3- Devil in a Suit

“Damn, still so fucking stubborn," Vito muttered under his breath, holding Milan against him.

Her small frame felt weightless compared to the chaos surrounding them. His gaze fell to the crimson pool spreading across the floor. Giovanni's blood. It trailed to the man's crumpled body and the destruction he'd left behind.

When Giovanni had gone to fetch the girl he'd promised earlier, Vito had assumed she was some call girl, someone paid to do his bidding without complaint. But then came the shouts, the breaking glass, the sound of fury ripping through the walls.

He'd been halfway up the stairs when Giovanni's words cut through the noise.

"I swear if you don’t show yourself right this moment, I will kill you when I find you. Your fucking cunt can’t save you this time. Nothing and no one can save you when I lay my eyes on you.” He threatened darkly again.

That was the moment he lost control.

Even if the woman had been a whore, no one deserved that kind of humiliation.

Giovanni had wasted his time, his trust, and his patience, and then had the audacity to threaten a woman. The rage was instant and blinding. By the time it cleared, Giovanni Rocci was dead.

Vito spat on the body, his jaw tight.

He turned away from the wreckage as his phone began to vibrate.

Adjusting Milan's limp form to his left arm, he pulled out his iPhone 15 Pro. The name Bang flashed on the screen, drawing a faint smile from his lips.

"You found my stuff?" Vito asked the second he answered.

"Yeah, capo, but there's a slight problem." Bang's tone made his brow furrow but he remained silent, pondering on where the issue could be coming from since he had settled everything he had to. "Are you still at Rocci's? Can we meet at Angels Den?"

The mention of that place wiped the faint amusement from Vito’s face.

Angels Den is their ground for illegal dealings. Whatever this was, it had to be serious.

"Fine. See you in an hour," he finally said, ignoring the question he didn't plan to answer.

Ending the call, Vito looked down at Milan in his arms. Her lashes fluttered faintly, her expression soft and unconscious.

His slow smile returned to his lips.

Good. Now he had an alibi.

Getting to Angels Den had taken more than an hour because Vito had to burn Giovanni’s body and his goddamn mansion to the ground.

He got information a few days ago that the house was a vacation residence Rocci bought two years ago and rarely visited. It gave him the edge he needed to carry out this calculated operation.

The man didn't even have close neighbors or perhaps they had just bought their houses as vacation residences like him. Either way, no one noticed when he reduced the mansion to ashes, and he felt a grim satisfaction.

Situations like this made his work easier. He didn't have to deal with suspicious police or threats from opposition henchmen.

It was around 5 pm when he parked his Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 in front of Angels Den.

As he killed the engine, his eyes met Milan in the back seat, dozing comfortably.

He debated leaving her in the car, but since she was his alibi, he subtly picked her sleeping form up again.

"Uhmh—" Milan grumbled, wrapping her hands around his neck like she was hugging a big, comfortable pillow.

Vito didn't mind. It was better than leaving her behind, only to return and find his thousands-of-euro car doors broken and her gone. She had done it once, and he was pretty sure she'd do it again.

"Buongiorno, capo," the bodyguards stationed at the gate greeted him in Italian as he approached the building in long strides.

"Buongiorno, miei uomini," he responded, his sharp gaze falling on Bang's Audi. “Lock the gate and stay around. I will call you when I'm done," he ordered.

They nodded in sync as he proceeded into the club with Milan in his arms.

Ever since he had received Bang's call, Vito hadn't been able to shake the looming sense of danger that Rocci might not be the mastermind behind his crooked schemes, and it kept him on edge.

Bang stood up and walked toward him the moment he saw him approaching.

Mateo Luigi, fondly called Bang by him, was six-foot-two, light-skinned, bulky, and had long curly hair. He always wore glasses and carried a black suitcase strapped to his hip. Bang had been Vito's private investigator ever since he had seized control of the family business from his shrewd, traitorous uncle.

"Capo, this—"

"She's tired, don't wake her," Vito mumbled, gesturing for Bang to lead the way back to the center of the club.

He had founded Angels Den nine years ago, just a few weeks after giving up on school. Yes, he hadn't graduated from high school. He quit school a week after confirming that Milano had fled from him.

Ever since lower secondary, when she had transferred to ICS Milan International School, she had been the reason he woke up every morning, eager and excited for school.

Don't get it twisted, he wasn't infatuated with her or anything like that.

She had been goddamn pretty back then too, but at that age, he had been more interested in her rebellious attitude.

Anytime he said Sì, she said No.

He was Salvatore, and no one, no one at all, ever said No to him.

Milano Romano intrigued him, challenged him, and made him want to destroy her defiance even though that blaze was the one thing he secretly adored about her.

Vito laid Milan's head gently on his lap, adjusting her so she could sleep more comfortably, and returned his attention to Mateo, who was staring intensely, trying not to comment on the intimate scene.

"So, what's the issue?" Vito asked, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet hum of Angels Den.

Mateo let out a long, measured sigh, the kind that foretells bad news.

Vito's hand idly stroked Milan's hair while he beckoned the waiter, who was also a trusted member of the mafia, to bring a bottle of wine. The man knew the usual, so there was no need for instructions.

"I found the location of your powder, capo," Mateo began carefully, "but somehow... it's in the hands of the government."

Vito's brows furrowed, a flash of disbelief crossing his sharp features. "My stuff is in the hands of the government?" His voice carried the weight of barely contained disgust. He had paid those people!

"Not exactly," Mateo corrected. "It's in the hands of Antonio Rocci, Giovanni's older brother. He's more cunning. He's an underground dealer... and—" He hesitated, "—a poliziotto."

The word hit Vito like a bullet in the rib.

A police officer who is also an underground dealer.

He couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped from his tight lips. It was a dark, humorless sound.

He shook his head as he retorted. "Giovanni really does have... healthy connections."

The amusement vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, predatory glare.

His fingers flexed slightly against Milan's hair, a subtle gesture of control, though his mind raced.

If there was one thing he despised more than anything, it was two-faced cunts. People who smiled to your face while plotting your downfall in the shadows. And Antonio Rocci... he was exactly that.

Vito's thoughts twisted like coiled steel: this wasn't just a theft. This was a warning, a challenge, a game of chess where the wrong move could cost him everything.

He leaned back slightly, letting the shadows of the club swallow him, and letting the soft clink of the wine glasses and murmured conversations become background noise.

He needed a plan, but first, he needed information.

Mateo had never steered him wrong, but even the sharpest private investigator couldn't anticipate the mind of a corrupt poliziotto entrenched in the mafia's business.

Vito's eyes flicked to Milan again. She was still sleeping peacefully despite the danger that surrounded them.

She was his weakness and his anchor, a contradiction he both despised and cherished. And right now, that contradiction was fueling his resolve.

He would get the powder back. He would kill Antonio Rocci if he had to. And anyone who thought they could cross him and walk away unscathed… well, they hadn't yet learned the rules of his world.