“Enough,” Vitale said calmly.
The word carried weight. It didn’t echo, didn’t need to. It settled over the terrace like a lid snapping shut.
Vitale didn’t raise his voice. He never did. Control was his default setting, his weapon of choice. “This posturing wastes time,” he continued evenly. “And time is something none of us has in abundance.”
His gaze slid to Enzo. Cool. Assessing. Expectant. “So, let’s be done with it.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Enzo. Give me the diamond.”
Enzo caught the movement beside him as Kathleen bit her lip.
Adrenaline surged, acrid and electric, flooding his veins, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “What diamond?” he asked.
The temperature on the terrace dropped. Enzo felt it like a physical thing, the way men stilled, the way fingers tightened on triggers.
Vitale’s eyes sharpened. “Don’t insult me,” he said mildly. “The Valmont Star. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Enzo exhaled slowly, deliberately. “Oh,” he said. “That diamond.”
Vitale’s smile returned, satisfied. Certain. “Yes.”
Enzo reached into his pocket. He felt rather than saw Kathleen tense beside him. He knew she was bracing herself. He withdrew his hand.
A slim metallic object rested in his palm. No velvet pouch. No sparkle. No dramatic weight. Just smooth, modern metal.
Vitale frowned. “That,” he said carefully, “is not a diamond.”
“No,” Enzo agreed. “It’s a crypto wallet. Much like the one you have where you keep all of the cartel’s stolen money.” His mouth curved slightly. “Too bad it’s not worth shit these days.”
The color drained from Vitale’s face so fast it was almost impressive. Rage rolled off him in a hot, uncontrolled wave. “She said it was the diamond.”
“I truly think Carlotta believed it was the Valmont Star,” Enzo said. “But, alas, she was wrong.”
The fear in Vitale’s eyes was raw. Exposed. Enzo knew he shouldn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t healthy. But damn if it didn’t make every mile of this nightmare almost worth it.Almost.
“You don’t have the money,” Rocco said flatly. “Then you are useless to me. You are a fucking dead man.”
Enzo heard the panic threading through his voice. Rocco had bet big. Enzo was sure Rocco had made promises. Failure wasn’t an option.
“Basta!” Vitale roared. His composure cracked, the sound ripping out of him. His eyes raked over Enzo, then slid to Kathleen. “Enough. I have the money,” Vitale said coldly. “It’s standing right there.” He gestured toward her. “Her brother will pay his entire fortune to get her back. I will have everything I need, and more.”
Icy fingers closed around Enzo’s heart.
He opened his mouth to argue?—
“Alessandro,” a new voice cut in smoothly, confidently, “you never call. You never write.”
Jameson Drake strode onto the terrace like he owned the place.
Perfectly tailored navy pinstriped summer suit. White shirt. Italian shoes, handmade. Savile Row craftsmanship written into every line. Jamie always knew how to make an entrance.
“Jameson,” Vitale said. “We were just talking about you.”
“I’m sure.” Jamie crossed to Kathleen, gave her a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “You look tired,” he said lightly. “This vacation hasn’t been as relaxing as you hoped.”
Kathleen let out a small, strained laugh. “No. Not relaxing.”
Jamie didn’t acknowledge Enzo. Not even a glance.
Intentional.
