Page 55

I’m in Domenico’s study, surrounded by him, Matteo, and Riccardo. It's where I seem to be since Serafina’s kidnap. My mother’s death, Fina’s kidnapping, it’s all tied to Adriano, and I need the truth. I’m stoic, jaw tight, but inside, I’m breaking, worry for Fina consuming me. I love her. The realization hits like a bullet wound, raw and undeniable. I can’t lose her, not her, not our child.
Domenico slams a file down, his face grim. “Vitales’ old ledgers,” he says, voice rough. “Found them in my archives. Gold routes, coded, from when Lucia died.”
Matteo leans in, scanning pages, his fingers tracing numbers. “These don’t match Mancini records,” he mutters.
Riccardo, silent till now, steps forward, his face stormy, eyes red like he hasn’t slept. I’ve never trusted him, always thought he and Fina were at odds, but now I see his love for his sister, fierce and real, and it shifts something in me, respect forming despite my grudge. “Let me see,” he says, voice low, and I nod, wary but desperate.
Riccardo’s sharp, catching a pattern—dates aligning with my mother’s crash, payments to a Vitale driver. “This driver,” he says, tapping the page, “he’s still alive, runs a bar now. Knows Adriano’s secrets.”
My chest tightens, hope flickering. Domenico nods. “We lean on him, hard.” I stay quiet, my stoicism a mask, but Fina’s face—her green eyes, her look of hurt that day at the graveyard—drives me.
Riccardo’s proving himself, his focus on Fina redeeming him in my eyes, but I don’t say it.
We move at dawn, shadows stretching long as we approach a grimy bar tucked in the city’s underbelly, its neon sign flickering like a dying pulse. The air reeks of stale beer and desperation, the kind of place secrets fester. My boots crunch on broken glass,Matteo at my side, Domenico and Riccardo trailing, their silence heavy with purpose. My heart’s a drum, Fina’s absence a wound that won’t stop bleeding, but my face stays cold, my stoicism a shield against the fear clawing at me.
Inside, the bar’s dim, a haze of smoke curling around rough men hunched over drinks. Paolo, the Vitale driver, sits at a corner table, his glass trembling as he spots us. His eyes dart, a rat caught in a trap, sweat beading on his brow.
I nod at Matteo, who moves like a predator, pinning Paolo against the wall, his arm a steel bar across the man’s throat. I step close, my gun pressing cold against Paolo’s temple, the metal a promise. My voice is ice, low and lethal. “Talk, or you’re done.”
Paolo’s breath hitches, his eyes wide, pleading. “It was Adriano,” he chokes, voice breaking. “He loved Lucia, your mother. She didn’t want him, chose Antonio instead. He went mad, paid the Vitales to rig her crash, made it look like an accident. Then he framed the Rossis, started the war to cover his tracks.”
My blood boils, betrayal searing through me like a knife twisting deep. My mother’s face flashes, her smile, and Fina’s warning—her voice fierce, ignored—cuts sharper. I should’ve listened, and now she’s paying for my blindness.
“Keep talking,” I growl, pressing the gun harder, my heart racing. Fina’s life hangs on his words.
Paolo’s voice shakes, spilling more. “Adriano’s got a hideout, a warehouse by the docks, hidden behind a Vitale shell company. Your wife’s there, Mancini. He’s holding her.”
My vision narrows, rage and fear colliding, a storm I can’t contain. Fina, tied up, hurt, because I didn’t believe her. My love for her, raw and consuming, surges, a fire I can’t quench.
I glance at Matteo, his eyes hard, and he slams Paolo’s head back, knocking him out cold. The man slumps, useless now. We slip out, the bar’s stench clinging to us.
In the car, my mind’s on Fina, her strength, her green eyes that saw through me. I devise a plan, cold and strategic: hit the warehouse tonight, use Vitale informants to pin Adriano’s men, strike fast and hard. I’ll make him bleed, but first, I need her safe, her and our child. My hurt for her is palpable.
Back at Domenico’s villa, we gather in his study, maps spread across the table, the air tense. Matteo’s contacts feed us details—warehouse layouts, guard shifts, weak points. Riccardo’s relentless, sketching entry routes, his voice steady but his hands shaking, worry for Fina plain in his eyes.
Domenico’s gaze meets mine, a silent vow: we’ll bring her back. In this moment, it's respect and awe I feel for the man.
My stoicism holds, my face a mask, but beneath, my love for Fina burns, a fire I can’t douse. Her defiance, her touch, her belief in me despite my cruelty—it’s all I have. I’m coming for you, I think, my heart hers, no matter the cost. The plan’s set, my menready, and as night falls, I steel myself, Fina’s life the only thing that matters, Adriano’s betrayal the fuel for the war I’ll wage.
Night falls, the docks reeking of salt and oil, the warehouse looming like a beast. My men move silently, shadows among crates. Matteo's at my side, Riccardo is behind with some of my other men. Domenico had stayed behind after much convincing. His health still hasn't completely recovered.
My gun’s heavy, my heart heavier, Fina’s absence a wound that won’t heal. I love her, and the fear of finding her broken drives me. We slip through a side door, my plan precise: neutralize guards, cut lights, find her. My face is stone, but inside, I’m raw, her smile my lifeline through this hell.
The warehouse is dim, crates stacked high, and we move fast, taking down two Vitales, their bodies slumping. A scream pierces the air—Fina’s voice, faint but hers—and my blood runs cold, rage surging.
I signal Matteo, and we push deeper, finding a locked room. I kick the door in, and there she is, tied to a chair, blood streaking her arm, her face bruised, eyes defiant despite the pain. Adriano stands over her, knife glinting, his smile venomous. My heart lurches, love and fury colliding.
“Enzo,” Fina whispers, her voice weak but alive, her strength a light for our child, for me. Adriano turns, his eyes sharp, but before he can speak, chaos erupts.
His men—Vitales, hired guns—swarm from the dark, guns flashing, sparks lighting the shadows. My crew fires back, Matteo tackling a shooter, his snarl lost in the roar. Riccardo fights fierce, taking down a mercenary. I lunge for Fina, my knife cutting her ropes, her body trembling as I pull her close, shielding her from the storm.
“I’m here,” I murmur, my voice rough, love raw and aching in my throat. She grips me, her eyes trusting, forgiving me despite my cruelty.
Bullets tear through crates, wood splintering, smoke choking the air. I push Fina behind a stack, my gun steady, my body her wall.
Adriano’s voice cuts through, taunting, venomous. “You’re too late, Enzo!” I see him, slipping toward a side exit, his silver hair a ghost in the chaos.
My rage surges, and I fire, the shot grazing his shoulder, blood blooming dark. He stumbles but ducks, vanishing into the dark. My men hold the line, outgunning the Vitales, their numbers fading. Riccardo’s relentless, dropping another shooter, his face carved with fury, proving his worth.