Ready

Vicenzo’s POV

The man trembled on his knees, blood still dripping from the half-bandaged wound on his side. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes held a kind of loyalty I hadn’t seen in a while—not the empty loyalty bought with fear, but the kind born of desperation and belonging.

“Get him cleaned up,” I said after a long silence, my voice sharp enough that the guards jumped at the order. “He was one of our best men before all this. I don’t want him rotting away like trash. See that he eats. He’ll talk better with strength in his body.”

The man looked up at me, surprise flashing across his battered face. “Thank you, Boss,” he whispered, as though those words cost him his last breath.

I gave him a curt nod, then added, “And when he’s patched up, bring him to me. Alone. I’ll hear everything.”

He was dragged out, and I stood in the silence again, my chest rising and falling with the rage that burned steadily. My mother watched me, swirling the wine in her glass.

“You’re being merciful,” she said coolly.

“Mercy?” I gave her a dark smile. “No, Mama. I want him alive because he has something I need. After that…” I let the sentence hang.

Her lips curved slightly, but she said nothing more.

They brought him to me later that night, washed, bandaged, and sitting straighter, though pain still lined his face. I dismissed the guards and poured myself a drink before I faced him.

“Talk,” I said, lowering myself into the chair across from him.

He licked his lips nervously. “Boss… they caught us off guard. We thought it was just a patrol, but Lombardi’s men had been waiting. They took me and the others to one of their hideouts on the docks.”

I nodded slowly. “Which docks?”

“Near the old steel yard,” he answered quickly. “They’ve been using the warehouses there. Tight security, but not impossible.”

I leaned back, my glass in hand, swirling the amber liquid. “And Luther?”

The man’s eyes shifted. “I didn’t see him at first. But two nights ago, he came. He stood in front of us like he owned the ground beneath him. Told us we were nothing but bargaining chips. That he was sending a message.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What message?”

The man swallowed hard. “That you didn’t pay him the full percent. He said if you think you can cheat him, he’ll bleed every drop of loyalty out of your men until you understand the price of disrespect.”

I slammed the glass down, liquid spilling over the rim. My jaw clenched tight, fury burning through me. “Disrespect?” I spat. “He dares to lecture me on respect?”

The man flinched but pressed on. “He let the others rot. Said he’d use them one by one until you made it right. I only got out because during the night patrol, I broke free. Slit a guard’s throat with the cuffs and ran. That’s how I got this wound. They almost had me before I swam across the canal.”

His voice cracked, but his eyes didn’t waver. “I came back because I owe my loyalty to you, Boss. Not to him. I thought maybe you’d want to know before it was too late.”

I studied him long and hard. He wasn’t lying—I could see it in the way his hands trembled, in the fresh scars on his body. He was loyal. And loyalty, even born out of desperation, was currency I valued.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “You did well coming back. Better than most. Treat yourself well while you can. Eat. Rest. When I call for you again, you’ll give me more—names, routes, faces. Everything you remember.”

His eyes widened, relief flooding them. “Thank you, Boss. I won’t fail you again.”

I gave him one last nod before signaling the guards to take him out.

When the room emptied, I sank back into my chair, my chest tight. Luther Lombardi had made his move. And now it was my turn.

Two days passed.

No new message. No word from Luther. No retaliation beyond that warning.

But the silence was worse than the violence. It ate at me, gnawed at my patience. Calls disturbed me constantly—shipments delayed, deals stalling. My men grew restless. Every minute I felt the weight of Luther’s shadow pressing closer.

At dinner one night, I asked my mother if she had heard anything.

She set down her fork, her eyes sharp. “This is yours to handle, Vicenzo. Don’t ask me to carry your burden. If you want to stand as boss, then deal with it like one.”

Her words burned, but I said nothing. Because she was right.

Still, the question clawed at me: who had the shipment? Who was moving against me behind the scenes, feeding Luther strength while leaving me blind?

By the second night, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I found myself walking the familiar hall, my footsteps heavy, my blood running hot with frustration.

I stopped at the door I hadn’t entered in years—my brother’s room.

David.

I pushed it open without knocking.

He was there, sitting at the desk, flipping through a book like he owned the place. He looked up slowly, his calm expression a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me.

I stepped in, shutting the door behind me. My voice was low, controlled, but sharp.

“I’m ready,” I said.

He arched a brow. “Ready for what?”

I walked closer, locking eyes with him. “I’m ready to know who has the shipment.”