The abandoned church stood like a sentinel against the night sky, its stained glass windows dark and hollow. I parked the Bentley a block away, checking my watch. Ten minutes early. Antonio would be waiting.
"You don't have to do this," Enzo said from the passenger seat.
I adjusted my cufflinks, feeling the weight of my Beretta against my ribs. "Yes, I do."
"He's still your brother."
I turned to face him. "Blood doesn't make family, Enzo. Loyalty does."
The streets were empty as we approached the church, but I knew better than to trust the silence. Two of Antonio's men stood outside the entrance, their hands resting conspicuously on theirweapons. They nodded as we approached, patting us down before letting us pass.
"Boss said to take you to the safe house," one of them grunted. "Not here."
I exchanged a glance with Enzo. A change of venue meant Antonio was being cautious—or setting a trap.
"Lead the way," I said, my voice betraying nothing.
They drove us to an abandoned warehouse by the docks—neutral ground that belonged to neither of our territories. The building had once been a shipping facility, now gutted and forgotten. Perfect for a meeting with no witnesses.
Antonio waited inside, lounging in a leather chair that looked absurdly out of place in the dilapidated space. A small table with two glasses and a bottle of scotch sat beside him. He smiled when he saw me, that same smug grin he'd worn since childhood.
"Vittorio. My brother." He gestured to the empty chair. "Drink?"
I remained standing. "I didn't come here for pleasantries."
Antonio laughed, pouring himself a generous glass. "No, I suppose not. You came because of the girl." He took a sip, watching me over the rim. "And the child."
The air between us crackled with tension. I kept my face impassive, though my fingers itched to reach for my gun.
"You've gone to extraordinary lengths, Antonio. Even for you."
He shrugged, setting down his glass. "Business is business. You took something of mine. I merely wanted it back."
"She was never yours."
"Wasn't she?" His eyes glittered with malice. "Sophie was quite… devoted to me. Until she wasn't."
I clenched my jaw, willing myself to stay calm. "What do you want?"
Antonio leaned forward, all pretense of casualness gone. "What Father always wanted—a son who understood legacy." His smile turned cold. "Instead, I got a brother who'd spit on three generations of sacrifice for some red-headed whore carrying bastard blood."
My blood ran cold. "Sophie is under my protection now."
"Protection?" Antonio laughed, the sound echoing through the empty warehouse. "Is that what you call it? You've disgraced our name, our blood, everything Father died to build. That mongrel she carries will never be a true Ricci. I'm cleaning up your mess." He spat the word like it was poison.
I remained silent, letting him talk. Antonio always revealed more when he thought he had the upper hand.
"You know, I should thank you for taking her in after she stole from me," he continued. "Made it so much easier to track her. Jonah was quite useful—feeding me information, helping arrange her little… vacation with Falco."
"You set up the kidnapping." It wasn't a question.
Antonio spread his hands. "Of course I did. Falco was an idiot, but useful. I needed to see how far you'd go for her." His smile widened. "And you didn't disappoint. The great Vittorio Ricci, risking everything for a woman."
"You had her drugged." My voice was dangerously quiet.
"Had to keep her compliant somehow. Couldn't have her running off again, not when she was such perfect leverage." He took another sip of scotch. "She was leverage, nothing more."
A memory flashed—Sophie collapsing in the garden, her pale face, the doctor's concerned expression. The drugs in her system.
