Page 16 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

Club Inferno

Dallas Veneto

The acrid stench of charred leather and burned wood thickened the air, clinging to my lungs and coating my throat like tar.

Every breath tasted of smoke and ruin and was a bitter, suffocating reminder of what had been stolen from me.

Deep, jagged burn marks stretched across the walls like open wounds, and the shards of glass crunching beneath my soles served as cruel echoes of destruction.

The air itself reeked of loss, thick with unfinished business.

My empire had been gutted, reduced to nothing but a brutal testament to everything that had been ripped from my grasp.

Ash settled on my shoulders as I stepped deeper into the wreckage of Club Optimum, my fury low and simmering, held tight but never dormant.

How could it be? This place wasn’t just another club.

It was the foundation of everything I had built.

My first real claim to power in this city.

And now? Now, it was nothing more than a fucking graveyard.

The Bulgari had made sure of that when they bombed it. They’d torn through my dominion, left it burning, and walked away unscathed like they hadn’t just set fire to years of my work.

Optimum had been the city’s crown jewel, a temple of indulgence and excess.

Its neon glow had drawn in the rich, the ruthless, and the reckless, promising them everything they craved—for a price.

The bass had once pulsed through the walls, drowning out whispered threats and breathy moans.

The back rooms had been where men with blood on their hands and money to burn came to negotiate, spend money on pussy they’d never own, get their dicks sucked, and cut deals that changed the game.

Now? Now, those same neon lights flickered weakly, barely clinging to life.

The damage had been done before the war ended, but that didn’t mean I had let it go. How could I? My club. My men. My business. The Bulgari had set it all on fire, and I was supposed to move on because some ink dried on a fucking peace treaty?

Fuck no.

The battle had ended, but the war was still mine to finish.

They had stripped me of power, taken my people, and stomped on my goddamn pride, then had the nerve to walk away without a scratch.

And worse, my own father, Enzo, had been the one to put me in this position.

His arrogance and his obsession with the Bulgari festered his inability to see past his own ego.

That was what cost me everything. That selfish, power-hungry bastard had played everyone like a fiddle while the rest of us bled for his bullshit.

He should have been the one standing in the middle of this destruction, inhaling the smoke of his failures. Not me. However, maybe that was for the best because if Enzo had still been breathing, I would have put him in the dirt myself.

I felt like a damn fool for letting Enzo wind me up like a toy soldier and send me after the Bulgari like I had a personal vendetta. That was my mistake. I let him put a key in my back, let him use me like a pawn in his never-ending war, and for what? A woman I never gave a fuck about.

Tatum had never been mine, never would’ve been. She was fine, no doubt. Most men would've killed to have her in their bed, but that was the thing—I didn’t want her in mine. I didn’t want her at all. Not because she wasn’t bad as hell, but because she wasn’t for me.

From the jump, that arranged marriage had been some bullshit.

It was a power move between two old men trying to secure their legacy.

As the underboss of my family, I had no say in the shit because Enzo was still Don.

I was supposed to just accept it, settle down, and play house with a woman I had no interest in.

Enzo had sold it like duty and honor to lock down a woman I had no drive to know.

So, I didn’t.

I kept my distance and didn’t waste time trying to force something that wasn’t there. Tatum was a bad bitch, but she didn’t light that fire in me. I had no curiosity, no hunger, and no desire to see what was beneath her surface.

And still, I let Enzo use her as a reason to take up arms against the Bulgari. Had let him feed me that bullshit about reclaiming what should’ve been mine like I was pressed over a woman who had already made her choice.

That was my real mistake. Not losing Tatum. Not walking away from a deal I never wanted in the first place.

It was letting Enzo play me.

Letting that old bastard push me into a fight that had nothing to do with me.

I exhaled slowly, forcing the rage to settle—at least for now. Anger wouldn’t rebuild what was lost, but someone would pay for it. The Bulgari thought they were safe now that the war was over.

That was their second mistake.

I wasn’t gonna retaliate with bullets or bombs. That was too easy and too quick. The kind of revenge I had in mind wasn’t something they could recover from in a day, a month, or even a year. No, if the Bulgari wanted to take from me, I’d take something they’d feel every single fucking day.

Sophia.

Not in blood. Not in battle. In something worse.

I didn’t need to force her. Didn’t need threats or fear to make her mine. That was the difference between them and me. They waged war with violence. I played the long game—one they wouldn’t even realize they were losing until it was too damn late.

I’d embed myself so deep into her that when they looked at her, all they’d see was me. Every conversation, every touch, every time she spent a second too long outside their reach, they’d wonder whose side she was on and where her loyalty lay.

They thought turning down my offer to marry her at the peace treaty meant she was out of my reach or that she was safe, then they were a lot dumber than I gave them credit for.

I’d make Sophia crave me. Make her trust me. Then I’d twist her into something they wouldn’t recognize. I wouldn’t break her—I’d reshape her, mold her into someone who belonged to me and me alone.

And when they finally realized what I’d done?

It’d be too fucking late.

Because by then, she wouldn’t just be mine.

She’d want to be.

A slow breath dragged through my lungs, but it didn’t do shit to cool the fury burning beneath my skin.

My fingers flexed at my sides, itching to pull out my gun and murder something.

My men stood at a distance, smart enough not to speak or even breathe too loud.

They knew better than to test me right now.

I stepped over a fallen beam, pausing in the center of the dancefloor. My jaw tightened with rage, but I didn’t let it control me. Revenge wasn’t about impulse, and it wasn’t about swinging the second you got hit.

It was about patience.

Precision.

Waiting for the exact moment when the pain would cut the deepest.

And I knew exactly where to strike.

"Boss." Nico, my cousin, called out to me, but he didn’t move closer.

Only Diamond would dare. He was my shadow, my enforcer—the one person I trusted to handle things exactly how I would.

Where I dealt in calculated destruction, Diamond was the kind of man who smiled while he carved into flesh.

Some men killed because they had to. Diamond killed shit because it was the only thing that made sense to him.

We’d been through hell together. The war with the Bulgari wasn’t the first time Enzo had almost burned this family to the ground, but it was Diamond and me who rebuilt it—brick by fucking brick.

Side by side. If there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that Diamond didn’t have a conscience.

Hesitation didn’t exist in his world. And if he had to paint this club in blood to prove a point, he’d do it without blinking.

That was why he was my right hand.

If the Bulgari thought I was dangerous, they had no idea what kind of monster was standing beside me, just waiting to be let off the leash.

“What?” I spat, my gaze locking on Nico.

Diamond cut his hazel eyes at me, the silent expression enough to remind me to keep my fury in line. For now.

Nico hesitated, and that alone pissed me off even more.

My stare was enough to make him swallow hard before he finally spoke. “What’s the move?”

I dragged my gaze over the wreckage one last time, letting the destruction sear itself into my memory before turning toward my men. The past was gone, burned to ash, but the future was mine to take.

The room was silent and thick with tension. Every pair of eyes locked onto me, watching and waiting to hear what I had to say.

"Enzo is gone." I let those words hang in the air, so it could settle deep into the bones of every man in this room.

Some flinched, and some held their breath, and some looked like they were grieving, but the smarter ones barely reacted at all.

Those who were hurt by my father’s death wouldn’t get time to mourn.

Enzo didn’t deserve their fucking grief.

That man had dragged this family through the dirt, drained our money, and weakened our power. Fuck him!

"The war is over, but don’t mistake that for peace. We lost men. We lost businesses. We lost money." My gaze swept across them, catching the way some of them tensed at my words. I leaned in, my voice cold and razor-sharp. "And now we rebuild, but not under Enzo’s rule—under mine."

The first ripple of unease flickered through the room, and beside me, Diamond moved.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his guns. Then, without hesitation, he stepped behind the first man whose face betrayed too much uncertainty, and a gunshot shattered the air.

Warm blood splattered across the floor, catching a few unlucky muthafuckas standing too close before the body hit the ground. Lifeless.

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Diamond stepped over the corpse, wiped a speck of blood from his cheek with a casual flick of his wrist, then looked up.