My blood boils as I watch from the foyer as Lorenzo approaches my home, flanked by armed men who should be loyal to me. Men I’ve trusted for years.
Men I’ve paid, protected, and bled alongside.
Adrian, the bastard, was right.
It was someone close to me, and Uncle Lorenzo has been able to turn some of my men against me.
Rage and disbelief war with each other as I watch my uncle, my family, the man I considered a father figure, walk toward my estate.
“Stay behind me,” I tell Sophia, my voice low and deadly calm despite the rage building in my chest.
She doesn’t argue, and I feel her hand grip the back of my shirt as we move toward the door.
My mind races through possibilities.
How many of my men has Lorenzo turned?
How long has he been planning this?
How did I not see it?
Marco comes into the foyer, his weapon drawn.
Elena hovers near the kitchen doorway, her face pale.
“Boss, we’ve got a problem,” Marco says, his dark eyes fixed on the front entrance. “Half our security detail just walked out the gate. They’re with Lorenzo now.”
The betrayal cuts deeper than any blade.
These men ate at my table.
I attended their children’s baptisms.
And they’ve been working against me all along.
“How many do we have left?” I ask.
“Six. Maybe seven, with not enough time to call for more.” Marco’s jaw clenches. “We’re outnumbered three to one.”
The doorbell rings, the sound obscenely cheerful in the tense silence. I move to answer it, but Sophia’s hand tightens on my arm.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “It’s a trap.”
“Everything’s a trap now.” I cover her hand with mine, squeezing once before releasing her. “But I need to face him. I need to hear him say it.”
I open the door, and there stands the man who raised me after my parents died. Word of Adrian’s death at my hands travels fast, apparently. That’s the only reason I can think of for Lorenzo to come to my estate—he knows I know.
Lorenzo looks smaller than I remember, his brown and gray hair neatly combed, his blue eyes cold and calculating.
He’s wearing an expensive suit, as always, every inch the successful businessman.
He’s also pointing a gun directly at my chest.
“Hello, nephew.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “May I come in? We have so much to discuss.”
I step aside, keeping my own weapon trained on him.
His men file in behind him, fanning out across my foyer like they own the place. Maybe they think they do.
