Chapter 5

Rocco

I shrugged my shoulders, tension still coiled tight in muscles as I kicked over the final corpse.

The club smelled of gunpowder and death.

I hated it when crap like this happened. Not so much because of the mess, but because it meant loose ends. And I did not like loose ends.

The boss, a sleazy bastard named Jeggins lingered around the door to the VIP room, sweating hard in his expensive suit. He looked nervously from the body to me and back again, waiting for orders.

I lit a cigarette, taking my sweet time to puff on it, inhaling deeply before I finally spoke.

"Handle it."

Jeggins flinched. "Oh, certainly, Mr. De Luca. I—I'll assign my best people to cleanup immediately."

“I don't care how you do it," I said, exhaling smoke. "Just make it so no one recalls this ever happening. I don't want whispers. I don't want gossip. And I sure as shit don't want cops in my face."

"Understood."

"Good.".

I looked around the rest of the club. The music had stopped. The patrons who hadn't been involved had fled, leaving overturned tables, shattered glasses, and abandoned drinks. My men were already sweeping through the club, securing what was left of the scene.

Bodies were being dragged out the back.

I flicked ash from my cigarette.

This was supposed to be a discreet meeting.

Instead, someone had decided to turn it into a war zone.

And I wasn't in the fucking mood.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone.

Rafael picked up on the second ring.

"What?" His voice was taut, strained.

"We had a problem."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "How bad?"

"Bad enough I want to shoot someone in the head."

Another moment. "I'm on the way."

The line went dead.

I kept my phone and took another slow drag on my cigarette as I turned back to Jeggins.

"Have this club be open and operating like nothing ever occurred tomorrow night."

He nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."

I waited no longer for further assurances. I had business to conduct.

When Rafael and Riccardo arrived, the club was spotless.

Not of blood, though there was always blood in our line of work, but of evidence. The bodies had been erased. The destruction repaired.

At first glance, it was another night like any other.

But we knew better.

Rafael entered first, his form commanding. Even after everything he'd been through—the coma, the war with Lorenzo, the shitstorm that followed—he still moved like the undisputed monarch of our empire.

Riccardo lagged behind, his usual smirk absent. If Riccardo was not smiling, that was a sign he was in an ill temper. And if he was in an ill temper, people generally ended up in graves.

Rafael did not lose time.

"What the fuck happened?"

I released a measured breath, sitting in the leather armchair opposite his desk.

"Someone ambushed the meeting."

Rafael's jaw hardened. "Someone knew about it.".

"Obviously." I leaned back, stretching out my legs. "We were five minutes in before bullets were flying."

Riccardo crossed his arms. "Casualties?"

"None on our side," I said. "Fiorella was shot in the shoulder, but she made it through."

Rafael's eyebrow went up. "You sound impressed."

"I'm not."

That was a lie.

The woman had fought like she was born to do it. Efficient. Effective. No hesitation.

Most mafia daughters didn't get their hands dirty.

Fiorella D'Angelo had bathed in blood without even a flinch.

It ought to have annoyed me.

Instead, I found myself thinking about the way she'd moved. The way she'd worked with me like we'd been doing it for years.

Riccardo's eyes narrowed. "You think the attack was meant for her? Or for us?"

"Could be either."

Rafael's face darkened.

“We need to find out who the fuck is feeding information to the enemy,” he said, voice cold. “Because right now, we’ve got two options. Either someone in our circle is a rat, or someone in hers is.”

Neither option sat well with me.

Betrayal was personal.

And whoever was behind this had just made it very fucking personal.

I crushed out my cigarette in the ashtray, meeting my brother’s gaze.

“I’ll handle it.”

Rafael nodded once. "Do it. And when you find out who it is..."

His voice dropped to a killing whisper.

"make an example out of them."

The club was spotless by the time we left. Jeggins had done his job well—no corpses, no blood, no sign of the battlefield earlier. To anyone walking in tomorrow, it would look like any other night of excess and debauchery.

But I knew better.

Someone had messed up.

Someone had betrayed us.

And I was going to make them pay for it.

We rode the black SUV back to the De Luca estate in tight, unspoken silence. Rafael sat in the back, arms crossed, his face set in a scowl as he gazed out at the passing landscape with the kind of contained fury that meant he was already making plans.

Riccardo was beside me in the passenger seat, examining his gun with a flash of irritation.

"Really, you actually think Fiorella's camp has a rat?" he asked.

"I think someone knew we'd be where we were," I said. "And if it wasn't one of ours, then it was one of hers."

Riccardo grinned by a fraction. "Her father isn't going to be happy about that."

"I don't care about what Alessandro wants."

What concerned me was that someone had put me in the middle of an ambush. Someone had had the audacity to pull a stunt like this when I was involved.

That was not going to go unpunished.

By the time we arrived at the estate, Rafael was already on the phone, giving orders to our men.

"Lock everything down," he was saying as we came in. "No one comes in or out without us knowing. If there's a rat, I want their body on my fucking doorstep by dawn."

I unbuttoned my jacket, draping it over the couch.

"I'll go to Fiorella."

Rafael's gaze sliced to me.

"You think she knows something?"

"I think she's not a fool," I said. "And she has as much to lose on this as we do."

If someone was firing at us, they were firing at her, too.

And if she was half as smart as everyone kept saying, she'd already be looking for answers.

Riccardo leaned against the bar, pouring himself a drink.

"Cautious, brother," he said, spinning the whiskey in his glass. "You sound almost worried about her."

I ignored him.

I wasn't worried.

But I wasn't going to sit around waiting for someone else to make the next move.

I pulled up in front of the D'Angelo mansion at a little past three in the morning.

The gate guards hesitated only for an instant before swinging it open for me.

Good.

Alessandro had likely already guessed that I would be coming.

The mansion towered just as it always did, huge stone and iron, a king's fortress.

I stepped out of the car, rolling my shoulders as I approached the door.

The doors swung open before I could knock on them.

And there, arms folded, still wearing her blood-stained blouse from earlier, was Fiorella.

She was tired.

She looked also fucking furious.

"Took you long enough, De Luca," she told me coldly. "We have something to discuss."

Her eyes darted behind me.

And before I could spin—

A shot shattered the night.

And I could feel the bullet whizzing by my ear.