Page 89 of He Should Be Mine

“We split them,” I say. “We already have a few in our corner, guys who’ve lost people to Riccardo’s cruelty. Wepush their buttons. Play up how unstable he’s getting. Make them scared to stay loyal.”

“Fear breeds disloyalty,” Dante says, approving.

I gesture to Nicolo. “You’re close to the street-level guys. Think you can plant the seeds?”

Nicolo grins, teeth white in the dim light. “I can make it grow into a damn forest.”

He’s young, but he’s clever. Enzo didn’t send him here to play. He’s watching me, and reporting back everything. I need that report to be glowing.

Carlo pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and speaks around the first inhale. “What about Riccardo’s inner circle? His personal guards, his secretary, his lawyer?”

“Bought and paid for,” I say. “But loyalty bought with cash is weak. A few of them are already looking for better deals. And I intend to give it to them.”

Dante leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “We’ll need to hit them all at once. Cut off the limbs, then take the head.”

“Yes,” I say. “Quick, brutal, and surgical.”

“But public,” Carlo adds, his tone laced with warning. “Riccardo’s reign doesn’t end in the dark. If you want the crown, you take it in daylight.”

My eyes flick to him. “You want spectacle?”

“I want certainty,” he says. “No one backs a maybe. They back a man with blood on his hands and a boot on the enemy’s throat.”

Dante’s dark eyes fix on me. “Everything hinges on the Don claiming you as his son and naming you heir.” He pauses. “You need to earn the old man’s respect. Impress him.”

A shiver runs down my spine. He is right. He always is. Dante knows how to read people. He can slide right under their skin and see what’s inside. Truly see them and everything that makes them tick. It is what makes him such a good torturer.

“Then we take his next shipment,” I say, the plan forming as I speak. “The big one, the consignment through Tilbury Dock. We intercept it, burn half, flip the rest. And we make sure every capo in the city hears about it.”

“That’s bold,” Nicolo murmurs. “Dangerous.”

“That’s the point,” I say.

There’s a long pause. The room hums with heat, tension, cigarette smoke.

Carlo stubs out his cigarette and leans back. “Alright. Let’s draft the order of play.”

Dante reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. It’s a printout, nothing digital, nothing traceable. On it is Riccardo’s entire known schedule for the next two months.

I blink. “How the fuck did you get that?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

I take the sheet. The names, the locations, the travel times, it’s all here. Precise. Accurate. This is gold.

“Goddamn,” Carlo mutters, eyes scanning it over my shoulder. “This is it. This is the goddamn blueprint.”

“We time it right,” Dante says. “Hit him when he’s overconfident. He’s due at the warehouse in two nights. Minimal security. If we intercept that meeting and frame it as a betrayal by one of his own…”

“He spirals,” I finish. “Starts lashing out.Makes mistakes.”

“And when he’s fully distracted, we take the lawyer,” Carlo adds. “That bastard has access to Riccardo’s contracts. We get him onside or get him out.”

Nicolo nods. “We’ve got guys who can lean on him. He’s not a fighter. He’s a folder.”

I tap my finger on the table. “And the final strike?”

Dante’s voice is cold. “We take his safe house. That’s where he runs when he’s scared.”