Chapter Thirteen
Marco
I’d miscalculated. That’s what grated most. I’d walked into Giuseppe’s dining room with a strategy -- provoke Dante, remind Caterina of what she’d rejected, plant seeds of doubt about the De Luca alliance.
Instead, I’d left with a throbbing hand and the bitter taste of humiliation coating my tongue like ash.
The reflection in the window showed a man who looked composed.
Perfectly groomed hair. Expensive suit even at this late hour.
The kind of polish that came from years of cultivating the right image.
But my eyes betrayed me -- dark with an anger I couldn’t quite mask, fixed on my blackened fingers with an intensity that suggested obsession rather than mere injury.
I’d had emergency surgery on them, but there was a chance they’d never work the same again.
I took another sip of scotch and let myself replay the evening frame by frame.
The way Caterina had looked at me when I’d arrived -- not with longing or regret, but with something closer to contempt.
I’d never before seen the dress she’d worn, which meant De Luca had bought it.
He’d covered her in fabric he’d paid for, wanting to show his ownership of her.
His hand disappearing beneath the tablecloth to touch what was mine -- should have been mine -- while I watched helplessly.
The bastard had known exactly what he was doing.
Known I could see the small catches in Caterina’s breathing, the way her pupils dilated despite her attempts to maintain composure.
He’d marked her. Probably with bruises I couldn’t see, in places I’d never get to touch. The thought made my grip tighten around the crystal glass until I worried it might shatter.
I’d pushed too hard at dinner. Made accusations about his business that were more hope than intelligence. Questioned his attention, his capability, his worthiness. Watching Caterina’s father side with the man who’d stolen his daughter’s future had been its own special torture.
Then I’d made the biggest mistake. The comment about treasures worth waiting for, about her choosing unwisely.
Dante’s control had fractured just enough that when I’d reached across the table -- not to touch Caterina, just to emphasize my point -- his hand had closed around mine with a pressure that sent lightning up my arm.
Everyone at that table had seen me wince, seen my face pale, seen Dante establish dominance with nothing more than a handshake that wasn’t. Then the bastard had broken my damn fingers.
I was supposed to be the strategic one. The chess player who thought twelve moves ahead. Instead, I’d been outmaneuvered by a man who’d married Caterina with very little time to plan and turned it into the alliance Giuseppe had always wanted.
My phone buzzed against the side table. I picked it up, grateful for the distraction from thoughts that were circular and unproductive. The message was from Ricci, one of my most reliable men. An update on the surveillance I’d ordered.
Target follows consistent schedule. Confirmed patterns attached.
I opened the attachment and felt something like satisfaction cut through the anger. Photographs loaded one by one -- a young man with dark curly hair and Caterina’s green eyes. Luca Lombardi. Age nineteen. University student. Giuseppe’s heir and Caterina’s beloved younger brother.
The photo quality was excellent. Ricci had outdone himself.
I swiped through images taken over the past week -- Luca leaving the Lombardi estate through a side entrance that security didn’t monitor as closely as they should.
Luca at his usual coffee shop near campus, and in the university library, always at the same desk on the third floor, usually alone after nine p.m.
A boy with predictable patterns, who thought he was protected by his family name and his sister’s new alliance. A boy who had no idea that protection was an illusion that could shatter with the right application of force.
I studied each photograph with the analytical detachment I’d cultivated in business negotiations.
Luca dressed casually -- expensive but not ostentatiously.
He carried himself with the unconscious confidence of someone who’d never had to fear real consequences.
In several photos, he was smiling. Young and naive and completely unaware that someone was cataloging his life for purposes that would destroy his sense of security.
Good.
The rage that had been churning uselessly in my chest began to transform into something more refined.
More useful. I’d been thinking too small at dinner.
Trying to undermine Dante’s reputation, trying to make Caterina doubt her choice.
But that was playing their game, on their terms, in their territory.
I needed to change the board entirely.
Luca appeared in every intelligence report about the Lombardi family.
Giuseppe’s pride. The son who would inherit the empire.
But more relevantly for my purposes -- Caterina’s weak point.
Everyone knew she’d protected him throughout their childhood, had fought with Giuseppe over his education and freedom.
The few times I’d observed them together, her affection had been obvious.
Genuine. The kind of love that made people reckless.
I pulled up the most recent report. Luca’s class schedule. His typical route home. Every second of his day. Security at the university was minimal -- cameras focused on entrances, but the parking lot was poorly lit. Students came and went at all hours.
Vulnerable.
I set down my scotch glass and opened my laptop, pulling up maps of the university campus.
Luca’s preferred parking area was in a corner lot that emptied out after eight p.m. The walk from the library to his car took approximately three minutes through an area with limited visibility from the main campus buildings.
Three minutes was more than enough time for things to go very wrong for a careless student.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Ricci: Orders?
I stared at the question for a long moment. This would escalate things beyond repair. Taking Giuseppe’s son wasn’t a business negotiation or a political maneuver. It was the kind of thing that ended with bodies or exile or both.
But Dante had made me look weak at that dinner. Had humiliated me in front of Giuseppe, in front of his own sister, in front of Caterina. Had taken what should have been mine and flaunted it like a trophy.
And Caterina. Beautiful, defiant Caterina who’d looked at me with contempt. Who’d chosen a man ill-suited for someone like her over a man who would have worshipped her properly. Who’d probably let Dante fuck her that very night, let him claim her in ways I’d fantasized about for months.
They both needed to learn that I wasn’t someone to dismiss. That actions had consequences. That taking what was mine came with a price.
I looked at the photographs again. So many opportunities. So many vulnerabilities Giuseppe should have protected but hadn’t because he’d been too focused on his new alliance with the De Lucas.
My fingers moved across the phone keyboard.
Proceed with acquisition. Target is the university library, next opportunity after 9pm.
Clean operation, no witnesses. Transport to the warehouse on Via Dante -- I paused, appreciated the irony of the street name.
I’d thought to leave this in someone else’s hands, but I wanted to see the look on Luca’s face when he realized he’d been kidnapped. I’ll meet you at the campus.
I sent the message and felt something like peace settle over my chest. The rage was still there but channeled now. Useful. Dante thought he’d won by marrying Caterina, by establishing his claim, by humiliating me at dinner.
He’d learn differently.
I picked up my scotch glass again and raised it toward the city below. Toward wherever Caterina was at this moment -- probably in Dante’s penthouse, probably in his bed, probably believing she was safe behind his protection.
“Let’s see how much your brother means to you, Caterina,” I said to the empty room, my voice steady and cold. “Let’s see if you’re willing to trade one cage for another to keep him alive.”
The glass caught the light from the city as I drank, amber liquid burning down my throat like a promise. By this time tomorrow, the game would change entirely. And this time, I’d be the one holding all the pieces that mattered.
* * *
The university library’s third floor cleared out predictably after nine-thirty.
I sat in my Maserati two rows back from Luca’s Range Rover, and watched students trickle out in ones and twos.
Most headed toward the main lot where security cameras actually functioned.
Luca would come out the side entrance like he always did, taking the path that saved him ninety seconds and left him exposed for three minutes. Young people and their efficiency.
My phone showed 10:47 p.m. Ricci had texted fifteen minutes ago confirming the team was in position.
Three men in the panel van at the lot’s far corner, positioned for quick extraction.
Another man posed as a smoker near the library’s side entrance, there to signal if anyone followed Luca out.
Clean, professional, the kind of operation I’d orchestrated dozens of times for business purposes.
That Luca was Giuseppe’s son rather than a business rival didn’t change the mechanics. It just raised the stakes.
The library’s side door opened and I straightened in my seat.
But it was a girl. She headed toward the main lot.
I settled back and waited, checking my watch.
Luca typically left between ten-forty-five and eleven.
Consistent. Predictable. The kind of pattern that got people killed or kidnapped depending on who was paying attention.