Chapter 2

Salvatore 

I stand beside the door, watching the family collapse. 

The Licciardi family hasn't seen me yet. Especially her. 

Right in front of my right-hand man, Owen, is a woman who’s been pleading for her family to be saved. 

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” her voice was soft, low, sounds like a lullaby to my ears, except she’s pleading. 

Owen took a receipt out of his pocket and showed it to her. To the woman my eyes are burning while I stare at her. 

To. Lana. Fucking. Licciardi. 

Losing your shit momentarily wasn't on my bingo card—or so I thought. Staring at her innocent, lovely face urges me to fuck her without stopping. Her porcelain skin, which reflected well in the light, caught my attention. 

I smirked. She didn't change even a single bit. 

“Quit playing dumb. Pay us the two million dollars Ymil owes otherwise.” Owen was the one who’s trying to keep a conversation with her. 

“T-two million dollars?” 

Lana lost her balance the moment she gave attention to the amount she's gonna pay. Seeing her oppressed face made my stomach turn—it makes me physically sick. 

I clenched my jaw while watching, waiting to see if she would notice me behind her. 

She flickered once. 

No. 

Twice. 

“T-two million,” her voice faint as she spoke with no hope found in her tone. “I can't even raise a grand, let alone the two million.” 

Her eyes ballistically diverted to her father whose face was beaten up by my men. 

Tsk. My instructions are clear, too bad they went overboard with what I stated. 

“Tell me what you did to that certain huge amount of money, Dad.” Lana asserted, with a different tone. Her voice was shaking, her fist turned into an iron-clad fist whilst her ballistic eyes fell to her father. 

Ymil couldn't look at his daughter’s eyes, proving to her he's guilty. “I… I—” he couldn't speak for himself. 

“He gambled it,” Paul—my other trusted man aside from Owen cut him off, “you think we didn't know?” 

“Tell me the truth, Dad.” Her voice was seeking clarity. The more Lana confronted his bastard father, the more anger fueled my body. 

His head went down—utterly speechless. His muteness alone speaks for the truth she's been dying to hear. 

“How could you borrow 2 million, Ymil? That's too much!” Christine Licciardi—the sick fake mother—or so I thought, of Lana reacted. She was astounded, completely fit to be an actor. 

I saw her shoulders drop. Lana couldn't take any more shit from her family, and seeing her being taken care of and threatened by my men is exactly how I wanted it to be done. 

But why is my jaw clenching, my hands turning to an iron fist, and my stares beginning to blaze in fury whilst ogling my men? 

“You gambled it?” 

Ymil groaned, he couldn't pull his shit together as he spoke. “Y-yes. I was thinking I can double it if I bet everything.” 

When I finally entered their house, Owen kicked Ymil on the ground causing his eyes to lock with mine. 

A cue in disguise. 

“Don Salvatore,” all my men greeted me, bowing their heads like I was some royal who just entered a palace. 

“Why is it taking so long?” My voice was stern, authoritative, and full of dominance. 

Ymil immediately crawled in front, his knees along with his head and arms bowing like I'm some sort of God he must pay respect to. 

“I d-didn’t know you'd be here, Don Salvatore,” he muttered like a fucking clown in a circus. 

I scoffed. “Should I put a bullet straight in your head? My men didn't come out in ten minutes. I suppose you have no money to pay.” 

Ymil didn't know what to do. His head remained on the ground until he stood up. He grabbed his daughter's arms and forced her to stand up. 

Her face was on the floor, yet it wasn't a hindrance to being able to see her face clearly. 

“This is my daughter, Lana. She's pretty, hardworking, and smart. She can be your prize, Don Salvatore!” Ymil asserted with desperation in his voice. “2 million in exchange for my daughter.” 

My jaw clenched. Ymil was gripping Lana's hands so tightly that I noticed her pale skin turning red. 

Lana's face turned pale. A trace of betrayal, I supposed. “Dad, I—”

I grabbed the man's collar, and something inside me shifted. It drives me crazy seeing him force Lana. Not anyone, but her. 

“Fucking bastard,” I remarked. My gaze remained frozen, staring him down with my rigid eyes.

“Now you have the guts to sell your daughter. Tell me, are you a fucking nut or simply a bastard?” 

Pushing Ymil on the floor satisfied me, especially when I heard his head bump on the concrete tiles. 

Her nature came out of convenience. Fake tears began to fall down his face whilst Lana was forced to assist him. 

“Worry not, Don. My daughter, Lana, is willing to serve you,” Ymil asserted, convincing his daughter using his fake remorse and sorrow. 

Does he really think I'm stupid? Piss off. 

Her mouth went in awe. “Are you seriously offering me to him, Dad?” She already sensed the meaning behind his claim. Good. Her voice shows desperation, a classic reaction when betrayal comes along with a pale face. 

A button was pressed inside me. This is how I planned it. To push her emotionally, manipulate his daughter, and submit to me. But why is my body reacting violently while tears stream down her face? 

“How do we find two million? I'm sorry my daughter, but if you don't do this for us…” 

Ymil Licciardi grabbed her daughter’s hand for assurance. Entrusting his huge debt to his only daughter. 

So generational wealth is no longer a meta now, huh? Debt it is. 

“So how many bullets am I gonna put in your head, Ymil?” I raised a question whilst sitting on their couch. The family of three is kneeling in front of me. A concrete answer can't be given; sparing their lives is pointless. “Christine comes first, or you volunteer?” 

Although her head is facing the floor, it didn't become a hindrance to see her face exactly. 

Her soft lips, plump cheeks, pale skin… are all I'm longing for. 

I tried reading her face, and I found nothing but fear. Anxiety. Remorse. And what makes my pierced heart bleed is to see the hate in her eyes. What was it, a sense of hate for his father? Or disdain for me? 

The latter part must be the reason behind the disgust. 

Seeing her in tears made my heart throb. 

Holy fuck. Do not fucking bend, Salvatore.