Chapter 10: My Virgin Bride.

Giordano's POV - His Villa (The Next Evening)

"Pop the fucking bottles!"

I roared, slamming my fist into the marble bar as champagne spilled down the jiggling ass of a blonde grinding on my lap.

She squealed, laughing, not caring that half the bottle had poured down her bare back. Her fingers trailed across my chest, sticky with sweat and Dom Pérignon.

Around us, the world burned gold.

The Bronzed skin of models glittered under the setting Mediterranean sun. Cocaine dusted the rims of wine glasses. The prettiest whores Naples had to offer wiggled their oiled tits for whoever had the biggest bankroll or the meanest face.

The pool shimmered beneath their feet.

And tonight? Tonight was supposed to be the night I claimed my virgin prize.

Katarina Delgado.

Bought. Paid for and Mine.

The thought of her—sweet, untouched, trembling—tightened something dark and greedy in my gut.

She was supposed to be here by now. Tied up in my private suite, a red ribbon around her pale throat. A gift no one else would ever unwrap.

Just me.

Mine.

The music pounded so loudly the walls of my villa shook.

I leaned back in my custom throne, shirt half open, heavy chains around my neck. I looked like the goddamn king of Naples.

The scent of roses, weed, sweat, and sex filled the air—sweet and filthy all at once.

This wasn't a party.

It was my fucking coronation.

I swirled the dark liquor in my glass, watching ice melt into whiskey, a smile playing on my lips.

My fucking paradise.

Or it should have been...

Until Scarface showed up.

Empty-handed.Dragging his failure behind him like a corpse on a leash.

The second I saw their faces, my good mood shattered.

The music still blasted around us, but the men closest to me—my captains, my dealers, my killers—felt the shift.

You could taste it in the air. Sharp. Metallic. Like fresh blood.

I stood up slowly, setting my glass down with a quiet click.

Scarface fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, sweat dripping down his temple even though the night air was cool.

"You," I said loud and slow, slicing through the bass, "were supposed to bring me a fucking gift."

Scarface licked his cracked lips. "The girl... she—she slipped away, boss. We…"

I crossed the distance between us in two slow steps.

One slap.

One fucking slap across Scarface's mouth so loud it echoed over the speakers.

He stumbled back, blood already beading at the corner of his lip.

No one breathed.

"Excuses," I said with a grin that didn't reach my eyes, "are for men who've already lost their tongues."

I grabbed one of the worthless idiots he'd brought—a skinny runner with wide eyes—and slammed his face into the pool's edge.

The Women screamed and scattered from the water as blood splattered across the marble.

I held the kid by his hair, baring his neck.

"Next time you come back without my fucking girl," I growled in Scarface's direction, "I take an ear."

Scarface nodded furiously, his hands shaking.

He was a fucking disgrace.

I shoved the bleeding kid aside. Then I turned to Mikey the Hammer, sitting near the bar, swirling his drink.

Mikey—my other lieutenant. My favorite hammer when things needed smashing. Scarface's competition.

"You want the job done right?" I called across the pool. "Give it to a man who knows how to spill blood."

Mikey stood up, cracking his knuckles lazily and grinning like a wolf.

Scarface's face turned red with rage, but he said nothing.

Because he knew. They all knew.

Fail me once, and you're fucking done.

"You have forty-eight hours," I said, voice low enough to curdle blood. "Find Katarina Delgado. Bring her to me untouched—or don't come back."

Mikey nodded, sharp and precise.

Scarface stared at the ground clenching his fists.

He wiped the blood from his mouth, swallowing whatever pride he had left.

Then he muttered, voice shaking: "Her brother... the kid, Mateo... he offered to pay ten times the money you gave her father."

The whole pool area went dead silent. Even the coke whores stopped laughing.

For one long second, nobody spoke.

I stared at him, dead still, every muscle frozen.

Then I laughed.

It was low and ugly. A bone-deep, lunatic laugh that crawled out of my chest and shook the stars overhead.

"Ten times?" I laughed again, slow and unhinged. "That little bastard thinks he can buy her back?"

I stepped close to Scarface, my breath hot against his face.

"You tell that little shit something for me," I said, voice low and deadly. "There's not enough fucking money in this world to save her now."

I turned away, facing the pool and all the terrified men and women standing there, frozen in horror.

My voice boomed through the night:

"GET THE FUCK OUT."

A roar. Not a request—a command from a god.

"Find her," I snarled. "Bring me my virgin bride. Alive and Untouched. And if anyone lays a finger on her before I do... I'll cut off both their hands."

Panic exploded around me. The men scrambled and the women screamed. The Bottles shattered.

Within minutes, the backyard was empty and the party ruined. The night was heavy with rage.

I stood alone, staring out over the glittering water.

My party was over.

But the hunt for Katarina had just begun.