The Perfect Shebang Plan....

3

Torre's POV

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The kid wailed like the world was ending.

Like I gave a fuck about her tiny-ass problems.

But I tried. I fucking tried to make the little devil stop. Unfortunately for me, nothing worked. Nothing settled the screaming demon.

I’d called Falcone earlier and the bastard told me to check her diaper. I did. It was clean. She’d eaten, too. I even shoved that stupid teething ring in her hand, her own little prize, and what did she do?

She threw it and screamed louder with her tiny face all scrunched up like she was being skinned alive.

Fuck.

Big, fat tears streaked down her cheeks. I bounced her on this body worth a fortune in Kuwaiti dinar and held her close, closer than her mother ever got to hold me.

Her name is Alessia. She is eight months old. And she is Vittoria’s daughter, not mine. Even though everyone believed otherwise.

It was a deal between her mother and me, to keep the little girl alive. And Christ, I’m regretting not letting this little monster join her mother in that fucking car.

The doctor had recommended a few brands of baby formula, but Alessia had a dairy allergy. Vittoria complained now and then about the formulas I bought, the one that was supposed to help. But Alessia spit more of it out than she swallowed. And when Vittoria offered her more, she'd just turned her head and shoved the bottle away.

She was always there for this kid, right to the end. Me? I barely lifted a finger. Why would I? The brat wasn’t mine. But nobody bought that. Not the family, not the street. Not that it mattered.

Everyone thought I touched Vittoria. Like hell I did. She was only my wife on paper.

Maybe the little thing missed her mother. Missed her mother’s scent, the softness in her voice, or that stupid lullaby.

But what does an eight-month-old even know?

Still, I figured I should try the gentle route, even if just once.

“No more tears, little monster,” I muttered, rocking her like I gave a damn. My voice sounded like damn gravel in my own ears.

The rage simmered under my ribs like it was hot and poisonous. One more scream and I swear, I’m tossing the little demon out the fucking window.

Vittoria Scarpa.

She was a beautiful, loyal, and stupid pawn.

She was raised in the same cesspool I crawled out of—our little mafia cradle. She grew up watching betrayal handed out like party favors, and learned early that trust was a goddamn lie.

She was a fool though.

She thought marrying me would mean something. She thought we’d have a real family. What a joke.

I married her because my father ordered it. She loved me like it meant something. She loved me so much she even begged to have my kid.

She wanted a baby so bad that when I refused, she drugged herself up one night. She tried to drug me too, but I slipped out before the pills kicked in. She ended up in bed with some nobody. I never cared to find out who.

Nine months later resulted in Alessia in which we all pretended she was mine.

Vittoria thought that meant I’d finally accepted her and that I accepted the brat squirming in her arms. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

She didn’t stop there. Once she got a taste of cock that wasn’t mine, she couldn’t help herself. She was emotionally and physically cheating, but I just didn’t give a fuck enough to find out who.

But with Benedetto Rossi? Now that was a fucking surprise.

I’d met Benedetto's wife at a gala once—Montana. She was pale and sweet. The kind of woman who looks like she belongs on a postcard from a better world.

I wanted to fuck her. Plain and simple.

But I held back out of loyalty I had for my employee, Benedetto, I guess. Brotherhood and all that sacred shit.

Then I found out about Benedetto and Vittoria. About how they fucked each other behind my back. About how Alessia was actually his.

Then I gave myself permission.

I told Vittoria to set Benedetto up. I told her to get him in that exact place, in that exact car, at that exact time. That my boys would be waiting to kill them both for their betrayal. She agreed. She said yes like a fucking soldier after she apologised a thousand times for what she did.

And I kept my end of the deal. To take in the brat, Alessia and let them both die for their sins.

Cruel? Maybe. But Vittoria loved me more than she ever loved that clown who was supposed to be my loyal boy. She’d have died for me. And she did.

She never planned to run. That was my forged story. I told her to write the letter, stash the passport, prep the cash. I told her to lure him. I told her to strip, fuck him in the car, make it look like a cheap escape.

And she did. Right before she took her last breath.

Still betrayed me, though. At the beginning of it all. And betrayal needs to be buried, six feet deep.

I thought their deaths would bring peace. Instead, I’ve got a goddamn siren in my arms that won’t shut up.

And now I can’t stop thinking about Montana, Benedetto’s widow.

Her face that day at the station was so pale, hollow, and broken.

She must’ve realized what a curse she’s carrying now. Another Rossi brat growing inside her. She's all alone, in debt, and still grieving.

She’d be a better parent than me, no doubt. She was a better mother to that devil of a mother-in-law than Vittoria ever was to Alessia.

I remember that dinner when Benedetto showed up with Montana on his arm, like a trophy. They talked about kids, about getting a dream house. She looked at him like he hung the goddamn stars.

I wondered that day, could she ever look at me like that?

Now I wonder—why the hell did Benedetto marry her if he was gonna fuck around less than a year in?

Well, now she’s stuck. He bought that dream house with Scarpa's damn money by loan. Every cent, every blessing they had and got was from our pockets.

And now she inherits the debt. Perfect. She’s exactly where I want her; close and desperate.

The officers told me they let her know about the loans. I’m sure of it.

And maybe she’s the perfect one to raise “my daughter.” Well… after I’ve fucked her to my heart’s content.

After all… she owes me.

So, I grabbed my phone and dialed a number. It rang and the person on the other line connected.

I smirked. “Hello, Mi amore.”