Confusion

Vicenzo’s POV

After David left, silence stretched in the room. I leaned back against the desk, my arms folded, and my mother stood across from me, her glass of wine in hand. For a long moment, we just stared at each other.

She was the first to break it.

“Why is he back?” Alessia’s tone was flat, but beneath it lay the cold steel I knew too well.

I rubbed at my jaw. “He claims he has information to exchange for money.”

Her laugh was sharp, dry. “Information? And here I thought he wanted nothing to do with our world. He despised our money.”

“He said it wasn’t the dirty money he wanted,” I replied, repeating David’s exact words with a bitter taste in my mouth. “He says he only has something to sell. Not to take.”

I could see the twist of her mouth, the way her expression soured as though even David’s name was rot. Truth be told, I didn’t like him either. He opposed everything we did, always standing higher than us in his self-righteousness. And somewhere deep down, I knew he secretly enjoyed it.

Before either of us could continue, the door creaked open. One of my men stepped in, his face grim.

“Boss,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “one of the captured men… he’s back.”

I straightened immediately, my eyes narrowing. “Bring him in.”

The man nodded and left. A moment later, two guards shoved the prisoner forward. His face was pale, blood dried across his temple, and his clothes torn. He stumbled to his knees, clutching his side where blood seeped through a bandage.

My mother arched a brow at the sight, sipping her wine slowly. “Interesting,” she murmured.

I walked toward him, studying him coldly. “You’re either brave or foolish to return here.”

The prisoner coughed, then lifted his shirt slightly to show the wound on his side—a deep gash that looked fresh, barely stitched. “I didn’t return out of choice,” he rasped. “I barely escaped. They would’ve killed me if I stayed.”

I crouched slightly, eyeing the wound before meeting his gaze. “Who did this to you?”

“Luther Lombardi’s men,” he answered quickly, his voice trembling but steady enough.

At the mention of Luther, my mother stiffened behind me, though she said nothing.

“Why?” I demanded. “Why would Lombardi take you, unless you had something he wanted?”

The man’s lips parted, and for a moment, fear flickered across his face. Then he drew in a shaky breath. “I came back because… I have a message.”

My eyes narrowed. “From who?”

“From Luther himself.”

The room seemed to freeze. My mother’s hand stilled on her glass.

The man lowered his head, his voice hoarse. “He said… you didn’t pay him the complete percent. That’s why we were taken. That’s why he ordered the capture.”

My blood boiled instantly, a wave of fury rising up through me. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“The percent…” I repeated slowly, my voice low and dangerous. “He dares touch my men because of that?”

The prisoner nodded quickly, desperation clear in his eyes. “I swear, Boss. That was his message. He said—tell Vicenzo that deals unfinished will not be tolerated. Either pay in full, or watch more men fall.”

I stood abruptly, rage coursing through me like fire. My mother set her glass down with a sharp clink and spoke for the first time since the man’s revelation.

“You see?” she said coldly. “This is what happens when you let wolves believe they can starve you. Luther Lombardi thinks he can dictate terms. He thinks he can shame you.”

I ran a hand over my face, trying to steady the storm inside me. “No one shames me, Mama. No one.”

The prisoner looked up at me with pleading eyes. “I barely made it out alive… Boss, please, I came back to you because I’d rather face your wrath than theirs.”

I crouched back down, staring him dead in the eye. “Then you’ll tell me everything. Every detail about how you escaped. Every word they said. Every face you saw.”

“Yes, Boss,” he whispered.

Inside, though, my fury was already set. Luther Lombardi dared to lay hands on my men, dared to mock me with messages like I was some underling. No—he would pay.

And if David thought he could play games with his “information,” he’d soon learn that this wasn’t a world where you stood in-between.

This was war.