Page 55 of Lord of the Dark

"Or I could fly down there and handle it myself," I shot back dryly, tugging my shirt back into place. "But if I have to do that, you might wanna ask yourself why I’m paying you as head of security."

He flashed me that crooked grin. "You’re too soft, Alessandro."

"I know. And you’re too mouthy. Fix it." My patience was thinning. "This shouldn’t be happening. Not when I’ve got someone like Morales in Colombia."

Giovanni tapped his cigarette ash, unfazed. "Seriously, you can’t just rely on one guy sitting a few thousand miles away. Vargas is bigger than Morales can handle alone." His gaze flickered—like he wasn’t sure how much truth to dump on me.

"You talk like he’s working solo. He’s got over sixty trained men on the ground. I expect results, not excuses. Do your damn job." I was done with justifications. "Replace Morales or give him more men. And fly to Colombia yourself. I want Vargas too scared to even think about operating in Miami."

"You really don’t know?"

"Know what?"

"Vargas is recruiting." Giovanni’s voice turned grave. "A hundred-plus last count. Ex-military, mercs, guys with no morals but plenty of experience."

My gaze swept the warehouse—past the bloodstains, the chair. The air was thick with iron and burnt fear. "And?" I finally asked.

"Rumors say he’s planning a counterstrike."

"If Vargas really thinks he can piss on my turf in Colombia, let him try." My voice was ice. "But if he does, I want every last one of his men left rotting in that jungle."

"You need to go down there, Alessandro. The men we’ve got? They’re stretched thin, restless. If you don’t show face, we lose control."

I exhaled sharply.

"It’s about presence," Giovanni pressed. "Morales is loyal, but he doesn’t have what you do. He can give orders, but he can’t lead." A vague gesture with his cigarette. "You know how they operate. No respect for titles or chains of command. But with you? They listen. Because you’ve got something none of them understand but all of them feel. You’re the glue holding that lawless mess together. Without you, they fracture."

"You really think they’re dying to see my face?"

His eyes dropped to the bloodstains. "No. Definitely not. They know you don’t take prisoners. But that’s exactly why it’s time for a visit. Morales is losing their respect."

I held his stare. Long. Then a curt nod. "You fly ahead. Tonight. I’ll follow when I can."

"Sounds like a lovely vacation," he muttered, standing to survey the aftermath. "Want me to bring you back a souvenir in case you don’t make it?"

"Only if it’s not an STD. You’ve probably got more of those in your bag than clothes, and I’ll pass. And I will make it."

"Hilarious." A beat of silence before he pivoted hard. "So, you fucking her daily now?"

"What did you just say?" My jaw locked. Giovanni was like a brother, and I valued his bluntness—but even he usually knew where to draw the line.

"Maybe you should just give her a key to your office, since she means so much to you." He took a deliberate drag fromhis cigarette. "That way we can all watch your little romance unfold."

I leaned forward until our eyes were level, my voice grinding like rusted steel: "Say that in front of anyone else, Giovanni, and I'll make sure your tongue never forms words again."

He didn't even flinch. The lighter clicked, fresh flame devouring another cigarette. His gaze—that familiar mix of mockery and clinical interest—raked over my face. "You know, Alessandro, I'm not an idiot. I've known you forever." A blue smoke ring curled toward the ceiling. "Whatever this is with that woman—it's changed you."

"Changed me?" My jaw was concrete.

Of course it had. From that first second, nothing had been the same. I was obsessed—her goddamn mouth alone short-circuited my brain. The rest of her? Fatal.

He stared through me like an X-ray. "You used to have Italy's A-list lining up for your bed. Now?" Ash tumbled to the floor. "You're distracted. Twitchy. She must be fucking phenomenal."

"Italy's A-list." They'd thrown themselves at me in droves. Flawless bodies, perfectly made-up faces, perfumed wrappings full of calculation. They'd read every desire from my eyes, submitted to me without resistance, eagerly delivered everything men supposedly need without me ever having to ask. And back then, I truly thought that would give me the thrill. Until Fiona stormed into my life.

"What do you want to hear, Giovanni? That she fascinates me? Yes, damn it. That I've never met a woman like her? Probably that too."

He grinned, his tone turning more familiar, almost brotherly. "I want to know why. What's different about her? I mean, think about the others. Remember... what was her name? Isabella? Don Salvatore's daughter?"

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