“Voglio la testa di mio padre.”I want my father's head.I keep my voice steady despite the nerves coursing through my veins.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his expression unreadable. “That's quite a bold statement, Mr. Bonetti.”
I nod. “I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to bring him down.”
LaTorre’s lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, but I can see the skepticism lurking behind his eyes. “And why should I trust you?”
I reach into my jacket pocket and his men stand at attention, arms aiming at me as my men do the same. I pull out the envelope signaling Zack to put the arms down and LaTorre does the same, while sliding it across the table toward him. “Because I have something that may interest you.”
He raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he picks up the envelope and flips it open. His eyes widen as he scans the contents, his expression shifting from doubt to disbelief.
“These are...” he murmurs, his voice tinged with surprise. “How did you get these?”
I lean forward, my eyes locked with his. “My men found some interesting information,” I explain. “It turns out your organization has two members on my father's payroll: Bianchi and Dante.”
LaTorre’s eyes narrow, suspicion flickering in their depths. “And what do you expect in return for this information?”
I lean back in my chair, while taking the glass and sip some wine. “The same thing I've been asking for from the beginning,” I reply evenly. “My father's death, and I can’t do it alone.”
For a moment, there's silence between us as LaTorre skims to the next file. And then, slowly but surely, a look of realization dawns on his face, followed swiftly by anger.
“Your father...” he begins, his voice trembling with fury as he abruptly gets up. “He's responsible for... for my fiancée's execution.”
I nod, my jaw clenched with determination. “Him and Rossi,” I confirm. “And now, it's time for him to pay for his crimes since,” I pause for a second, “well, we know you took care of Rossi.”
He slams the hands on the table, the tension in the air is palpable as again guns are pointed in every direction, LaTorre’s security team bristling with hostility.
I hold up a hand, “Guns down,” I order my men, my gaze firm as I meet the eyes of each man in the room.
Most comply immediately, but one hesitates, his finger tightening on the trigger. Without a moment's hesitation, I draw my own weapon and fire, the sharp crack of the gunshot echoing through the room.
The man falls to the ground, and I ignore him, turning my attention back to LaTorre.
“Tomorrow, 10 am,” his voice is cold and authoritative. “We'll head to Valle Verde and you’ll come with me.”
“We’ll be there Mr Latorre.” I nod.
He extends his hand, “It’s Ferdinando.”
“Christopher.” Firmly, I shake it.
This is it, the moment I've been waiting for, the opportunity to finally bring down my father is within reach.
As I watch LaTorre and his men file out of the room, a sense of triumph washes over me.
Jackpot!
As we pullup to the gates of Valle Verde, I can feel the weight of anticipation settling over me like a heavy blanket. This is it, the moment we've been building up to, the culmination of months of planning and preparation. I glance around at my trusted men and we’re ready for whatever lies ahead.
Before stepping in the house, I unholster my weapons and hand them over to Alec, issuing a silent command for everyone else to do the same. It's a precautionary measure, a show of trust and respect to our hosts, but it's also a signal of our readiness to engage in negotiations rather than confrontation. LaTorre nods in approval as he watches us disarm, clearly impressed by our display of cooperation.
As we enter the sprawling estate, I'm struck by the sheer opulence of my surroundings. The air is heavy with the scent of exotic flowers, and the sound of laughter and music drifts through the warm night air. Elena, Ferdinando's sister, and her imposing bodyguard, Marco, greet us. She's a vision of elegance and grace, her smile lighting up her face as she welcomes us into her home.
We're ushered into the dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaits us. As we settle into our seats, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and good-natured banter.But beneath the surface, I can sense the tension simmering, the unspoken questions hanging in the air like a dark cloud.
“So, Chris,” Ferdinando says in a casual tone but his eyes sharp, “do you have a woman in your life?”
I sigh, knowing that my answer will only serve to open old wounds. “Not anymore,” I admit. “There was someone once, but... things didn't work out.”
