Page 2 of The Brat's Bargain

Gio's grin widened. "I dunno, Frankie. Seems a shame to mess up that pretty face. 'Course, there's plenty of other places we could carve him up that won't show."

Ice flooded Antonio's veins. He'd heard whispers of the brutality the Rizzos were capable of. Knew that for all his family's power, he was in way over his head.

"Look," he said, hating the way his voice shook. "There's been some kind of mistake. I don't owe your boss anything. This is Lombardi territory."

Gio's grip tightened, shoving Antonio back against the wall. "See, that's where you're wrong, princess. Boss Rizzo's got his fingers in all kinds of pies these days. Including that little casino you just lost your shirt in."

Frankie pressed the flat of the blade against Antonio's cheek, eyes glittering with malicious glee. "Now, you gonna come along nice and quiet-like? Or do we gotta get persuasive?"

Antonio's mind raced. He could try to fight, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. Could try to run, but there was no guarantee he'd make it far. And if word got back to his mother that he'd started a turf war over a gambling debt...

"Alright," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "I'll come. But you'd better hope your boss is in a generous mood. Because when my family finds out about this?—"

A meaty fist slammed into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. Antonio doubled over, gasping.

"That's enough outta you," Gio growled. "Now move."

They frog-marched him towards a waiting SUV, tinted windows obscuring whatever fate awaited inside. As the door swung open, revealing a shadowy interior, panic clawed at Antonio's throat.

This was it. He'd fucked up for the last time, and now he was going to pay the price. His mother's disappointed face flashed before his eyes. Lorenzo's exasperated sigh echoed in his ears.

As he was shoved roughly into the back seat, Antonio's racing mind latched onto one desperate hope. Someone had to have noticed him leave the casino. Someone had to be looking for him.

But as the SUV pulled away from the curb, engine purring ominously in the night, Antonio knew the truth. He was on his own. And he had no one to blame but himself.

The drive was a blur of neon-lit streets and growing dread. Antonio's captors maintained a stony silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of a radio. He tried to keep track of their route, but the tinted windows and his own panicked thoughts made it impossible.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the SUV rolled to a stop. Gio yanked Antonio out of the back seat, his grip bruising on Antonio's arm.

They were in some kind of abandoned warehouse district. Rusted shipping containers loomed like silent sentinels in the gloom. The acrid stench of polluted water hung heavy in the air.

"Move," Frankie growled, giving Antonio a rough shove towards a dilapidated building.

Inside, bare bulbs cast harsh shadows across crumbling concrete walls. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady plink-plink that set Antonio's nerves on edge.

They marched him down a long hallway, past rooms filled with crates and suspicious-looking machinery. Antonio's imagination ran wild with visions of torture devices and body disposal equipment.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy metal door. Gio rapped out a complex pattern, then stepped back.

After a moment, the door swung open with an ominous creak.

"Well, well." A gravelly voice drifted out from the shadows. "If it isn't the Lombardi brat himself. Come in, boy. Let's have a little chat about your unfortunate gambling habit."

Antonio was shoved unceremoniously into the room, stumbling as he tried to regain his balance. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he took in his surroundings.

The space was surprisingly opulent compared to the rest of the warehouse. Plush carpets, leather furniture, and a massive mahogany desk dominated the room. Behind the desk sat a man Antonio recognized from countless family briefings and whispered warnings.

Vincent Rizzo. The head of the Rizzo crime family and his mother's most hated rival.

"Mr. Lombardi." Rizzo's voice was like gravel wrapped in silk. "Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."

Antonio remained standing, chin lifted in defiance despite the fear churning in his gut. "I have nothing to say to you, Rizzo. This is Lombardi territory. You have no right?—"

A backhanded slap from Gio sent him sprawling into one of the leather chairs. Antonio tasted blood, his cheek stinging from the blow.

Rizzo tsked, shaking his head. "Now, now. There's no need for rudeness. After all, I'm the one doing you a favor here."

"Favor?" Antonio spat, glaring at the older man. "You call kidnapping me a favor?"

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