Page 40 of Marcello DeLuca

Vito voice cuts through the commotion. “We have to move. Now!”

I nod, taking Safia’s hand as we push through the chaos.

“Wait,” she reaches and grabs an old red laptop off of a nearby table. “This was my father’s.”

Our men cover our retreat.

As we drive away, the compound falls away behind us, swallowed by the night. But in Safia’s eyes, I see the dawn of something new—something powerful and unbreakable.

While she will never have her family back, she has taken back some of the power Paleto’s schemes took away.

As we make our way back to the safe house, I hold her hand, the world settling into focus around her. The battle isn’t over, but tonight, we’ve won.

Chapter Fifteen

Marcello

Beautiful Triumph

I called a meeting with Ramiri, Altoni, Vito, Prosper, and a few more of my trusted men. The weight of what I was about to reveal was heavy on my shoulders, but it had to be done. The room was thick with tension. My men’s eyes were on me as I spoke.

“Safia's father got involved with some dangerous individuals in the past,” I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “It cost his family their lives. He owed money to the Grecozis before he died, but some of the investments he made with the money have skyrocketed, making her a multi-billion-dollar target.”

I paused, letting the words sink in. The realization of the stakes rippled through the room. Faces hardened, jaws clenched, but no one spoke. They waited for me to continue.

“The man orchestrating the attacks against her was Jack Dunner, a stock market analyst who knew her worth. We killed him last year. But he had promised the Grecozi family they could recover what her father owed if they delivered Safia to him. Dunner’s brother planned to get control over her to access her inheritance. Chances are, the Grecozis have no clue about the true extent of her wealth. They don’t know they’re being played.”

The room was silent, the air charged with the weight of the revelation.

“And now, it's all over. Safia killed Paleto Grecozi, the head of their family. The DeLuca mafia took out most of the Grecozis who would cause us trouble. But there’s one more problem.”

My gaze shifted to Alfonso DeLuca, who lay on the floor, bound and beaten, his eyes wide with fear. As I stand over him, I can’t help but feel a pang of regret. It shouldn’t have come to this. Family should mean more than betrayal and bloodshed.

“Every family has that one person who won’t do right,” I say, my voice dripping with disdain. “Why did it have to be you, Alfonso?”

Alfonso whimpers, but I ignore him, turning to Prosper. “What else did you find?”

“Alfonso received a wire transfer of fifty million into his offshore account after Safia was captured,” Prosper replies, his voice steady, though his eyes are hard. “It got me thinking—how would he get such a large sum of money right after her kidnapping?”

I glance down at Alfonso, piecing it all together. “Inside information. He had to have someone on the inside feeding him details. Someone had to tell him that she would be out shopping with her uncle.”

“That’s why Altoni is here,” Vito says, his voice cold and flat. “You see Mr. Altoni here thought he was so smart that he would use his position and call Safia’s security guards to find out where she was. Then, he fed that information to Alfonso.”

Altoni, tied up next to Alfonso, looks up with pleading eyes, but no one in the room feels sympathy for him.

Altoni, a once-trusted lieutenant, had betrayed us for money. He deposited a large sum into his account right after Safia was taken. The betrayal was glaringly obvious and sickeningly personal.

“Not smart Altoni. Not smart after all. And how dumb can you be to deposit such a large sum into your account after your capo’s wife is kidnapped?” Vito growls, stepping closer to Altoni, his face twisted in disgust. “Are you dumb or you do you think we’re dumb?” Vito slapped him across the face with the backside of his gun.

“Ouch!” Altoni cries out in pain.

“Do you see the mess you’ve made, sperm donor?” I spit out, my eyes burning with fury as I glare at Alfonso.

Alfonso looks up at me, fear etched into every line of his face. “Please, Marcello, I’m your father. Don’t do this,” he begs, his voice breaking.

I glance at Vito, searching his face for a sign of doubt, a hesitation. He meets my gaze with dark, unyielding eyes, a mixture of sadness and resolve swirling in them.

“I have to do this,” I say quietly, needing his acknowledgment, needing to know this won’t make him my enemy. “He is your father, after all.”

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