The Rossi wedding is exactly the kind of pompous display of wealth I expected. Two hundred guests dressed in designer clothes, pretending their money doesn't come from blood and corruption. The cathedral itself is a fortress of old stone and older money, the kind of place where deals are blessed by God and witnesses are bought with gold.
Perfect for what I have planned.
I sit in my black SUV fifty meters from the main entrance, watching the last stragglers hurry inside. My men are positioned around the perimeter. Eight soldiers with enough firepower to level a city block, all waiting for my signal.
"Target confirmed inside," Matteo reports through my earpiece. "Bride and groom at the altar. Security is light. Six men visible, probably more inside."
Light security.
That's what happens when you think your reputation makes you untouchable. Lorenzo Rossi is about to learn that reputation means nothing when you steal from the wrong man.
The little fucking bastard owes me two million euros. Money his family borrowed to expand their shipping operation, money they've been avoiding for six months with increasingly creative excuses. Last week his father finally admitted they couldn't pay yet. Some bullshit about cash flow problems and delayed investments.
I don't accept IOUs. I don't extend payment plans. I don't negotiate with thieves who think they can spend my money and walk away.
But I do believe in collecting what’s owed me plus interest.
"Sir?" Matteo shifts beside me, his hand resting on his weapon. "What's the play?"
I've been thinking about this for weeks, ever since Lorenzo's pathetic father came crawling to my office with his empty hands and even emptier promises. How do you make a man understand that some debts can never be forgiven?
You take what he values most.
I've done my research on the bride. Camilla Colombo, twenty-three, educated at private schools in Switzerland and Paris. Daddy's little princess, raised in silk and kept away from the ugliness of family business. She thinks she's marrying into money and respectability, and has no idea her new husband’s family doesn’t pay their fucking bills.
She's beautiful, I'll give her that. I've seen the engagement photos in the society pages. Dark hair, darker eyes, the kind of face that photographs well.
Lorenzo Rossi and his father need to learn what happens when you steal from Renato Vitiello. And his pretty new bride is going to be my teaching aid.
"Movement inside," Vincenzo’s voice crackles through the comm. "Ceremony's starting."
I check my watch. Twelve forty-five. Right on schedule. I like punctuality in all things. Business meetings, debt collection, psychological destruction. It shows respect for the process.
I think about the next few minutes. The moment when Lorenzo realizes his wedding day has become a collection notice. Themoment when daddy's princess discovers what her value really is in the real world.
"All units, listen up," I speak into my mic. "This is a collection operation, not a massacre. We go in hard and fast, take what we came for, then leave. Anyone who gets in the way gets hurt, but I want minimal casualties. Bad for business."
A chorus of confirmations echoes through my earpiece. These men have worked with me for years. They know how to be surgical when necessary, brutal when required.
"The target is only the bride. Camilla Colombo. Dark hair, wedding dress, probably pissing herself with fear by the time we get inside." I allow myself a cold smile. "She's worth three times what her husband owes me, so handle her carefully."
I step out of the SUV, straightening my jacket. The cathedral bells are ringing, their bronze voices announcing a union that will last exactly three more minutes.
My phone buzzes. A text from one of my contacts inside the Rossi organization:Groom's family seems nervous. Lots of whispered conversations. Something's off.
Interesting.
Maybe they sense what's coming.
"Positions," I order, walking toward the cathedral steps. My men move like shadows, taking their assigned spots around the building.
The heavy wooden doors loom ahead of me, carved with scenes of saints and sinners. How appropriate. Today I'll be both.
"Boss," Matteo falls into step beside me. "The extraction plan?"
"North entrance, three vehicles, standard formation." I pause at the top of the steps, listening to the organ music drifting throughthe ancient stone. "Take her to the safe house in the mountains. Somewhere quiet where we can discuss payment terms with the families without interruption."
"And if they don’t pay?"
