Chapter 22
22
Lorenzo
The air inside the warehouse stinks of sweat and stale cigars.
I prefer to conduct my business elsewhere, but I have no choice tonight. It’s payday from our last collection run, and I have to be here to oversee my men.
The dim overhead lights flicker, casting a faint glow over the tables where the bags sit. The four men standing in front of me look like they’d rather be anywhere else. Probably with strippers at the club. Work first, fucking later.
My boots echo across the concrete as I approach the center of the floor. “Are we missing something?” I ask, voice low and controlled. I’m known as being a loose cannon, so whenever I’m the opposite, people take notice.
Vin nods once, flipping open the metal case on the folding table beside him.
Cash. Which is not surprising. There are stacks of it, but right away, I know something is off. There’s a lot less than there should be.
“Light,” Vin responds, his jaw grinding. “By almost fifty grand p>
“Fifty?” I arch a brow, slow and mocking. “What, did we forget to collect from half the city? Or did someone suddenly develop a gambling habit and a death wish p>
“Every venue reported,” Deeks says from across the room, arms crossed. “Bars, lounges, private rooms. Every single one of our books came back clean. Which means.. p>
“Which means someone’s skimming,” I finish for him, tapping two fingers against the edge of the table. My rings catch the light, sharp as warnings.
Rafe leans against a rusted pillar, picking dirt from under his nails, and scoffs. “Always the same story. Someone gets greedy, thinks we won’t notice p>
“News flash,” Vin adds, sarcasm thick, “we notice p>
“Barely.” I drag a hand down my jaw. “They’ve been shaving off the top for a while. Quiet. Careful. Now they’re getting cocky p>
Deeks grunts his approval. “I say we cut off a few fingers. Start a rumor. Fear travels faster than our money does p>
I glance at him, unimpressed. “Cute. Normally, I’m all for chopping limbs, but I’d rather get names before we start a trim job p>
“Shame.” Rafe (aka Raffaello) smirks. I like him. Besides Matteo, he’s the only one in my uncle’s organization I’d consider a friend. He reminds me a lot of myself. We both have a taste for killing.
“I just sharpened the bone saw p>
“And I promise, once we find out who’s responsible, I’ll let you take a turn… after me.” I let my lip lift into a mischievous grin. “But first, bring me whoever was in charge of picking up the money this week. Let’s ask him why he thinks math is optional p>
Rafe straightens. “You got it p>
The men scatter, and then I’m finally met with silence.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off. Doesn’t work. My pulse is already shifting. Beating faster. Uneven.
I reach for my phone out of habit.
No missed calls.
Just one notification.
A flagged alert. From a contact I haven’t heard from in over a year.
No message. No subject. Just a photo.
I tap it open, and the moment I do, the world tilts on its axis.
Victoria.
She’s older, yet still stunning. It’s almost painful how beautiful she is.
The only problem with this picture is that she’s not alone.
There’s a man next to her, hand resting on the small of her back like he has the right.
Grant Jameson.
The same bastard from five years ago. He still looks like a douchebag.
My jaw locks so tight it aches. I zoom in, searching for something, anything. A flinch. A crack. A sign she hates this.
Nothing.
She looks fucking fine. Content even.
Like she never once thought about the boy she left without a word.
Me.
A headline screams across the top of the photo:
Danforth Enterprises and Jameson Group hint at a more permanent merger. Maybe the heirs to the empire will finally seal the deal.
I laugh—it’s short and bitter. Of course they’re getting married. I was just the summer distraction after all.
Old feelings rush back. Suddenly I’m transported to that day…
The day that changed my life.
I throw my phone across the room. It hits concrete and clatters, but doesn’t shatter.
Fuck.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the warehouse because if I stand still, I’ll put my hand through the wall. I should’ve known. Should’ve guessed she wouldn’t stay frozen like I did. That she’d move on. Thrive. Forget.
But with him?
It was always going to be him. Her father fucking told me it would be.
What the fuck did I expect?
I stalk across the room and punch the wall. It dents, and my knuckles crack and bleed.
It still doesn’t help.
I breathe in. Out. I’m still not calm. I grab my phone from where I threw it and then dial. “Rafe. Now p>
Ten seconds later, the door creaks open. Rafe steps inside, eyebrow raised like he’s already planning which exit to sprint toward if I go feral.
“What’s up p>
I shove my phone with the photo in his face.
He squints, then whistles low. “Well, shit p>
“Exactly p>
“Did she always have a taste for suits p>
“She had a taste for me,” I snap, heat flaring in my chest. “This? This is a downgrade p>
He shrugs. “Looks more like a power play p>
I turn away, because if I keep looking at that screen, I might crack the earth open.
“Call Cyrus Reed p>
“Cyrus p>
“Yeah, you know, he has that poker game? He told me if I ever needed any help with anything… ”
“Got it. And what help are we looking for p>
“I want everything on Danforth Enterprises. Financials. Current deals. Press leaks. Private holdings. If her name is on it, I want it. Tell him I’ll owe him one p>
Rafe nods slowly, expression sharpening. “You want a hit too p>
I consider it. Feel the weight of it in my blood. Then shake my head. “A takeover. But first, we make them bleed in places they won’t see coming p>
“Once you got everything on them, I want you to strip their leverage. Corner them. Then we make our move p>
Rafe smirks. “Going for the slow choke, huh p>
“Exactly.” My smile is razor-thin. “I want her to feel it. I want the family to beg p>
Rafe snorts. “Damn. Remind me never to break your heart p>
“You’re not my type p>
He claps the doorframe twice. “I’ll get started,” he shouts over his shoulder as he leaves.
Five years.
Five years of working for my uncle and building a name for myself within the organization. Five years turning myself into someone no one could crush. Five years of killing the man I was, the man I once thought I needed to be… for her.
He’s dead now.
All because she never looked back.
Soon, she’ll see how much she fucked up.
I sit down at the table that sits in the middle of the open space, fingers pressed to my temples, when my phone rings. Matteo. Of course.
“If this is about the fifty grand, I don’t need to hear your shit. I’m doing a damn fucking good job. If your dad has a problem with it.. p>
“Want to continue that sentence? Pretty sure Pops wouldn’t appreciate it p>
I sigh because he’s right. My uncle loves me in his own way, but he’d also not lose a minute of sleep if he killed me. At this point, the only reason he doesn’t is because of his son. Matteo considers me a brother, so for now… I’m safe.
“Get off my dick, cuz. I already know who I’m killing, so make it quick p>
“Jesus Christ.” Matteo laughs into the receiver. “You’ve become quite unhinged in your old age p>
“You called to compliment me p>
“I’m actually calling because I saw an interesting article in the paper.” His voice softens just a fraction.
I stare at a distant wall. “You mean the one about the Danforths? Yeah. I saw it p>
Matteo exhales sharply. “You good p>
“Oh yeah,” I say, sarcasm dripping like venom. “Fantastic. Thinking about sending her a fruit basket. Maybe with a note that says, ‘Congrats on the engagement, make sure to have a bomb squad at your wedding.’ Or maybe something like, ‘Can’t wait to make you a widow p>
He laughs hard, and then the sound stops abruptly. “You’re kidding, right p>
“Maybe. If she’s lucky p>
“You’ve really turned into an angry bastard p>
“Life will do that to you p>
“Life,” he repeats. “Or a girl p>
My smile goes dark. “Don’t worry. I’m currently sharpening my knives. I might as well put this sadistic energy to good use p>
Matteo whistles low. “I remember the boy who got into the car all those years ago. Sweet. Ridiculous. Terrible at lying p>
“He died p>
“You… okay p>
“Define okay.” I lean back in my chair. “Because right now I’m hovering somewhere between ‘burn down their empire’ and ‘send Grant a sympathy card for what’s about to happen to him p>
Matteo snorts. “You know, you always had a mean streak. But this? This is art p>
“Thank you. I take pride in my growth p>
“And your violence p>
“And my violence p>
He hums. “Listen, don’t do anything stupid, okay? Pops would be pissed, and you don’t want to fuck up anything p>
“Sure. No problem. Wouldn’t dream of doing anything,” I lie through my teeth. Of course, I’m going to do something, but the something I’m going to do… he and his father will never know about because they’ll never approve.
“Good talk.” Matteo laughs.
I hang up, letting the silence settle again. Except now, it’s not hollow. It’s sharp.
Alive.
My blood is steady. Focused. I have a purpose. And the purpose…
Well, obviously, I’m going to burn down her world—piece by piece.
If she wanted a war, she should’ve picked someone weaker.
Because now?
This is personal.
And I don’t lose.
Ever.