Page 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

H ero burst open the door and stormed into my father’s office as if he were paving the way for me. I’d never seen my little brother this furious.

The door hit the wall with a resounding crash while I stopped just outside.

The familiar scent of leather and cigars hit me, but it did nothing to calm the rage coursing through my veins. I couldn’t believe the audacity of this man, sitting here as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just torn my world apart.

Father looked up from his desk, looked at Hero, then turned his head, and his gaze met mine. There was a flash of surprise before his face settled into a mask of calm indifference.

No remorse, no guilt, not even a flicker of emotion in those cold eyes so similar to my own. The sight of him, so composed, made me suddenly calm down as if ice water was oozing through my veins .

Did I really expect anything else from him? “Father,” I said, my voice smooth and controlled. I smiled, then entered the lion’s den.

“Vincenzo,” he said, his voice steady. “I see you’re still alive. To what do I owe this…dramatic entrance?” He side-eyed Hero, then raised a single brow. He never had respect for any of us and always thought of himself as superior—which he demonstrated every chance he got.

I walked toward his desk, took a seat, and nodded at Hero to do the same.

He stood there for a second, his fists clenched at his sides. He was the epitome of what I’d been feeling when I realized Jemma was gone. Every fiber of my being had screamed to lash out, to make my father feel even a fraction of the pain and fear that Jemma must be feeling right now.

But that wasn’t what I was feeling right now. The more you let your emotions run you, the less you have control in life.

And showing your true feelings gave your enemy an unfair advantage.

Two lessons Hero still had to learn. Lessons I learned a long time ago when I confronted my father at my mother’s funeral—which accomplished absolutely nothing.

“I heard you were on your way to Italy,” I said.

My father chuckled. “Thought I’d let you win just like that?”

I cocked my head. “Win?” I chuckled. As if he wasn’t the one who put a fucking contract on my head. “It was never about winning. It’s about what’s best for the family, for the organization, for the business. And you’re not it.”

He narrowed his eyes, his mask temporarily slipping. “And you are? ”

I leaned back in the chair and met my father’s gaze steadily. “I am what the family needs right now. Times are changing, and we need to adapt.”

Alfredo’s lip curled in a sneer. “Adapt? You mean go soft. I’ve seen how that woman has changed you, Vincenzo. Love has made you even weaker.”

For real? Did he do all of this; did my involvement with Jemma vault him over the edge? How absolutely ridiculous.

As if Jemma would’ve ever been a threat to him.

Memories of Jemma flashed through my mind—her fierce determination, the fire in her eyes when she stood up to me, the softness in her smile when we were alone, and her demands to be a team.

Whatever we’d gone through, Jemma made me stronger, not weaker. Her love and unwavering trust in me made me stronger. So maybe he was right, and Jemma was a valid threat to him because loving her made me stronger, not weaker.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t lying to my face right now.

I remained perfectly still, my voice steady and calm. “So your reason for trying to off your entire family is because I fell in love? Because you think my wife makes me weak?”

My father scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a lovesick fool, not the leader of a proud Italian family.”

I could see it in his eyes—he truly believed what he was saying. Was this his newest delusion? Had he repeated that shit often enough to believe it? But it proved one thing.

My father had no concept of who I was, who I’d always been. He also didn’t know how far I’d be willing to go to protect the ones I loved. For him, it had always been about power and control; for me, it was always about the family and making sure everyone was safe and thriving.

“You’re wrong,” I said simply. “But I’m not here to argue about love or talk philosophy. I have a proposition for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing his interest despite himself. He was so transparent.

I leaned forward, my voice low and intense. “I’ll step down. Give you full control again, leave the family, the organization, the business completely. In exchange, you make sure they return safely, right now.”

Hero tensed next to me, but I didn’t have time to deal with my brother right now.

Didn’t have time to explain what I’d just said. I didn’t think those words would come out of my mouth. But somewhere deep inside of me, I knew it was true. I was ready to give it all up, to turn my back on my entire life, for my sisters, my friends, and the woman I loved.

For a long moment, my father and I locked eyes across the desk. He was stunned, speechless. It probably never even crossed his mind I was ready to leave it all, to let go of the power. Because that was the only thing driving him, the one thing he had to feed his ego, the one thing defining him.

The tension in the room was palpable; years of resentment and unspoken grievances threatened to bubble to the surface, but I let it all go.

Nothing would change the past; nothing would change him. But if I let the past define my future, would I ever be happy? Would I be the man I needed, I wanted to be, for Jemma ?

I searched his face for any sign of self-reflection, but all I saw was cold calculation, greed, and a hunger for power. The same look I’d witnessed thousands of times.

“Where are they?” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. I was really losing my patience. And I was done playing games. Either he took my offer or not.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Where is who, son?”

The casual dismissal in his tone pushed Hero to the edge. He jumped up and slammed his hands down on his desk, scattering papers and sending a pen holder crashing to the floor. “Don’t play games with us, old man. Where. Are. They?”

He looked at Hero the same way he’d looked at me all through my life whenever I’d failed to meet his impossible standards. But his eyes showed a flicker of confusion, followed by real curiosity.

And something clicked in my mind. My father had no idea. He wasn’t the one who’d taken the women. He didn’t even know who we were talking about.

I leaned back. It would be interesting to see if my father would try to bluff his way back to power. Or if the fact that his daughters were missing would have any impact. “Jemma, Isabella, Mira. Where are they?” I asked, matter-of-factly.

For a split second, his eyebrows arched up, his mouth opened slightly, and his eyes widened for a nanosecond. All signs of genuine surprise.

But signs I would’ve missed if I wasn’t staring at him so closely, if I wasn’t looking for them.

Then he immediately narrowed his brows, leaned back in his chair, appeared all relaxed, and smirked. Pretending he knew exactly what we were talking about.

Fuck him.

Every father would at least be a little affected if his daughters went missing.

And the way he didn’t even care about Mira and Bella pushed me to the edge.

I slowly stood, then leaned forward, my voice low and intense. “It’s bad enough you’re coming after me the way you did, but you don’t care about anyone but you, and everybody knows it. That’s why you’re not fit to lead this family. You have no honor, no loyalty, not even to your own flesh and blood. Who would ever trust someone like you to lead them?”

I let the words hang in the air, heavy with years of pent-up resentment and disappointment. I finally let go.

I could see their impact on my father, his carefully constructed mask of indifference beginning to crack.

I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. “I would burn everything to the ground—our empire, our power, our legacy, everything—if it meant saving my family. If it meant saving the woman I love. Can you say the same? Is there someone, or something besides yourself and your ego you would be willing to sacrifice for?”

Hero stood beside me, silent but radiating support.

A united front which was such a stark contrast to the lonely battles of my youth. I was not alone anymore. Would never be alone anymore.

“You’ve always underestimated my motivation, my drive. I’m not like you, and I never wanted to be. You’re a lonely old man fueled by greed. You will never understand the power of love, of true loyalty,” I said, my eyes never leaving my father’s face.

For the first time in my life, I saw a flicker of fear in my father’s eyes—despite the malicious frown plastered on his face. It was brief but unmistakable. He realized, perhaps for the first time, the full extent of my motivation, of my determination—the lengths I was willing to go to protect what I held dear.

“You see it as weakness, but it’s what makes me strong. It’s what makes me stronger than anyone else.”

Father’s composure slipped further, his hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You’re pathetic, and I pity you,” I said and turned to leave. My father wasn’t worth the air he was breathing. I’d known that for a long time. But at this moment, the realization settled in completely. He was a disgusting human being. And I was done with him, in every regard.

I turned around and met Ivan Zotov’s gaze. He stood just outside the office, his face an unreadable mask. The sight of him threw me off balance for a moment. What was he doing here?

Before I could process Zotov’s presence, Hero gasped next to me.

I spun around, my instincts kicking in.

There was my father, a gun pointed directly at me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion.

In that instant, I knew it was him or me .

All the moments that led to this—the arguments, the disappointments, the constant struggle for power, the mutual hostility. Was this how it would end?

I ducked and reached for my ankle holster when a shot rang out. I flinched, expecting pain, but it never came. Instead, I watched as my father’s eyes widened in shock. He slumped forward, the gun clattering to the floor, a red circle in the middle of his chest slowly growing.

I turned sideways.

Hero, his hand still raised, smoke curling from the barrel of his own weapon, stood next to me frozen. His face was a mix of determination and disbelief at what he’d just done.

At that moment, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. My brothers—Hero, Dante, Matt—they’d always have my back.

I’d been so focused on keeping everything and everyone under control, on protecting everyone, that I’d failed to see how capable and loyal and grown-up my little brothers had become. It was time to loosen my grip on control, to trust them more.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, I noticed Zotov calmly stepping into the room. He approached my father’s body with an air of detachment, checking for his pulse as if this were a routine task. His lack of reaction to the violence that had just unfolded was unsettling but not surprising.

“Seems like I’m in the market for a new business partner,” he said, then stared at me. “Are you in the market for a little trade?”