Sal doesn’t waste time. With a single punch, he drives his fist into Tomasso’s face, the sickening crunch echoing in the smallroom. Tomasso cries out, clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers.

He stumbles, but Sal doesn’t let him fall. He grabs him by the neck, lifting him as though he weighs nothing and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of meat.

I step aside, letting Sal lead the way back through the hall and down the stairs. The hotel attendants are still frozen at their desks, watching us wide eyed. I tip my hat to them with a grin, enjoying their terrified expressions, and then we’re back outside, loading Tomasso into the truck like cargo.

The drive is short, taking us into the woods just outside the city. Sal and I don’t say a word; we both know what needs to be done. This isn’t the time for conversation, it’s the time for action.

When we reach the clearing, I step out first, taking in the stillness of the trees, the way the shadows fall across the ground like specters waiting to bear witness.

Sal drags Tomasso from the truck, hauling him like dead weight and dumping him at the base of a tree. Tomasso’s whimpering now, his bravado gone, replaced by the blubbering mess he truly is.

“Please, please,” he gasps, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Save it,” I snap, stepping forward. “You made the fake ring, didn’t you?”

He hesitates, looking between me and Sal, who’s already tying him to the tree with the methodical efficiency of a man who’s done this a hundred times.

He nods, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes, yes, I made it. But I was paid, please…I didn’t do it on my own.”

“Who paid you?” My voice is sharp, like a blade slicing through his excuses.

He hesitates, his eyes darting, calculating. “I…I can’t say. They’ll kill me.”

I nod, exchanging a glance with Sal. “Sal,” I say, gesturing toward Tomasso.

Sal’s expression is blank, his eyes cold, and without a word, he slams a fist into Tomasso’s gut. Tomasso doubles over, gasping for breath, his eyes bulging with pain.

“I’ll ask again,” I say, my voice icy. “Who paid you?”

Tomasso’s voice is a ragged whisper. “The… the Gufos. It was the Gufos.”

The name hits me like a slap, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of surprise. The Gufos. I hadn’t even considered them. They’re such a small problem compared to the Vitales that I didn’t even think of them.

But now, it makes sense…the Gufos, the ones who specialize in operating from the shadows, in tearing down their enemies with whispers instead of bullets. And this, this whole scheme, the stolen ring, the humiliation, it’s exactly their style.

“Of course,” I murmur, almost to myself. “It all fits.”

Tomasso’s watching me with desperate, pleading eyes, his voice breaking as he begs, “Please, I told you everything! Just let me go. Please.”

I look at Sal, giving him a brief nod. Sal steps forward, his fist raised, and Tomasso’s face goes white as he realizes what’s coming. “No! No, please, I…”

Sal’s punch lands with almost superhuman strength. The crunch is sickening as his fist smashes through Tomasso’s skull, and Tomasso’s body slumps, the last shreds of life draining from his eyes.

We stand there for a moment, the quiet settling around us like a shroud. Finally, I take out my phone, dialing Massimo’s number.

He picks up on the first ring. “Alessio?”

“It was the Gufos, boss.” I tell him. “They were behind it all.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Massimo lets out a low, bitter chuckle. “I’m not surprised,” he says. “They’ve always wanted to see us humiliated.”

“There’s more,” he adds, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “They’ve put the ring up for auction at the Ice Box.” It’s happening tonight. ”

I feel a chill creep down my spine. “And what are you planning to do?”

“I’m sending Isabella,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “She’s going to bid on the ring and bring it back.”

I’m quiet, my mind reeling. Isabella, at the Ice Box, surrounded by those vultures?