2. Gianni
Chapter 2
Gianni
I sit behind my desk, fingers tracing the edges of the stack of papers in front of me. The smallest of disturbances makes my way - footsteps - and my eyes snap to the door. My men file in, faces grim, shoulders tense.
I already know something is wrong.
"Boss," Marco steps forward, his usual swagger replaced by a hesitant shuffle. "We've got a problem."
I raise an eyebrow. "Speak."
He swallows hard. "The guns we just delivered to Esposito. They're fakes."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. My mind races, possibilities unfolding like a twisted chessboard. "How many?"
"All of them. The entire shipment."
Fuck. That shipment is worth millions. I keep my face impassive, but inside, I'm seething. Someone's trying to play me. Big mistake.
"Details," I demand, my voice low and controlled. "Every last one."
As Marco speaks, I'm already plotting. This isn't just about the guns. It's a challenge. To my authority. My family. Everything I've built.
Someone thinks they can steal right from under our noses. Or could it be that the counterfeits were sent by error?
I listen, cataloging each word, each nervous glance between my men. They're scared. Good. Fear keeps them loyal. But it's not enough. Not for this.
"And the supplier?" I ask, cutting through Marco's rambling.
He shakes his head. "Vanished. Like smoke."
I clench my jaw, feeling the familiar burn of anger ignite in my chest. Someone's daring to undermine me. Big mistake. Huge.
"Get me everything on the supplier," I growl, my voice barely above a whisper. "Every contact he might have, every whisper, every goddamn sneeze related to this shipment. Now."
Some of the men scramble, fear etched on their faces. Marco stays behind.
I need more. A thread to pull, a loose end to unravel this whole mess. "The trucks," I snap. "Who drove them? When? Where'd they stop?"
As Marco answers, I'm already three steps ahead. This isn't some random hiccup. It's calculated. Personal.
"Genoveva," I bark, not bothering to look up. "Get her. Now."
Marco freezes. He knows. When I call for her, shit's about to get real.
Moments later, she glides in like a rose—dressed in a beautiful burgundy skirt and blazer, small golden hoops in her ears, and a Cartier bracelet on her wrist. Her hair is loose, in soft waves down her shoulder, and her face is pristine. She looks soft, yet is anything but.
The air shifts like a storm front rolling in. Genoveva. Just having her by my side makes the problem more manageable.
Her eyes meet mine, and we have a silent conversation. She takes in the room, the tension, the fear. With a slight nod, she understands.
"Gentlemen," she purrs, her voice soft as silk, sharp as a blade. "It seems we have a situation."
I watch Genoveva intently as she listens, her hazel eyes narrowing to slits. She's processing and dissecting every word. I can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. Eyes that have seen more than most could handle. That is why she is my consigliere - even though we’ve never put a title to it.
"I inspected that shipment myself," she says, her voice low but firm. A hint of a stutter catches in her throat, so slight only I would notice. She's rattled but hiding it well. "Those guns were genuine. I'd stake my life on it."
My fists clench involuntarily. If Genoveva says they were real, they were real. Which means...
"Someone from inside swapped them," she continues, echoing my thoughts. "Or stole them in transit."
Her gaze sweeps the room between Marco and me, commanding attention without raising her voice. "We need to inspect the truck fleet—every vehicle, every inch. Look for tracking devices and signs of tampering."
I nod, a surge of pride mixing with the anger in my gut. This is why I need her. While I'm seeing red, she's seeing solutions.
"Smart," I growl. "But who? Who'd have the balls to pull this off?"
Genoveva's eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—concern; fear passing through them. "Someone with inside knowledge," she says softly. "Someone close or an outsider with eyes on us. They could be getting information from anywhere."
The implications hang heavy in the air. The possibility of a traitor in our midst makes my blood boil, and the possibility of an enemy knowing our every move is even worse.
I nod, my jaw clenched tight. We won’t get any closer to fixing this until we inspect the trucks ourselves, as Genoveva suggested.
"Let's go," I mutter, already moving towards the door. Genoveva falls into step beside me, our rhythms perfectly in sync, Marco behind us, barking orders to get the convoy ready.
As we exit the house, the silence stretches, taut as a wire. But it's not uncomfortable. With Genoveva, words are often unnecessary. I can feel her mind working, plotting our next move.
"Whoever did this," I growl under my breath, "they'll pay dearly."
Genoveva's hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch. "We'll find them, Gianni," she whispers, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. “We always come ahead.”
I nod, drawing strength from her unwavering confidence. As we walk, our steps echo in perfect unison.
I slide into the back seat of my sleek black bulletproof Mercedes, Genoveva gracefully following suit—the leather creaks beneath us as we settle in. Through the tinted windows, I watch my men file into their vehicles, a fleet of dark SUVs forming a protective cocoon around us.
"Move out," I command into the inter-vehicle comms, my voice low and husky.
The convoy lurches forward, weaving through the city streets. Buildings blur past, a kaleidoscope of steel and glass. My eyes dart from mirror to mirror, ever vigilant. Old habits die hard.
"My love," I start, my voice softer than usual. She turns, her hazel eyes questioning. "I... I need you to know something."
She waits, patient as always. I swallow hard, forcing the words out.
"Without you, I'd be nothing. This empire, this life... it's built on your brilliance as much as my strength."
Genoveva's eyes widen slightly, a rare crack in her composed facade. I press on, compelled by a sudden, overwhelming need to make her understand. Words will never be enough to express how much she’s meant to me all these years. Running a mafia faction has been the most terrible burden to bear, but she’s the one who has made the path smoother.
When my Sotto Capo was assassinated, she filled his role until we found a replacement. When a spy was in our midst, her intuition guided us in seeping him out. When our shipments ran into losses, she strategized to fix our bottleneck problems.
She is our strongest link, our guiding light.
Not just me, but every member of this unit owes her eternal gratitude.
"You're not just my partner and my foundation; My anchor."
My hand finds hers in the darkness, our fingers intertwining. For a moment, I'm not Gianni Montagna, the feared Raven. I'm just a man, baring his soul to the one person who truly sees him.