Page 11 of Tower of Temptations

My father's words echoed: Don't disappoint me.

I forced myself to turn away, fighting every instinct that screamed to stay. "Get some rest, Pearl."

Her soft "thank you for the books" followed me out, breathier than before. This time I did look back—just in time to catch her pressed against the window again, that golden light making her glow.

I practically ran to my office. Because for the first time in my life, I was starting to question whether making my father proud was worth denying what burned through my veins.

And that kind of thinking would get us both killed.

7

VITTORIO

Istared at my reflection in the mahogany-framed mirror, adjusting my silk tie with practiced precision. The face that looked back at me was handsome enough—distinguished silver at the temples, strong jaw, cold eyes that could charm or terrify depending on my needs.

But today, those eyes held something darker.

"Boss." Carlo's voice crackled through my phone speaker. "You sitting down? I got bad news."

Already, I could hear the fear in his voice—that distinctive tremor that told me he was about to disappoint me. I despised weakness, especially in my men.

"Spit it out, Carlo," I commanded, my voice carrying the edge that made grown men flinch. "Don't waste my time."

"Yes, boss. We don't know exactly who, but somebody took Pearl. Knocked out the guards in her tower."

The silk tie crumpled in my fist as rage coursed through my veins. Twenty years of careful planning, of molding that girl into the perfect pawn, threatened to unravel in an instant.

"What the fuck did you just say?" My voice was deadly quiet now, the calm before the storm.

Carlo stammered through the details, but I barely heard him.

My mind was already racing, calculating the implications. Pearl was more than just my stepdaughter—she was my masterpiece. Years of careful manipulation, of breaking down her will while maintaining that perfect, pristine exterior. She was my key to legitimacy, my ticket to respect among the old families who still whispered about my methods.

"I don't give a damn about the fucking bodies!" I roared, hurling my phone at the wall. It shattered satisfyingly, pieces scattering across the imported marble floor. "I had plans for that little?—"

I caught myself, forcing the rage back down where it belonged. Control. Everything was about control.

My office—my sanctuary—suddenly felt too small. The walls seemed to close in, mocking me with their expensive artwork and carefully curated antiquities. Each piece chosen to project power, sophistication. The image I'd spent decades crafting.

I moved to the study window, gazing out over the manicured grounds of my Federal Hill estate. From this vantage point, I could see the city skyline beyond my iron gates, the tower where I'd kept Pearl rising like a sentinel against the darkening sky. Below, my men's vehicles were already pulling out of the curved driveway, mobilizing to find her. They knew the price of failure.

"Marco," I muttered, thinking of Pearl's weak fool of a father. "You should have seen this coming. Should have known I'd take everything."

The memory of that night still brought a smile to my face. Marco Divino, the honorable don, never suspected his trusted friend would betray him. His death had been quick—perhaps too quick, in retrospect. But his daughter... ah, that had been my true victory.

I'd shaped Pearl like clay, molding her into my vision of perfection. Every restriction, every rule, every manipulation designed to make her dependent on my approval. The perfect daughter, the perfect bargaining chip.

And now someone had dared to take her from me.

My reflection caught my eye again, and I watched my face transform with cold satisfaction. This was the real me—not the polished businessman, not the charming stepfather. This was the monster that clawed its way up from nothing, that built an empire on broken bones and shattered lives.

I reached for my spare phone, dialing with deliberate precision. "Carlo. Five hundred thousand to the man who brings me my stepdaughter's kidnappers. Alive." I paused, letting my next words carry their full weight. "I want to handle them personally."

The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of blood red. Somewhere out there, Pearl was with them—probably terrified, possibly hurt. The thought should have concerned me as a father figure, but all I felt was rage at the violation of my property.

"Sir?" My secretary's voice came through the intercom. "Mr. Rosetti is here about the shipment..."

"Cancel everything," I ordered, already reaching for my coat. "And get me everything we have on the Barbieri family."

---