Page 118 of Devil's Tulip

“Well… I married one,” I say slowly, confusion mingling with a flicker of hope. Who would have thought getting tattooed is the thing that would ultimately save me?

Uncle Aldo doesn’t like my answer. Not one damn bit. He draws his hand back and hits my face so hard my head whips to the side. My ears ring, my lip splits against my teeth, and the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.

While my face is still turned, his phone pings with a notification.

He glances at the screen?—

And grins.

“Well, well, well, this is even better than I anticipated.” He lifts his gaze to mine, smug as hell. “Guess who’s about to see and condemn you in front of your husband now, Gigi?”

Before I can spit out a retort, pain lances through my neck.

The same sting as earlier.

Aunt Marie,damn her, has thrust the syringe into me again.

My vision winks out.

34

MICHAEL

I found it.

The proof I’ve spent days endlessly searching for.

I scoured the entire city, tore through every possible lead, combed the darkest corners of the internet. And now, finally, it’s in my hands.

I hit play on the audio note again.

The decades-old audio crackles with age, but one of the voices commanding the conversation unmistakably belongs to Aldo Cabello—orchestrating the death of his then don’s family. His own brother.

Alongside the recording, a trail of receipts tells the rest of the story—money flowing to offshore accounts, then directly to the assassin who killed Gianna’s parents. Payments to corrupt cops to stage their deaths as a freak accident and to muddy the details of the case, ensuring the culprit was never found.

Until now.

After scrutinizing every document meticulously to verify nothing’s fabricated, I send the payment I bargained for the evidence to an obscure offshore account. Then I download it all onto my phone.

It’s time.

I walk out of my office, and Lorenzo is on his feet immediately, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “Where to?” he asks, falling in step beside me.

“Downtown Manhattan. Rafael’s home.”

With the number of businesses he has scattered across the city, he’s impossible to pin down on any given day. Which he likes. So I text him.

Heading to your apartment now, very urgent. Meet me there.

We’re already halfway there when he finally replies with a short ‘ok’.

As we pull into his underground parking lot, I tell Lorenzo and Marco to wait in the car. This is to be a private conversation between Rafael and me.

The men stationed around the elevator bow their heads briefly as I enter, and I respond with the barest nod of acknowledgment.

When the doors slide open at the penthouse, I’m surprised to find Rafael waiting for me right there in his great room. I glance briefly at the tall, framed flowers on his wall—the silent reminder of our brotherhood pact—before walking forward and stopping in front of him.

“Fratello, what brings you here? What’s so urgent that it can't wait till our weekly meeting tomorrow?” he asks.

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