Page 95 of Lorenzo's Claim

I stood amidst the wreckage of what was once a thriving warehouse, now reduced to a battleground. The pungent smell of smoke and blood hung heavy, a grim reminder of the betrayal that had brought me here. My eyes scanned the scene, taking in the bodies of my former allies one by one as they laid lifeless, their faces contorted in anguish in their final moments of agony.

I had trusted Franco once, considered him my own fucking brother, but that trust had been shattered just like the broken crates that were scattered around us. We had so many plans. Plans that would have made us stronger and richer than ever, but he had to go and get greedy. He had to side with my own enemy.

I’d always been a man of precision, and tonight was no exception. Every move, every strike, had been calculated to bring me to this moment.

My men fought with ferocity, their loyalty to me unwavering. The clash had been brutal, but my strategic mind had turned the tide, exploiting every weakness, every moment of hesitation among Franco and his men.

In the centre of the warehouse, Franco laid on his back, his once proud figure now broken. I loved it. I felt nothing other than victorious. His breath came in ragged gasps as his eyes widened with shock and pain. A crimson stain was spread across his chest where my blade had pierced him, a stark contrast to his white shirt.

“Ah, Franco, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I sighed, standing over him, his hand clutching his wound as blood seeped through his fingers.

“You… You were always the smarter one,” Franco rasped, his voice weak and his pride shattered. "But you never understood p-power. It ch-changes things."

My lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Power corrupts, Franco. It blinded you. You thought you could play both sides, but you forgot one thing,” I breathed. “I always win."

Franco’s eyes flickered with a mixture of hatred and desperation. “You’ll never get away with this. Lorenzo, he’ll?—”

“He’s just a boy, Franco.” I scoffed. “He’s nineteen. He has no idea how we work, what we do, or how to come up against me.”

“He’ll learn, and one day, you’ll regret this.” He coughed.

“I have nothing to regret. You were the one who betrayed me,” I sneered, crouching down to get closer, slamming my finger into his chest. “You were the one who fucking sold me.”

“He w-won’t know that.” His breathing shallowed as he spoke.

“Papa! Where are you?!”

My head snapped up, clocking Lorenzo as he burst into the warehouse, his young face paling as he spotted his father. His eyes went wild with fear and anger. He was tall for his age, hisdark hair a mirror of his father's, but his expression was one of raw emotion.

“Papa?!” he cried out, his voice breaking as he rushed over to us, only to be halted by one of my most loyal men. “Let me go!” he shouted, trying to reach for his own weapon. “You can’t do this, Victor! You can’t just kill him!” he screamed.

“Your father made his choices, boy. He chose his path and now he has to fucking pay for it.” I rose to my feet, watching Franco struggle to look at his son. “You don’t know how this life works yet, but you will, and when that time comes, you’ll realise that he deserved worse than what he got.”

“P-please, Victor. G-give me my b-boy,” he pleaded. I had no clue what came over me, but I signalled for Lorenzo to be let go.

“Say your goodbyes, boy.” I nodded before heading towards the exit, leaving a teenager to take his father’s place.

I didn’t know what was said between them before he died, but I knew that, in time, Lorenzo Ricci would come for me. I’d be ready for it. I would never bow down to a Ricci, never let my guard down again.

It should have hurt ending my best friend’s life, but it didn’t. I felt nothing for him, Carmella, or Lorenzo. This was the life we lived. We could go out one evening never to return home, and that’s what happened with Franco. We both left the house tonight, but I was the one who’d walk back through the door. I was the smarter one out of the two of us.

As my men and I exited the warehouse, I heard Lorenzo’s piercing scream.

I turned to Artem, pausing for a moment. “Keep an eye on the boy for now. See who he confides in, what he does, where he goes. I want it in fucking detail so I know exactly what we’ll be dealing with.”

“But he’s a boy, Boss,” Artem whispered, feeling somewhat sorry for the kid.

“That might be so, but he’s Franco’s son.” I scoffed, thinking about how much I had trusted him. “In the end, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“Boss.” Artem nodded. “And our men inside—what’s the plan there?”

“I want their bodies collected before the sun comes up. You will personally contact their families, and I’ll foot the bill for their funerals.” I entered the car, already forgetting the shit that went down tonight.

I entered my house,expecting to see my wife at the staircase. She would sit and wait there if I wasn’t home by a certain time, or when she got a gnawing feeling in her gut that something was wrong. Tonight, though, she wasn’t there.

“Papa!” Anastacia ran down the stairs, sprinting to where I stood covered in blood. The darkness of what I did never seemed to bother her. She always looked past it as if she was used to it. “I waited up for you.”

“You should be in bed,” I snapped, forgetting she was only a child.

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