Chapter 49
Tiziano Constanzo
From the bedroom balcony, I watched Bianca get into the car.
Her shoulders were tense, and her silhouette looked small and fragile from a distance.
Alessandro was beside her, the bastard. He opened the door for her as if he were some kind of goddamn savior.
My blood boiled. My entire body tensed, my fists clenched while the muscles in my jaw ached from how tightly I was grinding my teeth.
She didn’t look back. Not even once.
I watched the car disappear through the gate, and something inside me snapped, as if the thread holding my sanity together had been severed. I spun on my heels and crossed the bedroom with heavy steps. The room still smelled like her, and that only made me angrier.
I grabbed the first thing I saw, a chair, and hurled it at the mirror, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. It was as if destroying everything around me was the only way to calm the storm raging inside me.
I opened her closet and yanked out her clothes, throwing them onto the floor. Shoes, dresses, jewelry, everything that belonged to her fell into a disorganized pile at my feet. My gaze swept over every inch of the space until I found a small box hidden behind a row of clothes.
I crouched down and pulled the box out. Inside was exactly what I had feared finding.
The goddamn Bellini ledger. The words written there, the records of payments made by Vittorio’s right-hand man, confirmed everything Giulia had told me.
My wife, my Bianca, carried the blood of the people who had destroyed my family.
“Son of a bitch...” I muttered, rage overflowing inside me again.
I slammed the book shut and hurled it against the wall. I gathered the clothes scattered across the floor, bundled up the shoes and jewelry, and carried everything downstairs in my arms. The soldiers watched me in silence as I threw it all into the middle of the garden. No one dared ask a question.
“Bring me gasoline. Now!” I growled, and two of them rushed to obey.
When the container was brought to me, I poured the liquid over the pile of her belongings, the harsh smell of fuel filling the air. I pulled a lighter from my pocket and, without hesitation, tossed the flame onto the pile.
The fire rose quickly, consuming everything. The heat was intense, but I didn’t look away. It was as though watching it all burn eased some of the pain eating away at my chest.
“That’s what happens to people who betray me,” I murmured, more to myself than to those watching in silence.
But even as I watched the flames dance and consume what remained of her in that place, I knew it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be. There was no relief, only an unbearable emptiness. Bianca was gone, but her hell was still burning inside me.
Smoke still hung in the air as I went upstairs, got into the car, and ordered the driver to take me to the warehouse.
The sound of tires screeching against the asphalt reflected my state of mind: rage, pure hatred.
My hands were clenched into fists, my knuckles still stained with soot from what remained of Bianca’s things.
When we arrived, I got out of the car without waiting for anyone to open the door. My injured leg protested with every step, but the physical pain was insignificant compared to the volcano of emotions raging inside me.
“Where is Ant?nio?” I growled as soon as I entered the warehouse.
The soldiers exchanged hesitant glances. Enzo came to meet me.
“He’s over there, Don.”
“Why the fuck isn’t he tied up?” I shouted.
“We didn’t think it was necessary to restrain him. We didn’t know there was a problem.”
“Well, now you do. Tie him up. Now!”
Enzo frowned but didn’t argue. With a nod, the soldiers moved quickly, securing Ant?nio to the metal chair in the center of the warehouse. He looked around in confusion but said nothing until I approached.
“Tiziano, what’s going on?” my father-in-law asked nervously.
“You know exactly what’s going on, Ant?nio,” I replied. “And if you don’t, I’ll refresh your memory.”
I walked toward him, pulled up a chair, and sat directly in front of him, staring him down.
“Bianca. Let’s start there. Who is she?”
Ant?nio swallowed hard, looking away for a moment.
“She’s my daughter, Tiziano. You know that.”
I gave a cold, humorless laugh.
“Don’t lie to me, Ant?nio. Not now. Not after everything I’ve discovered. I’ll ask you again: who is Bianca?”
He hesitated, his gaze darting toward the soldiers around us. With a gesture, I ordered everyone out except Enzo.
“Talk. Now.”
Ant?nio took a deep breath, his face paling.
“She... she isn’t my biological daughter.”
My jaw locked, and he noticed.
“Who is her father?” I growled.
“Vittorio Bellini,” he murmured.
I already knew. Even so, hearing him confirm it made me want to rip the chair from the floor and throw it across the room.
“And how did she end up with you?” My voice was a low growl.
“Bianca... she...” Ant?nio began, choking on his own words. “She was given to me... to die. That was what Vittorio wanted. He wanted me to kill her.”
My head spun at the revelation.
“What?” I asked. “You’re telling me Vittorio Bellini ordered his own daughter to be killed?”
“I couldn’t do it... She was only a baby. I was weak... Then I started receiving money. They paid me to take care of her, but when I got here, everyone thought she was my daughter... I never corrected them. I just let it continue.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked.
“I was afraid,” he admitted. “When I took her in, your families weren’t enemies. She was just an abandoned child.”
“Afraid?” I laughed mockingly. “Afraid of what, Ant?nio? That I’d find out you were hiding my enemy’s daughter? That you let me marry her without telling me anything?”
“We thought you would choose Giulia.”
“Ah, of course. So it’s my fault for choosing to marry the wrong daughter.”
I approached him with hatred burning through me.
I needed to take my anger out on someone, and my first punch landed against his jaw hard enough to make him spit blood.
He groaned but didn’t lift his head. It didn’t matter.
I would make him feel every ounce of my fury.
Another punch, this time to his stomach, tore a pained grunt from him, and I felt the resistance in his muscles weaken.
My breathing was heavy. My fists found his face again, alternating blows that snapped his head from side to side. Blood sprayed, staining the floor and my clothes. He deserved every strike, every second of pain.
I grabbed an iron bar leaning against the wall and slammed it into his ribs, the dry crack of breaking bones bringing me satisfaction. Ant?nio screamed, a rough, desperate sound, but he didn’t beg. He knew that would only make my fury worse.
I stopped for a moment, only to catch my breath, my blood-covered hands trembling with exhaustion and rage.
But seeing him there, nearly unconscious, still wasn’t enough.
I raised the bar again and brought it down hard against his thigh, making him scream loudly, the sound echoing through the empty warehouse.
“Tiziano, enough!” Enzo’s voice cut through the air, but I barely heard him. All I could see was Ant?nio and everything he represented: betrayal, lies, and the pain now consuming my soul.
My hands found his throat, squeezing hard as he choked. Rage controlled me, every fiber of my being demanding that I finish what I had started. But before I could deliver the final blow, I felt Enzo grab me and drag me back by force.
“Enough!” he shouted, restraining my arms as I tried to break free. “You’re going to kill him and end up regretting it.”
Panting, I dropped the iron bar I was still holding. My gaze fell on Ant?nio, now almost unconscious, his body limp in the chair. He was alive, but only because Enzo had stopped me.
“He deserves every piece of hell I’m going to unleash on him,” I whispered, stepping away.
I turned toward Enzo.
“Keep him alive. But make him wish he were dead.”
I left the warehouse with my hands still trembling, Bianca’s face branded into my mind. Her betrayal hurt just as much as Ant?nio’s. And the question hammering through my head was: how long had she known?