brother." He gestured to the empty chair. "Drink?"
I remained standing. "I didn't come here for pleasantries."
Antonio laughed, pouring himself a generous glass. "No, I suppose not. You came because of the girl." He took a sip, watching me over the rim. "And the child."
The air between us crackled with tension. I kept my face impassive, though my fingers itched to reach for my gun.
"You've gone to extraordinary lengths, Antonio. Even for you."
He shrugged, setting down his glass. "Business is business. You took something of mine. I merely wanted it back."
"She was never yours."
"Wasn't she?" His eyes glittered with malice. "Sophie was quite… devoted to me. Until she wasn't."
I clenched my jaw, willing myself to stay calm. "What do you want?"
Antonio leaned forward, all pretense of casualness gone. "What Father always wanted—a son who understood legacy." His smile turned cold. "Instead, I got a brother who'd spit on three generations of sacrifice for some red-headed whore carrying bastard blood."
My blood ran cold. "Sophie is under my protection now."
"Protection?" Antonio laughed, the sound echoing through the empty warehouse. "Is that what you call it? You've disgraced our name, our blood, everything Father died to build. That mongrel she carries will never be a true Ricci. I'm cleaning up your mess." He spat the word like it was poison.
I remained silent, letting him talk. Antonio always revealed more when he thought he had the upper hand.
"You know, I should thank you for taking her in after she stole from me," he continued. "Made it so much easier to track her. Jonah was quite useful—feeding me information, helping arrange her little… vacation with Falco."
"You set up the kidnapping." It wasn't a question.
Antonio spread his hands. "Of course I did. Falco was an idiot, but useful. I needed to see how far you'd go for her." His smile widened. "And you didn't disappoint. The great Vittorio Ricci, risking everything for a woman."
"You had her drugged." My voice was dangerously quiet.
"Had to keep her compliant somehow. Couldn't have her running off again, not when she was such perfect leverage." He took another sip of scotch. "She was leverage, nothing more."
A memory flashed—Sophie collapsing in the garden, her pale face, the doctor's concerned expression. The drugs in her system.
"Did you touch her?" The words came out as a growl.
Antonio's eyebrows rose. "Would it matter if I did?"
Something snapped inside me. Before I realized what was happening, my fist connected with his face. Antonio fell backward, his chair toppling as he crashed to the floor. Blood streamed across his lip, bright red against his teeth as he grinned up at me.
"There he is," he laughed, wiping his mouth. "The real Vittorio. I was wondering when you'd show up." He climbed to his feet, spitting blood onto the concrete. "She's made you soft, brother. Weak. The old you would have killed me by now."
I drew my gun, aiming it steadily at his heart. Antonio didn't flinch.
"Go ahead," he taunted. "Pull the trigger. Prove you're still the man everyone fears."
My finger tensed on the trigger as memories washed over me.
Livia dying in the explosion, flames consuming everything I held dear.
Sophie tied to that chair in Falco's warehouse, bruised and defiant.
Her voice trembling when she confirmed she was carrying my child.
The medical record Antonio had discovered and sent to taunt me—violating something sacred before it had even begun.
All my life, I'd protected the wrong people. Stood by my brother out of some misplaced sense of family loyalty while he destroyed everything he touched.
I lowered the gun.
Antonio's face split into a triumphant grin. "I knew it. You don't have the—"
For a split second, I saw the boy who'd taught me to throw my first punch, who'd held me when nightmares about Father's violence woke me screaming.The man before me had killed that boy the moment he threatened Sophie—the moment he chose cruelty over family.
I raised the gun again and fired twice in rapid succession. The shots echoed through the empty warehouse as Antonio's body jerked backward. Surprise flashed across his face before he collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
Silence fell, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere in the distance. I stared down at the body of the man who had once been my brother, feeling nothing but a hollow sense of finality.
I knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to his throat to confirm what I already knew. No pulse. The blood was warm against my skin as it soaked through his shirt, staining my hands crimson. Antonio Ricci was dead.
The door behind me opened, and Enzo stepped in, gun drawn. He took in the scene—Antonio's body, the blood, the gun still in my hand.
"It's done," I said quietly. "He was never my brother."
Enzo nodded, holstering his weapon. "What about his men?"
"They're loyal to money, not to him. Offer them positions or pay them off." I tucked my gun away. "Have the body disposed of. I don't want him found."
"And Sophie?"
I glanced at my watch. Almost midnight. "She'll be waiting."
Dawn was breaking as I returned to the estate, casting long shadows across the manicured grounds. I hadn't bothered to change or clean up—Antonio's blood still stained my shirt cuffs, a smear of it dried on my hands.
The house was silent as I made my way to my study. I knew she would be there, waiting. Sophie had a habit of finding her way to me, even when I tried to keep her at a distance.
She sat in one of the leather armchairs, her knees drawn up to her chest, making her look smaller than she was.
Her hand rested protectively over her stomach—a gesture I'd noticed more frequently since I'd learned of the pregnancy.
When she looked up, her eyes widened at the sight of me, but she didn't flinch.
"You're back," she said simply.
I crossed to the bar and poured myself a whiskey, downing it in one swallow before pouring another. The alcohol burned a path down my throat, doing little to wash away the night's events.
"It's over," I said, my voice rough from disuse. "Our child will never know the monster his uncle was."
Sophie watched me carefully, her expression unreadable. "You killed him."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes."
She nodded slowly, accepting this truth without judgment. In that moment, I realized how extraordinary she truly was—this woman who had survived Antonio, who had fought and clawed her way to freedom, who now carried my child and faced a world of violence without flinching.
I crossed the room and knelt beside her chair, my eyes level with hers. Slowly, deliberately, I placed my bloodstained hand over hers, where it rested on her stomach.
"I killed for you," I whispered, the confession tearing from somewhere deep inside me. "And I'd do it again."
Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her free hand came up to cup my cheek, her thumb brushing across my skin with unexpected tenderness.
"I know," she murmured. "That's what terrifies me."
She hesitated, her brows drawing together as if weighing a decision. "Vittorio… there’s something you should know. About Livia."
My body went still. "What about her?"
"She didn’t just die in that explosion," she said softly. "Antonio caused it. He… he was the one who planted the bomb. I overheard him once, laughing about how no one would miss her. That it was better this way—cleaner."
The air thickened like smoke. My pulse roared in my ears.
"I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was scared. You were already carrying so much," she continued. "But he didn’t just let her die. He orchestrated it. He watched her burn."
I stared at her, the weight of it crashing down like stone. Rage flared behind my ribs, but it was too late to take justice from a man already dead.
In the growing light of dawn, with my brother's blood still on my hands and Sophie's warmth beneath my palm, I made a silent vow to the child growing within her. A vow to build something better than what came before. To be a different kind of man than my father, than Antonio.
For the first time in my life, I had something worth protecting that wasn't built on fear or obligation. Something born of choice.
"What happens now?" Sophie asked, her voice barely audible.
I looked into her eyes, seeing my future reflected there. "Now we rebuild. The Ricci empire is mine alone." I hesitated, then added, "If you want to be part of it."
"Part of it, how?" she asked. "As your woman? Your partner? Or just the mother of your heir?"
I took her hands in mine. "As my equal. I want your voice in every decision that affects our family. I want your strength, your intelligence, not your submission."
"And when your protective instincts clash with my independence?"
"Then we fight it out like equals," I said. "I won't cage you again, Sophie. Even to keep you safe."
Her fingers tightened around mine. "And if I don't?"
"Then I'll let you go." The words cost me more than I cared to admit. "But know this—you and our child will always be under my protection, whether you're by my side or not."
Sophie was quiet for a long moment, studying my face as if searching for something. "You'd really let me walk away? After everything?"
"I don't want your fear or your gratitude, Sophie. I want your choice." I stood, pulling away from her. "Antonio never gave you that. I will."
She rose from the chair, closing the distance between us. Her hand reached for mine again, our fingers intertwining, blood and all.
"What if I choose to stay?" she whispered. "Not out of fear. Not out of gratitude. But because I want to?"
The question hung between us, heavy with possibility. Dawn light spilled through the windows, painting her in gold. In that moment, with Antonio's shadow finally lifted, I allowed myself to hope for something I'd never thought possible.
"Then we build something new," I said. "Together."
Her answer was a kiss—fierce and certain—sealing a pact neither of us had expected to make. As I pulled her closer, I knew that whatever came next, whatever empire rose from the ashes of what Antonio had destroyed, it would be forged in blood and fire.
But also in choice. In hope. In the promise of new life.
As her lips claimed mine, I felt something shift inside me—something permanent.
This wasn’t about revenge anymore. Or legacy. Or power.
It was about building a future I never thought I deserved. One where blood didn’t have to mean violence. Where a child could grow up unafraid. Where love wasn’t a weakness, but the very thing that made me strong.
I’d lost Livia to a world that devoured innocence. I wouldn’t lose Sophie.
Not to fear. Not to the past. Not to the ghosts of who I used to be.