27. Adriano
Chapter twenty-seven
Adriano
Day One of the Deadline—Late Night
Ruby Mountains, Eastern Nevada
Darkness has already taken over the sky, a daunting reminder that my deadline to save Elena is drawing to a close. This was supposed to be the ending to my grand vendetta—the final blood debt paid in full—but now it has turned into a sick, tangled trap.
I was supposed to tear down the Rossi Empire and walk away, yet my enemy’s daughter has systematically dismantled every defense I have. She was supposed to be nothing but a clean piece of leverage, but the raw reality is that she’s become the only thing keeping me anchored to my own goddamn sanity.
The thought of those bastards putting their hands on her, threatening her life, makes the blood in my veins boil.
I fucking hate that she has this hold over me, that a Rossi has crawled beneath my skin and rewritten who I am, but the brutal reality is stark: if anything happens to her, I will burn the rest of the world to the ground.
I shake the thoughts from my head, refocusing on the mountain slope ahead. The ridge is several feet above normal ground level, so I hike the last leg. The air is thin and it’s difficult to breathe.
When I get to the top, I see the cabin. It’s a small structure, nearly invisible against the mountainside. Smart hideout.
As I watch the house, smoke curls from a pipe on the roof. I know someone’s home, so I position my gun and kick the door down. The smell of beans, smoke, and something sour hits my nostrils when I enter.
To my fucking surprise, Caughn doesn’t scamper up; instead, he takes a bite of the canned beans in his bowl, then slowly sets his spoon down and looks at me with a calm expression that makes me want to smash his head. He looks younger than the picture portrayed him to be. Perhaps early thirties.
“Bellandini,” he gives a smile that touches his mouth, but doesn’t reach his eyes. “Took you long enough. Father told me you were in hiding, but I knew you’d come.”
The fire in the large stove behind him crackles as his words echo in my mind. Father?
“Father?” I keep my gun aimed at him, briefly scanning the room. There’s nothing but maps, gear, and radio equipment. But when I bring my eyes back to him, he moves fast, catching me off guard.
In a split second, a long, burning piece of wood from the stove flies in my direction. I quickly duck just in time for the wood to graze the top of my head, clattering against the wall behind me.
“Yes, Father,” he smiles derisively. “You could call me the mayor’s… hidden son. And the man who handles the things his clean hands cannot. Things… like you.”
His voice is feral, but I don't miss the slight shift in it when he calls himself the mayor’s son. Hesitation?
Another piece of wood spirals toward me and I dodge, immediately sending a bullet of my own. The shot resounds through the confined space as the bastard tries to jump for cover behind a small, rickety table, but the bullet still pierces his shoulder.
“So the mayor has a bastard.”
He roars at the statement, throwing another piece of wood. I easily dodge it again, but I don’t lower my gun.
“I never liked you. Fuck. You’ve caused so much trouble,” he groans from behind the table, which is now turned on its side. “I wonder why Father didn’t kill you when he found out you survived.”
I cock my gun, slowly moving through the dining area, my boot crunching on the dirt floor and loose ash. “Keep talking. Why did the mayor need the mafia to hide his illegitimate son?” I hiss. He releases a long dry cackle that burns the anger in my chest.
“Because he was strategic. More strategic than you would think.”
“I don’t like riddles, Caughn.” An impatient growl rips from my throat as I stop a few feet from the table.
“You see, Father knew you’d seek revenge and eventually find every single person involved in your family’s massacre, so he left you.” His voice is strained but laced with contempt. “He knew you were a bloodhound with a grudge, so he left you to do what he’d have done anyway.”
The words gut me, my fingers almost clenching around the trigger. They knew I’d seek revenge… which means they’d been watching me. Every move… every fucking action.
“What the fuck would he have done anyway?”
“Everything you’ve done.” He chuckles darkly.
My thumb clicks against the trigger, and I fire another shot above his head into the wall beside him. He sneers, his voice growing thick.
“Five years ago, the mayor wanted to run for a second term, but his opponents… they weren’t playing nice. They’d dug deep… found out about me—his illegitimate son and killing machine. They were going to take me, make me confess to his bad deeds, and ruin his chance at a second term.”
He takes a ragged breath. “He couldn’t trust the police.
Half of them were probably on his opponents’ payroll.
He needed a black hole. A place where privileged investigators wouldn’t dare to look.
Commissioner Paulsen suggested the mafia association.
Three small, powerful, paranoid families who could make a person vanish better than any federal program.
Who would ever think the moralizing mayor would stoop to consort with criminals? ”
“And my father said no.”
“Your father was smart… too smart for his own good. He started asking questions, and that shit pissed my father off. So, Father and Paulsen... they manufactured evidence. Told Valente your dad was about to flip and bring down the whole association.”
He continues with a smirk, “Valente, the greedy fool, took it to Dean Rossi. Your family was simply collateral damage. And now, you’ve… you've gone on a revenge mission, taking down almost everyone involved in the deal.”
Rage, cold and pure, fills my veins, but I manage to cage it.
“And the frame-up? The prosecutor?” I ask, though already piecing it together. Having killed all the people involved in the deal, I’m one of the last links to the secret he wants to eradicate.
“That bastard’s been getting really close to Paulsen’s death case.
He needed to go. Plus, the mayor is running for governor now.
A high-profile conviction of a notorious mafia don would boost his chances and win over the masses.
” He grunts from the pain of his wound. “He’s tying up all his loose ends.
The ex-commissioner is dead. Valente is dead.
And you... you’re the final, spectacular piece of theater. ”
My breath hitches. “And Enzo?”
“He plans to use Enzo as a political spectacle. You already did most of the work for us. Weakened them, and now Father will swoop in, expose the crime family and secure even more political leverage.”
I hiss, my blood boiling. Four years of planning. Four years of calculated movement. Four years of grief, rage…all to land in a web of someone else’s deceit and ambition?
“So the mayor killed everyone, and left me living, knowing full well that I’d do his dirty deeds for him, and then be a scapegoat in a political campaign?”
“Yes, it was his plan all along. Get the mafia association to save me, and kill all involved when the time is right. He’d have let you kill Valente and the ex-police commissioner. But they started to betray him and he had to act fast.”
“Why the fuck did he wait four years to do all of this?”
“He was still benefiting from the arrangement between him, ex-commissioner Paulsen, and Valente. Killing Enzo would have scared both of them out of the arrangement. He’s only acting now because there’s a need—you as the scapegoat.
And the deal with the other parties involved no longer serves him either.
Your father was the only immediate threat…
and he was cut out as soon as my father felt threatened. ”
My jaw clenches, and I want nothing more than to blow his fucking brains out. The realization that my family… my mother had to die because of some fucking political play makes me want to unleash the beast in me.
But he could be leverage. Fuck knows what the mayor would do to Elena if he figures out his son is dead.
“Your father is a fucking coward. And you’re nothing but an unthinking bastard.” My voice is deliberately taunting. He hisses, his body tensing as anger flashes through his eyes. I smirk, knowing no one likes to be called a bastard… especially bastards.
“It’s over. For you, and for the mayor,” I growl, finally lowering my weapon.
He grins like a madman. “You can’t win this fight, Bellandini. The world already knows you as a murderer. How do you intend to change that narrative?”
“I’m going to take you to the feds, and you’re going to talk.”
He finally releases his hand on his shoulder. “I’d rather die his son than live as your witness,” he spits.
“No, you’d rather die his dirty little bastard than—”
Almost immediately, he digs out a gun from his pocket and fires at me. The bullet whooshes past my ear as I duck behind the heavy wooden counter, using it for cover. Fucker! He’d taken advantage of the fact that I wouldn’t kill him.
With a guttural curse, Caughn shoots up, firing like a maniac. I duck low, my jaw clenching as bullets rain against the wood. I quickly maneuver to a corner where I have a clear view of him. My bullet doesn’t hit the target, but it’s enough to make him take cover.
I stop and wait for a reaction until I hear the click of his empty barrel. Good.
Instantly, I roll out, advancing toward his position just as he crawls out, lifting his hands in surrender.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he grunts, tilting his head as if trying to reason with me.
“Get on your fucking knees.”
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t hesitate to fire but the shot comes out empty. Shit.
Within the split second that I look down, Caughn has already drawn a hunting knife from his boot and lunged toward me. Fuck.
The blade catches light from the fire as he aims for my heart, but I quickly swerve and land a punch directly to his wounded shoulder. A scream tears from his throat and he starts toward me even more viciously.
“Die, you bastard!” he snarls, smoothly sidestepping the empty gun I hurl at him. The knife cuts through the air with force just as I evade the attack to my ribs. Before he can make another move, I catch his wrist and twist until the blade clatters to the ground and his bone snaps.
He screams obnoxiously, and I move to pin his entire arm when my boot slips on the slick puddle of his blood on the floor. What the fuck!
Caughn immediately snatches the knife with his good hand and resumes his frenzied strikes. I roll once, evading his strike. Twice. But by the third time, I’m backed against the wall and the next thing I feel is a sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach.
“Fuck!” My hand instantly flies to the spot, clenching around the knife as he releases an unhinged laugh.
“I want to kill you, I swear,” he growls. “But you’re still useful to my father.”
I try to move, but he pins me, twisting the blade inside me before yanking it out. Blood seeps through my fingers and spills from my lips, intense pain seizing my stomach.
“S-Shit!” I choke out, and it only makes him smile.
“Let’s hope you make it before my father’s men arrive.”
With that, he backs away from me, scampering around as if in search of something. My vision turns hazy, and by the time he reappears before me, he’s dragging me into a small, steel room, which he locks on his way out.
Blood keeps pumping from the stab wound in my stomach, and I feel my core growing cold… failing. My limbs grow heavy, just like my eyes… until everything goes black.