Page 13 of His Ruthless Claim

Mickey shifts, boots scraping concrete. "The Cappallettis catch wind of this internal power shift, they might try something."

"Let them try." I meet his eyes with an empty smile. "They'll learn what happens when you cross a Mantione - the new generation of Mantione."

"Got it, boss. We'll make them pay."

The memory hits without warning - red wine spreading across pristine white tablecloth, my father's fingers digging into my shoulder as he towers over me. "I'll make you pay for that, you worthless little shit. You couldn't even hold a glass right. Just like you couldn't save her."

I blink, forcing the image away with mechanical precision. Dwelling on the past is inefficient. My phone vibrates against the table, and I recognize the number lighting up the screen - the burner I gave him.

Need to meet. Urgent. Usual spot.

Enzo's always been different from the other Cappalletti soldiers - sharper, more ambitious. The photos of his confrontation with Alfonso suggest he's finally reached his breaking point.

My thumb traces the smooth silver of my mother's watch, its steady ticking a counterpoint to my racing thoughts. Eight-year-old me had clung to this watch in that hospital waiting room, while nurses whispered and my father raged. Now it grounds me, helps maintain the careful mask I've crafted.

"Bas." I don't raise my voice, but he straightens immediately. "Get me everything on Enzo's recent movements. Family connections, gambling debts, side businesses - especially anything Alfonso might have shut down."

"Already compiling it, boss." He slides a folder across the table. "Seems Figarello's been blocking several of Enzo's expansion attempts. Real estate deals, protection rackets - all killed before they got off the ground."

Perfect. A man with crushed ambitions is a man ready to switch allegiances. I stand, adjusting my suit jacket with precise movements. "Have Mickey trail him to the meeting point. I want eyes on every possible approach."

This could be the crack in the Cappalletti foundation I've been waiting for. One well-placed lever, and their whole structure might just crumble - leaving space for a new order. My order.

The watch catches the light as I check the time. Mother always said timing was everything. I've learned to be patient, to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Just like I've waited to make my father pay for every drunken rage, every bruise, every night I spent reliving her death while he blamed me for surviving.

After the meeting with Enzo proves enlightening - he is pissed at Alfonso and the Cappalletti Don, enough so to tell me to make him an offer and he'll rip away the one piece of leverage they have over me - I take a deliberate detour past Calloway's Boutique. The late afternoon sun catches the polished storefront windows, but it doesn't obscure my view of her inside.

Skye moves through her shop with practiced elegance, her sleek black waves bouncing as she adjusts a display. Her amber eyes light up when she greets a customer, genuine warmth radiating from her smile. It's... unsettling. The way she commands attention without force or fear.

I check my watch - the same one that had captured her attention days ago. Her fingers had twitched toward it before she caught herself, showing rare self-control. Most people grab what they want without thought of consequences.

A group of women cluster around her, hanging on her every word as she pulls pieces from the racks. Her slim figure moves with fluid grace between the displays, light brown skin glowing under the boutique's carefully curated lighting. She gestures animatedly, those perfectly manicured nails flashing as she explains something about fabric or cut.

My jaw clenches. This is becoming a pattern - these unnecessary detours, these moments spent watching her work. It's inefficient. Dangerous even. Yet I find myself noting how her staff straighten when she passes, not from fear but something like admiration. How customers lean in close, treating her words like precious secrets rather than sales pitch.

The diamond in her nose catches the light as she throws her head back laughing at something a client says. The sound carries faintly through the glass, musical and unrestrained. I can't remember the last time I heard genuine laughter that wasn't nervous or forced.

A delivery truck blocks my view momentarily. When it passes, she's at the register, those sharp eyes scanning the street. For a fraction of a second, our gazes lock. Something flickers across her expression - recognition, interest, wariness. Smart girl.

I turn away, adjusting my suit jacket with mechanical precision. This... distraction needs to end. I have a family to destroy, an empire to build. I can't afford to waste time studying the way light plays across her cheekbones or how she commands a room without violence.

Yet as I slide into my car, I know I'll be back tomorrow. Same time. Same calculated coincidence.

At least I force myself away and get back to work. I've held onto some modicum of control, though by the time I get to my office, I already feel the pull to go back to her.

I don't fucking understand it, and it's causingsomethingto itch beneath my skin. I do not care for being out of control.

I scan the latest reports scattered across my desk, jaw tight as I process the implications. Enzo's meeting confirmed what these documents show - the Cappalletti family is fracturing from within. Alfonso's iron grip is causing more than just Enzo to question their leadership.

My phone buzzes. Another update from Bas: three more of Giovanni's men spotted meeting in locations outside their usual territory. The pieces are falling exactly where I need them.

I check my watch - 2:15 PM. Skye will be back from lunch by now.

"Fuck." The curse slips out before I can stop it. I shouldn't know her schedule. Shouldn't care that she wears a different shade of nail polish each day or that her laugh carries across the street when she's particularly amused.

Mickey enters without knocking, another stack of papers in hand. "Your father's security detail changed their rotation again."

"Put it with the others." I don't look up from the surveillance photos, but my fingers brush against my watch band. "Any movement from the Bueti family?"

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