Page 100 of Ruthless God

When he realized Marco would not suddenly manifest in front of him, he turned his full attention to me. “Massimo?—”

I signaled to Matteo, who whistled. The shrill sound echoed in the open space of the warehouse, drawing everyone’s attention.

I stepped forward, my brothers following me.

“I know you are all wondering why you’re here,” I said, my voice carrying well to my men. “I have discovered something… ah,unfortunateabout someone I thought was close to me.”

As expected, murmurs rose about as everyone looked around, knowing whatever I had discovered could only mean the death of that person.

I nodded to one of my men standing on a metal railing high above the warehouse. The lights came on, projecting images onto the white canvas behind me that I wanted everyone to see.

The many screenshots of messages between Marco and the dead Russian we were able to capture in New York to get his phone.

That was why the bastard had rushed home to go to my house and look for the blade I had used to kill my father.

Did he think that evidence would have saved him?

The traditionalists had some influence over my empire for no other reason than their years of loyalty, but that influence was slowly dwindling over time as I appointed more men—theirsons—in positions of power over them. And those men answered to me and no one else.

Even if he had been able to find the blade, it wouldn’t have been enough to save him or take over the De Luca organization.

But desperate men usually do stupid things.

I would have killed him for this betrayal, but the fucker touched my wife. Hurt her. For that, I was putting on this show.

A gasp rang out, and I turned to Uncle to see his face turning red. The anger he was trying hard not to show was slinking out from the wrinkles on his face. He had never looked more his full fifty-four years than he did then. He had done the one thing no one ever thought would happen. He outlived my father, who passed before he even reached his forty-sixth birthday. I had been twenty-five when I killed my father. Eight years had passed since I took the helm of my father’s empire.

I vowed then I would kill my uncle before my thirty-fourth birthday.

His days were numbered.

“Romeo,” I called out. It didn’t take long for my younger brother to drag out a struggling Marco up on the podium with us.

He kicked Marco in the stomach when the fucker tried to make a beeline to his father.

“Any last words?” I asked. Romeo took the cloth out of Marco’s mouth.

“Dad, help?—”

“I think Enzo would agree with what I’m about to do, don’t you think?” I asked, focusing my gaze on the man himself.

Enzo didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to think of a way to get Marco out of this without coming off like he was siding with a traitor. Which was what Marco was. I wouldn’t have known had we not made that impromptu trip to New York and found the bastard colluding with the Russians.

Enzo came up to me and said quietly, “He’s your cousin.”

“The De Luca Famiglia before all else. Isn’t that what you always say, Uncle? I’m simply following your lesson. But you’re right, we’re family. For that, I’m giving you a chance to say goodbye.”

The blood drained from his face. “Massimo, please. He’s my only son.”

“He ceased to be anything to anyone the minute he decided to lie in bed with the enemy. Say your goodbye, Uncle.”

He sputtered, but when nothing came out, I turned away and faced my men. Enzo moved over to Marco, who was crying at this point. He whispered something to his son, who shook his head and cried harder. My blood boiled. His tears did nothing but remind me of my wife’s tears as they soaked my shirt. I was going to make this hurt.

“Time’s up.”

Matteo and Elio pulled Enzo away, who tried to put up a fight. I was almost tempted to offer Enzo the chance to offer his life up for his son, but no. I needed the fucker’s blood soaking the skin of my palms before the murderous rage I was feeling would quiet. And nothing else would do.

“Untie him,” I said to Romeo, who did as I asked. Marco looked around as soon as his hands and legs were free, as if he thought he would be able to escape. There was no escape. His face was bruised and bloodied from when I lost control back at my house. He flexed his hands and looked down at his legs. I had him tied and stored in a small container the entire night it took to arrange for my men to come for the show.

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