Page 47 of The Bratty Heir

Victor followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt as he filled Rocco with his release. They collapsed together, panting and trembling in the aftermath.

As they caught their breath, Victor peppered Rocco's face with surprisingly tender kisses. "My fierce little prince," he murmured. "Ready to bring down an empire?"

Rocco's grin was sharp and deadly. "Born ready, Daddy. Let's make these fuckers pay."

An hour later, they strode into Giovanni Rossetti's office, the picture of power and control. Rocco's father looked up, surprise flickering across his face at their united front.

"Rocco, Victor," he greeted cautiously. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Rocco's eyes hardened, all trace of the playful brat gone. "We need to talk, Dad. About Uncle Antonio, about Bianchi... about the rot eating away at our family from the inside out."

Giovanni's face paled as Rocco laid out the evidence, systematically exposing every betrayal, every backroom deal. By the time he finished, the don's hands were shaking with barely contained fury.

"I want them all dead," Giovanni snarled, slamming his fist on the desk. "Every last one of these traitors."

Rocco shared a look with Victor, a silent conversation passing between them. "With all due respect, Dad," Rocco said carefully, "I have a better idea."

The Rossetti penthouse hummed with tension, a war room disguised in luxury. Rocco stood before a sprawling evidence board, his eyes hard as he surveyed the web of betrayal laid bare. Victor lounged nearby, radiating dangerous energy.

"Walk me through it again, baby boy," Victor growled. "I want to savor every detail of how we're going to crush these fuckers."

Rocco's lips curved into a predatory smile. "We start with the low-level players. The dirty cops, the crooked judges, the petty criminals who've been feeding information to Bianchi and my uncle Antonio. We hit them hard and fast, make examples of them."

"And how do we do that?" Victor purred, his eyes dark with anticipation.

"We use their own greed and fear against them," Rocco explained. "For the cops, we plant evidence of bribery, tip off Internal Affairs. Watch them tear each other apart trying to save their own skins."

Victor nodded approvingly. "And the judges?"

Rocco's grin turned vicious. "We expose their dirty little secrets. The one who likes underage hookers? Anonymous tip to the press. The gambling addict? His bookie gets a visit from the IRS."

"Mmm, clever boy," Victor murmured, pride evident in his voice. "And the bigger fish?"

"We go after what they value most," Rocco said coldly. "Their reputation, their families, their sense of safety. We don't just kill them—we destroy everything they've built."

Victor's eyes blazed with lust and approval. "Fuck, baby. You make Daddy so proud when you talk like that."

They set their plan in motion the next day. Their first target was a detective who'd been on Bianchi's payroll for years. Instead of a bullet to the brain, Rocco orchestrated an elaborate sting. He fed the cop false intel about a major drug shipment, knowing the greedy bastard would try to intercept it himself.

When Detective Morelli showed up at the docks, he found himself surrounded by both his fellow officers and members of the cartel he'd been planning to rip off. The resulting shootout made headlines, exposing the depth of corruption in the department and throwing Bianchi's entire information network into chaos.

"One down," Rocco said smugly as they watched the news coverage from their penthouse.

Victor pulled him close, nipping at his ear. "Good boy. Who's next on our hit list?"

The next few days were a whirlwind of calculated violence and precision strikes. They took down a city councilman with a penchant for embezzlement, a union boss who'd been skimming from pension funds, and a prominent defense attorney who'd been helping Bianchi's men walk free.

Each takedown was more elaborate than the last. For the union boss, they arranged for his mistress to "accidentally" upload their sex tape to the union's official social media accounts. The resulting scandal not only destroyed his career but also his marriage.

The attorney proved trickier. He was too smart to leave a paper trail, too cautious to be caught in a compromising position. So Rocco got creative.

"We can't prove he's dirty," he explained to Victor as they surveilled the man's office. "So we make everyone think he is, even if he isn't."

Over the next week, they orchestrated a series of events that made it look like the lawyer was cooperating with the feds. Mysterious meetings, coded phone calls, suspicious bank transfers—all fake, but convincing enough to make Bianchi paranoid.

It worked better than they could have hoped. Bianchi, spooked by the apparent betrayal, had the attorney taken out by his own men. Another piece off the board, without Rocco and Victor having to lift a finger.

As their campaign of destruction continued, word spread through the underworld. The Rossetti heir was cleaning house, and God help anyone who stood in his way. Informants started coming out of the woodwork, eager to save their own skins by selling out their co-conspirators.

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