Page 10 of Obsidian Devotion (Empire of Sin & Blood #3)

Lorenzo

" I ncompetent. Irresponsible. Unforgivable."

Each word from my father's mouth lands like a physical blow. I stand before him in Matteo’s study, hands clasped behind my back, spine rigid, as he leans heavily on his cane, his right leg stiff from the bullet he took years ago.

Matteo sits behind his desk, watching with concern.

"The most important arms deal of the year, Lorenzo." Father's voice drops to that dangerous whisper I've known since childhood, but there's pain beneath it—not just disappointment, but genuine worry. "And you simply... didn't show up."

I swallow the excuses that form in my mouth. It's pointless for me to explain that I was drugged, that I woke on a leather couch with a pounding head and twelve missed calls. No Bellanti man offers excuses. Only results. Especially not the family enforcer.

"The Vietnamese official felt disrespected," Matteo says, rising from the desk to stand beside our father, subtly offering his arm for support when Father's leg trembles slightly.

"He's threatening to take the entire shipment to the Carellis.

We're talking fifty million in lost revenue, but worse—the firepower advantage shifts to them. "

"I'll fix it," I say, the words like gravel in my throat.

Father sighs—not harsh or brittle, but heavy with concern.

He hobbles to the leather couch and eases himself down, gesturing for me to join him.

"Fix it? Like you 'fixed' the Gabriel situation?

" He places his hand on my shoulder. "This isn't like you, Lorenzo.

You've never failed the family before. Not once in fifteen years. "

The observation stings more than any accusation could. I've given everything to this family—my conscience, my future, my soul.

My role as the enforcer allows Matteo to be the strategic leader. We each have our place, and I've never faltered in mine. Until now.

"The official has agreed to meet with me tomorrow," Matteo says, pouring three fingers of scotch into crystal tumblers.

"But I need you there, Lorenzo.” He hands me a glass, his eyes meeting mine with the silent communication we've perfected since childhood.

This isn't a punishment; it's an opportunity to redeem myself.

"It won't happen again." I accept the drink.

"What's distracting you, son?" Father leans forward, his cane resting against his good leg, hands clasped in front of him. "First Gabriel slips through your fingers. Now this. You've built your reputation for reliability. The men fear you because you're methodical. Uncompromising."

"It's that bartender," Matteo mentions carefully, as he takes a seat across from us. "Sofia. The reports say you've been spending considerable time with her."

Something cold slides down my spine at the mention of her name. "She's a distraction, nothing more."

“Nothing more?”

My father’s eyes—mirrors of my own—narrow with the scrutiny that’s kept him alive through three bloody mob wars.

“Then why were you seen with her—doing things that raise questions—just weeks after meeting her? Why are you escorting her home yourself?”

I remain silent, unable to deny the truth in his words.

"The family comes first, Lorenzo," Father says, but his tone is gentle now.

"We need you at your best," Matteo adds, leaning forward. "The Carelli are watching for any sign of weakness. The FBI is circling closer. Gabriel's testimony could destroy everything our father built, everything I'm trying to protect as Don."

"And everything you enforce," Father finishes, squeezing my hand before releasing it. He reaches for his cane, and I instinctively move to help him stand. "Fix the weapons deal. Find Gabriel. And remember who you are—a Bellanti. My son."

"Yes, Father."

"We trust you, brother," Matteo says as he walks us to the door, his hand firm on my shoulder. " Whatever's happening, whatever's got you off your game—handle it. The family needs you.”

Outside, I slide behind the wheel of my Maserati and sit in silence for a long moment, hands gripping the leather until my knuckles turn white.

Something doesn't add up about last night. I've gone through the security footage a dozen times. The only suspicious thing was that someone disabled the cameras in the VIP section—standard procedure for certain clients. No faces I didn't recognize. Just dancers, servers, the usual.

Yet someone got close enough to drug me. Someone knew exactly which drink to bring, how to approach me without raising suspicion.

And just before my consciousness slipped away, I heard something. A soft tinkling sound. A bell.

Like the one on Sofia's bracelet.

I shake my head, refusing to follow that thought to its conclusion.

Not Sofia.

Not possible. She was bartending last night, not serving in VIP. It was just a hallucination from whatever they slipped into my drink. It must be.

My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. One of my men, Dante.

"It's done, boss," he says without preamble when I answer. "We have the girl."

A grim satisfaction replaces the sour taste of failure. "Any complications?"

"None. Clean extraction from her school. No witnesses, no traces. She's secured at the warehouse on Marshall Street."

"Good." I start the engine. "Keep her comfortable. I don't want her harmed."

"Understood. But, boss... she's just a kid. Ten, maybe eleven."

"I'm aware," I snap, then soften my tone. "Make sure she has food, water, whatever she needs. This ends today."

I hang up and pull away from father's estate, mind already racing ahead to the next move. Gabriel's daughter, Anna. His only weakness.

The last time I saw her was at a family barbecue three years ago, before her father betrayed everything I'd given him. She'd been a tiny thing with her father's eyes and a gap-toothed smile, shyly asking me to push her on the swing.

I don't want to use a child as bait. But Gabriel has left me no choice. The family's security—Father's legacy, Matteo's future—depends on my next move.

I send the text from a burner phone: ‘I have Anna. Come alone to the abandoned Larson Textiles factory at midnight, or I send her back to you in pieces.’

It's a crude threat. One I have no intention of fulfilling.

But Gabriel doesn't know that.

All he knows is that I'm the enforcer who taught him how to extract information when all else fails, who showed him the lines we cross so the rest of the family doesn't have to.

The response comes almost immediately: ‘Don't hurt her. I'll be there.’

Hours later, I watch from the shadows as Gabriel enters the factory, gun drawn, eyes wild with panic.

He's thinner than when I last saw him, his once-sharp suit hanging loose on his frame. Being on the run hasn't been kind to him.

"Anna!" His voice echoes through the factory. "Baby, are you here?"

I step into the light, keeping my gun trained on him. "Drop the weapon, Gabriel."

He whirls toward me, eyes narrowing in anger. "Where's my daughter?"

"Safe. For now." I gesture to the floor with my gun. "Weapon down. Now."

For a moment, I think he'll fight. Then his shoulders slump, and he places the gun at his feet, kicking it toward me.

"Please, Lorenzo. She's innocent in all this."

"I know." I move forward, retrieving his gun. "That's why she'll go home tonight, unharmed. Unlike the men who died because of your betrayal."

Relief and confusion flashes across his face. "You're... letting her go?"

"I'm not a child killer, Gabriel. My father raised me better than that." I signal to Dante, who appears from a side door with Anna. The girl runs to her father, who clutches her.

"Go with the nice man, baby," Gabriel whispers, kneeling to look his daughter in the eyes. "He's going to take you to Aunt Maria's house, okay? I'll see you soon."

The lie is smooth and practiced. Gabriel knows he's not walking out of here alive. But he manages a smile for his daughter, kissing her forehead before Dante leads her away.

Once she's gone, all pretense falls away. Gabriel straightens, meeting my gaze.

"Let's get this over with."

I almost admire his courage. "Not here." I gesture to the exit with my gun. "We're going somewhere more private."

The drive to Peccato Noir is silent. Gabriel sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the city lights as if seeing them for the last time. Which, I suppose, he is.

In the club's basement, I secure him to the steel chair bolted to the floor—the same chair where I've extracted countless confessions, where I've done the family's darkest work so Matteo can keep his hands clean, so father can sleep at night.

"I trusted you," I say finally, removing my suit jacket and rolling up my sleeves. "Trained you. Made you my right hand. And you betrayed me to the feds."

"They have evidence against all of you," Gabriel replies, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Enough to put the entire Bellanti family away for life.

Your father will die in prison, Lorenzo.

Matteo will never see daylight again and the rest of your family will spend their lives in jail.

I'm just the first domino. You can't stop what's coming. "

My fist connects with his jaw before I can stop myself. "My father rebuilt this family from nothing. Matteo is guiding it into legitimacy. Who are you to destroy that?" I grip his chin, forcing him to look at me. "As long as I breathe, no one touches my family."

I leave him there, instructions clear to my men: guard him, keep him alive, wait for my return. Tomorrow, I'll extract every piece of information about what he's told the authorities, who his contacts are, and what evidence might still be out there. Then I'll decide his fate.

For now, I need a drink and a clear head to process everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours and the nagging suspicion about Sofia that I can't quite silence.

Tomorrow, I'll get answers.

From Gabriel.

And from Sofia.

If I've failed the family because of her, there will be no forgiveness—not from my father, not from Matteo, and certainly not from myself.