“Whoa!” Luca’s voice rang out as he shoved me aside, stepping forward with his hands raised in a show of peace. “It’s us. Put those away before someone calls the police.” His command came with the tension of someone who understood just how volatile the situation was.
“Sorry, boss,” Milo, the head of the Vitale Security team, apologized, his expression sheepish but alert as he immediately ordered his men to lower their weapons. Without missing a beat, Luca asserted control, pulling Milo aside and issuing crisp orders as they strode away, intent on restoring calm and discipline in the face of chaos. Left in the wake of their purposeful retreat, I made my way toward my brother Emanuelle.
“Where is she?” I demanded, my voice low but urgent, pressing Emanuelle for information.
Emanuelle didn’t speak. Instead, he simply raised his hand, pointing toward a dimly lit corner. There, I saw Miranda—my wife—lying on a sofa, her head resting in Aurelio’s lap as she slept, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
“Where is Guilio?” I pressed further, needing to account for everyone.
“Trying to get information. They wouldn’t let him operate because Cesar is our brother,” Emanuelle explained, his voice tight with frustration and concern.
I shook my head, unable to decide if that was a blessing or a curse. “Not sure that was good or bad. Now he’s going to piss off the staff. Guilio isn’t the most patient person.”
Emanuelle let out a low chuckle, the sound barely audible above the echo of heavy, authoritative footsteps approaching from behind. I turned to see Guilio, his posture rigid and his cold eyes piercing, instantly commanding respect from those in his path. The crowd parted without hesitation, sensing the intensity radiating from him. It was clear my brother was furious; his anger was unmistakable, and his movements deliberate. Without warning, Guilio seized me by my coat and slammed me against the unforgiving concrete wall. The force of the impact made it clear he was not in the mood for patience or negotiation. His voice, rough and demanding, cut through the tension as he growled, “Tell me you found the son of a bitch?”
“No.”
Guilio’s grip tightened for a moment as he searched my face for any sign of deception. His frustration was palpable, his demand clear and laced with accusation. “Then why the fuck are you here?” he barked, the tension in his voice echoing in the corridor.
I didn’t hesitate as my words tumbled out, urgent and direct. “Sinclair knows.” The name alone was enough to shift the atmosphere.
Instantly, Guilio’s demeanor changed. He blinked, releasing me abruptly, his eyes suddenly wide with shock and apprehension. “What? How?” he stammered, struggling to comprehend the new twist in the situation.
“Guilio, you know him best. What can I expect?”
Guilio sneered, leaning in so that only I could truly hear him. “All hell is about to break loose,” he warned. “Sinclair is the Devil incarnate, Massimo. Everyone keeps their distance from him for a reason. Even Cesar avoids dealing with him unless absolutely necessary, and let’s not forget—you married his only fucking daughter.”
My frustration mounted. “Help me out here, Guilio,” I pressed, uneasy with the direction of his warning. “What exactly can I really expect from him?”
Guilio’s response was chilling in its certainty. “War, pestilence, famine, and finally death,” he said flatly. “If his family doesn’t kill you, he most certainly will. Sinclair is ruthless, cunning, and cares only about himself. All the rumors you’ve heard about him are true. He is the original nightmare, Massimo. Let me spell it out for you—Sinclair grew up in the Trick Pony, and suffered shit no human being should ever have to deal with. Before escaping, he beheaded the woman who tormented him, then tossed her head right at Devlin Scott’s feet, before walking out of that wretched place with his head held high. Devlin Scott didn’t stop him. No one could. He was only seventeen. Since then, Sinclair has pursued his goals with relentless focus. He cares for nothing but the son he’s looking for and will happily destroy anything or anyone in his path to achieve his goals. He’s methodical. Never challenge him to chess; you will lose and, for your own sake, never, ever lie to him—he’ll know. There’s a reason Cesar only trusts me to deal with Sinclair.”
Understanding dawned as I quietly observed, “Because you two are alike.”
Guilio nodded at my words, a somber edge in his voice. “I’m not proud of the man I’ve become, brother. I hate myself more than you can imagine, but when my family’s safety is at stake, I’ll do anything—become anyone—to ensure you all survive. That’s my job. That’s Sinclair’s job.”
A sinking feeling settled in my gut. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
Guilio cracked a bitter smile, his eyes briefly flickering with something like pity. “Yeah, Massimo. You’re screwed six ways from Sunday, and there’s not a soul alive who can change that now. You’d best brace yourself for what’s coming—and pray he’s feeling merciful.” The weight of his words pressed down on me, cold and unrelenting, leaving no illusion of hope or escape. “Let me make a couple of calls to see where he’s at. In the meantime, keep your head on a swivel, brother, because trust me, you won’t see him coming.”
The room seemed to shrink around me as the gravity of Guilio’s warning sank in. For a moment, I could hear nothing but the pounding of my own heart, each beat echoing the inevitability of what was coming. I tried to steady my breathing, forcing myself to focus, knowing that hesitation or fear could be fatal.
With trembling hands, I reached for my phone, not quite sure who I was about to call—maybe for help, maybe just to hear a familiar voice. Deep down, I understood that a storm was gathering, and the only thing I could do was prepare myself for the battle ahead.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Massimo
Days had crawled by since gunfire tore through Club Valentine. In all that time, I’d made no progress—neither the woman who’d shot Cesar nor Barbari had turned up. Barbari, that cowardly rat, had vanished the moment things went south. Until he decided to show himself, I was powerless to act, forced into a maddening wait. Each hour that passed only heightened my anxiety. Every unexpected sound, every shifting shadow, set my nerves on edge, keeping me in a constant state of vigilance as I braced for Sinclair’s inevitable arrival—and the possibility that he’d come to kill me.
“Boss?”
My body tensed instinctively. Without thinking, my hand shot inside my coat, ready to defend myself against whatever threat had appeared. As I spun around, Milo stood before me, his eyes wide and his hands raised in surrender. The fear in his posture was clear.
“Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Milo stammered, keeping his distance and trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
Letting out a long, shaky breath, I ran my hands down my face, attempting to calm the adrenaline surging through my veins. The tension of the past days hung over me like a storm cloud, making every sudden sound feel dangerous. Finally, I managed to groan out, “What?” hoping Milo’s interruption wasnothing more than a routine check-in and not another problem I’d have to solve.
Milo stepped in, anxious, and delivered a message that piqued my curiosity and set my nerves on edge. “There is someone here to see you.”
