CHAPTER FOUR #2
He signaled for the bartender with two fingers and leaned back on the stool, his massive frame making the wood creak in protest. The scar pulled as his lips curved into a smirk.
“The same thing you’re doing, Salvatore.” He accepted the whiskey the bartender placed in front of him without looking, raising it in a mock toast before taking a long swallow. “Chasing after my wife.”
I stilled, my glass halfway to my lips, and stared at him. “You’re not married.”
I would have known if he was. Marriages in the famiglie were always grand affairs. Always political.
The smirk widened, the scar distorting further, making his face look almost grotesque in the dim light. “She doesn’t know she’s my wife,” he said, as if this were the most reasonable statement in the world. “Yet.”
I held his gaze for a long moment, looking at the certainty in his eyes, the absolute, unshakable conviction of a man who had decided on something and would not be dissuaded by anything else.
Vincenzo had always been a little bit on the insane side. It wasn’t calculated madness that some men in our world cultivated as intimidation.
This was genuine, the kind of instability that ran deep and dark, that made him unpredictable in ways that were dangerous not just to his enemies
It was why, when the time had come to arrange Giulia’s betrothal, my father had chosen the Bianchi family over the Castellanos.
Vincenzo’s instability was too great a risk.
The Bianchis were solid, predictable, safe.
Vincenzo Castellano was a lit match in a room full of gasoline.
And now he was here, in Belgium, chasing a woman who didn’t even know she was his target.
Well, fuck. Look at us.
I took a slow sip of my drink. “Does everyone know?”
Vincenzo raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”
“That my dear wife shot me.”
He took another drink, savoring it, drawing out the moment like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.
“Word travels fast in our world, Adrian.” He set his glass down and turned to face me fully, his dark eyes gleaming.
“But your father has done his best to keep it quiet. Damage control. Now, we can’t have a Salvatore wife shooting her husband and running off.
It’s bad for business, bad for reputation. ”
He tapped his temple with one thick finger. “I’m just good at gaining information. I hear a lot of whispers.” His grin was wide, almost feral. “I got little birds everywhere, and they tell me everything I need to know.”
Vincenzo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “So tell me, how does it feel? Knowing the woman you married put a bullet in your chest and disappeared?”
I didn’t answer; I didn’t need to.
The whiskey in my glass trembled slightly. Rage and betrayal lived beneath my skin—a living, breathing thing that pulsed through my veins like poison. I set the glass down carefully, controlling the tremor in my hand through sheer force of will.
Vincenzo watched me with keen interest, a predator studying wounded prey. His amusement was palpable, almost tangible in the narrow space between us.
I didn’t say anything, didn’t find the need to respond to his jab.
A moment of silence passed between us, and when he realized I wasn’t going to take the bait, he chuckled. A low, deep laugh that vibrated through his chest.
He reached for his drink and downed the rest of his whiskey in one single gulp. He placed the glass back down with a solid thud and wiped his mouth.
“Someone is following your wife,” Vincenzo said suddenly, his tone shifting from mocking to matter-of-fact.
I didn’t react like he expected me to. My expression remained neutral, and I simply nodded once, a short, sharp acknowledgment that told him I already knew.
Because I did.
I had seen the man.
Four days ago, outside the small hotel where Serafina had been staying, a cheap, forgettable place that relied on anonymity rather than luxury.
I had been watching from across the street, parked in a black sedan with tinted windows, my binoculars trained on her window on the second floor.
I had been reveling in the fact that I found my wife.
And there he was.
A man I didn’t recognize. Not one of my soldiers that Rocco had deployed across the continent to track her movements.
It was a stranger. Mid-thirties, lean build, dark jacket, hands in his pockets, and standing across the street in perfect stillness. Waiting. Watching.
He moved like a ghost, with the skilled patience of someone who had done this before.
I had watched him follow her that evening when she left the hotel. He maintained a careful distance. Fifty meters, maybe sixty—moving when she moved, stopping when she stopped, blending into the crowd with practiced ease.
He was good, not an amateur.
But he quickly caught on that I had discovered him. So he changed tactics. He stopped following Serafina and tried to disappear so I wouldn’t be able to follow his tracks.
Unfortunately, because I had been distracted by him… I once again lost my wife.
She had moved hotels before I knew it. Now, she was gone… and here I was, in a bar, with Vincenzo.
My chest tightened at the memory. My wife, the woman who had put a bullet in me, was being stalked by a man whose intentions I couldn’t yet determine.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“I know,” I finally said, my voice flat. “I’ve seen him.”
Vincenzo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The scar twisted as his expression shifted, the half-sneer deepening. “You’ve seen him?”
“I’ve been watching her for almost two weeks.” I moved the glass between my fingers. “He showed up four days ago, keeping his distance but following her every move. He’s not one of mine.”
Vincenzo’s smirk returned. “He’s been tailing her longer than that. He was in Prague before she moved to Brussels.”
“How do you know?” I asked, my voice dropping low. The question had been sitting on my tongue since he’d mentioned it, a splinter of suspicion that I couldn’t ignore.
The Castellano made up the Cosa Nostra with the rest of the families. But I didn’t know how much I could trust its heir.
Vincenzo was many things… dangerous, unstable, arrogant… but he wasn’t part of my operation. He shouldn’t have known about Serafina’s movements, let alone the man following her.
His eyes darkened with sinister satisfaction. “I know everything, Adrian. People like to think I’m just a barbarian, not intelligent enough to play the game.” His chest rumbled with an amused chuckle. “They underestimate me. Always have.”
Vincenzo shrugged, the massive movement rippling through his shoulders. “Your wife’s stalker is good, whoever he is. Professional. Not an amateur. I think your wife is in danger, Adrian.”
The realization settled over me with suffocating weight.
Serafina was in danger.
My wife who had tried to kill me, who had fled across continents to escape me, now needed protection—from someone else.
How ironic.
Someone wanted what was mine.
The thought of anyone else laying a hand on her ignited something far more violent inside me than revenge.
“I need to find her,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them.
Vincenzo’s scarred face split into a grin. “I thought you might say that.” He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a few times before sliding it across the bar toward me. “She’s staying here. Small hotel. Room 312.”
I looked at the address on the screen, then back at Vincenzo. “Why are you helping me?”
Something shifted in his dark eyes, a look I couldn’t quite understand.
“Because no one takes what’s ours. The Salvatores are at the height of their powers because the Castellanos put them there.
Our families go back generations,” he said simply.
“And she is a Salvatore bride. You claimed her. She’s yours, isn’t she? ”
Yeah, she was fucking mine.
I stood, dropping enough euros on the bar to cover both our drinks. “Tell no one about this.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.” Vincenzo raised his glass in a mock toast. “For now.”
I left the bar without looking back, stepping into the cold night.
The street glistened with recent rain, the air fresh and clean after the stale atmosphere of the bar. My mind raced as I walked, heart thudding in my chest, pulse thundering in my ears.
The stranger following Serafina could be anyone. The possibilities were endless in our world, where grudges spanned generations and blood debts were never truly repaid.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Rocco’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Change of plans,” I said as a greeting before he could utter any words. “I found her. But she’s got a tail. Male and professional. He has been tracking her since at least Prague.”
“Location?” He sounded immediately alert.
I gave him the address Vincenzo had provided. “I want to know who he is, who sent him, and what he wants with my wife.”
“I’m on it,” Rocco said. “What about you?”
I paused, looking up at the dark sky, the stars hidden behind heavy clouds. “I’m going to her.”
The words felt like surrender, an admission of something I wasn’t ready to name.
I had crossed oceans, hunting the woman who had betrayed me, armed with righteous anger and the certainty of vengeance.
The plan was to find her and make her pay for what she has done to me. I had sought her out for answers, and then I was going to bring her home, kicking and screaming… whether she liked it or not—I didn’t fucking care.
But now I found myself racing to her side for a different reason. This need inside me was driven by something far more primal than revenge.
Possession.
The need to ensure that if anyone was going to hurt her, it would be me.
Yeah, I hated her, and she would pay for what she had done to me.
But…
She belonged with me. To me.
My fucking wife