God Bless Charles Gregory

Ricardo’s POV

The wail of sirens jolts me awake. My eyes snap open, and I sit up, the events of last night are still hazy in my mind.  

“Felicity,” I mutter, glancing at the other side of the bed. Empty.  

Fuck.  

I rake a hand through my hair, with the gravity of the situation settling in as the sirens grow louder outside. My jaw tightens, and my fists clench as I swing my legs out of bed.  

“That fucking bitch!!!”

With anger, I throw the bedside lamp across the room and it shatters against the wall. My fists slam against the dresser, and the wood splinters under the force.  

The door to the bedroom opens up, and one of my men—Luca—rushes in, his face is pale and panicked.  

“Capo,” he says. “The police are here. They’ve surrounded the building. We need to evacuate you now.”  

I freeze for a moment, then I start thinking. Running? Like a pussy? No. That’s not who I am.  

“No,” I say. “I’m not running.”  

“But Capo—”  

I cut him off with a glare. “What do they want?”  

“They want to arrest you,” Luca says.

“Fucking hell!!!! That fucking bitch!!!” My fists tighten, with my teeth grinding together. But even as anger clouds my judgment, I know there’s no time to lose.  

I take a deep breath. “Listen to me,” I say firmly. “If things go south, make sure Antonella and the kids are safe. And my mama—get her out of here. Send them somewhere they can’t be touched. Do you hear me?”  

Luca nods. “I’ll take care of it, Capo. You have my word.”  

“Good,” I mutter, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on.  

I walk over to the mirror, staring at my reflection. I adjust the collar of my shirt. There’s no fear in my eyes. Taking a final look, I turn and head for the door. Downstairs, the officers are waiting.  

I walk down the lobby with my head high, and my demeanor filled with indifference. I’m not the kind of man who shows weakness, even when the wolves are at my door. 

I know who’s waiting for me—Charles Gregory, the so-called “golden cop” who’s made it his personal mission to dismantle my empire.  

The officers part as I approach, with their hands resting on their holsters and eyes circling around me. And there he is—Charles, standing tall and composed, with that insufferable aura of righteousness he always carries. 

“Mr. Ricardo Borrelli,” Charles says with a fake smile on his face. “Nice seeing you again.”

He extends a hand, like this is some casual business meeting. I glance at it, then back at him. I don’t move.

“You bring a bunch of your men into my establishment,” I say with disdain, “and for what? To harass me?”  

Charles lowers his hand, his smile fades, and his expression turns serious. “Don’t bullshit me. I finally cracked the case. Thirty-five of those missing girls, including the senator’s daughter, are in your fucking custody.”  

I arc a brow, and I don’t flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.“I’m an—”  

“Entrepreneur, right?” Charles interrupts with a smirk. “You own several hotels and resorts in the city. Yeah, that’s the story you sell to the government, to the masses. But we both know this, is all just a front.”  

My anger is visible, but I supress it. I’ve learned to control the fire, to keep my composure. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” I say with a lowered voice. “If you want to die, then go ahead—lay your filthy fingers on me.”  

Charles scoffs. “Ooooh, I’m scared.”  

I clench my fists. My city. My rules. This fool thinks he can come here and challenge me? The arrogance of this man, standing there like he has any real power.

“You’re standing in my city. You think you can just walk in here and throw around accusations? I know the law, cop. You can’t arrest me without proper representation. And you have no proof. Whatever story you think you’ve pieced together, it’s just that—a story.”  

Charles doesn’t blink. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. “A warrant,” he says, holding it up. “For your arrest. So all those laws you’re throwing at me, all those rights you think you have?” He steps closer. “They’re nullified.”  

My nostrils twitch. For the first time, I feel the burn of true anger. But I keep my face calm, and I don’t interrupt.  

“Did you even stop to think about the rights of those thirty-five girls? Did they get to say yes or no to being kidnapped, to being sold like cattle? But here you are, talking about your rights.”  

I smile. It’s not warm or genuine—it’s the kind of smile that promises destruction. “You really think you’ve won, don’t you?”

Charles steps forward, with handcuffs in one hand. “Hands out, Mr. Borrelli.”  

I glance around the lobby, at the thousands of officers and the cameras that are undoubtedly rolling. There’s no way out. Not now. Not yet.

So, I hold out my wrists.

As Charles steps closer, I lean in, whispering into his ears. “You have no idea who the fuck you’re messing with, golden cop.”  

Charles tightens the cuffs around my wrist with an impassive look on his face. “We’ll see.”  

Lana’s POV

Night time, and I sit cross-legged on the worn couch, toying with the little device that caught Ricardo spilling secrets, watching as the news unfolds.  

“This morning, as early as 7 a.m., local police, led by none other than Charles Gregory—famously known as the golden cop—arrested Ricardo Borrelli, the owner of several prominent hotels and resorts. Borrelli is accused of harboring 35 missing girls, including the senator's daughter, whose disappearance has gripped the nation."  

I watch with a solemn look on my face. Hearing it laid out like this feels surreal.  

The newscaster pauses briefly. "Details of the case remain scarce, but we managed to secure an exclusive interview with Charles Gregory himself. Let's take a look."  

The screen shifts to Charles, standing calmly in front of a camera with a straight posture.

"Detective Gregory, you’re being hailed as a hero for this arrest," the interviewer starts. "How do you always manage to crack the toughest cases? And what makes you think a man as noble as Ricardo Borrelli could be capable of such absurd crimes?"  

Charles doesn't even flinch at the question. He speaks with calm and coolness, as always. “The job isn’t about what I think. It’s about following the evidence, and in this case, the evidence led us to Mr. Borrelli. I can’t speak of the details—it’s an active investigation—but I will say this: the truth has a way of coming out, no matter how deeply it’s buried.”  

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to.  

The screen flicks back to the newscaster, and her smile is wider. “A man of few words, but what a wonderful, handsome fellow. God bless Charles Gregory.”  

I snort softly at the praise, but I stop when I catch headlights flashing at me through the living room window. I sit up straight, squinting through the lights.  

Someone’s parking in my driveway.  

I quickly turn off the TV and instinctively, I grab the gun Charles insisted I keep, with my fingers tightening around it. I move carefully to the window, peering out from behind the curtain.  

It’s Charles. Phew!

I sigh a sigh of relief, lowering the gun as I lean against the wall, waiting for Charles to make his way inside.  

Charles doesn’t bother knocking. Instead, he uses the spare key he gave me months ago and steps inside like he owns the place. The moment I see him, I run straight into his arms.  

He hugs me back, and for a moment, everything feels okay.  When we finally pull apart, he gently closes the door behind him, locking it. His eyes scan the room before settling on me, and a proud smile appeared on his lips.

“Look at you,” he says, shaking his head as he leads me to the couch. We sit down, and he takes my hand in his. “My secret weapon. I don’t know what I’d do without you, kid.”  

Before I can respond, he leans forward and kisses my forehead, the gesture almost brings tears to my eyes.  

I lower my voice. “This guy, Ricardo... He seems dangerous. More powerful than the others I’ve helped you con. Are you sure I’m safe here?”  

Charles tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’re more than safe here,” he says firmly.

But, for some reason, I still don’t believe. “I don’t know...” I murmur.

He watches me carefully, then sighs. “If you’re really not comfortable staying here, you could move in with me.”  

I blink, staring at him in disbelief. “Oh my God, really?”  

“Yeah. But...” He pauses, holding up a finger. “You’ll have to give me three days. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up first. After that, mi casa es su casa.”  

I laugh softly. Finally, I get to know what living with Charles feels like, again.