I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 38

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

The second the heavy doors shut behind us, the old man’s voice hit like a brick.

“I guess your little blackmail worked,” Dad muttered, already halfway to his desk.

I dropped into the nearest leather chair, legs stretched out, boots up on the overpriced wood of his desk, “Of course it worked,” I said, “I sent it.”

He let out that signature disappointed exhale, like every breath out of me was one more nail in his patience. Then he glanced at Vincenzo, looking for someone with a working brain.

“We’re gonna set up a meeting with Rino,” he said, “We’ll return Deo... after Rino accepts our terms.”

Vincenzo didn’t even blink at first, just raised both eyebrows, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

I sat up fast, boots dropping to the floor with a thud. “Wait—what? We’re giving him back?” I asked, because there was no way in hell Vincenzo would agree to it, “He’s not just anyone, he’s their fucking underboss, Dad. We’re holding their spine in our fist and you wanna just hand it back like a good neighbor? That’s fucking insane.”

Vincenzo nodded once, “This doesn’t read strength. It reads weak. You want us to bleed out in front of them to prove we’re peaceful?”

“I thought you hated wars, Vince,” Dad snapped, rounding the desk. “I thought you were the calm one. The voice of reason. And now I’m telling you we have a shot at ending this without a bullet, and you want blood?”

Vincenzo’s mouth twitched into a smile, “I’m not against war. I’m against losing one.”

I laughed low under my breath, resting my elbows on my knees. “Jesus, old man... you wanna avoid war? You? The guy who started half of them? The same guy who gets hard every time blood hits the floor?"

Dad’s glare pinned at me, “Not one of those wars was against the Lombardis.”

Vincenzo stepped forward, shoulders squared, hands in his pockets like he was ready to go toe-to-toe. “And maybe that’s the problem. You remember when the Outfit got ripped apart? When the Five Families turned on us, when Cosa Nostra drained every cent we had? Who moved in like fucking vultures? The Lombardis. They took our docks, our streets, our casino. They watched us bleed and licked the knife clean.”

“I know,” Dad said, “You were kids. I lived it. I buried friends. I buried my father. Your grandfather blew his fucking brains out, your aunt was dishonored in front of the world, I remember having to dig my own mother’s grave again after they desecrated hers just to make a fucking point. I’ve bled for this family while you two were still jerking off to cartoons and hiding behind your mother’s skirts. I built the Outfit back up when it was nothing but ash and debts and bones! So don’t tell me what we fucking owe or what we lost.”

I stood, heat crawling up my neck, hands twitching like I needed to punch something, “Then you know what they did. You know we can’t walk away. We have Amadeo fucking Romano strung up like a pig and you want to give him back?”

Dad slammed a hand down on the desk, “Because we have more to lose now than ever before.”

That shut us both up. Not the words, but his tone. There was something in it. Tired, haunted, like he’d been holding something back for too long.

Vincenzo’s voice dropped, cold. “What aren’t you saying?”

Dad looked between us and for the first time in years, he looked exhausted, “Rino won't come for Deo,” he said. “He will come to collect a debt. One I swore would never get paid.”

“What debt?” I asked, already knowing I wasn’t going to like the answer.

He didn’t even look at me.

He looked at Vincenzo, “You know what debt, Vince.”

I wasn’t having that, “Somebody wanna fucking clue me in here?”

But Dad barely blinked, kept that stare locked on my brother, “Rino’s wife, Valeria Lombardi died six months ago. Next month, our shipments got hit. First time in years. He’s coming for what he’s owed.”

Vincenzo’s laugh was full of contempt and rage, “No fucking way. You’re not seriously telling me this is what I think it is.”

Dad finally tore his gaze off Vincenzo, looked me up and down like sizing me up then dropped his eyes to the desk, “You two don’t know him. Not like I did. Rino would burn the world down for what he wants. That bastard has no rules, no limits.”

Vincenzo’s jaw clenched so tight I saw the muscle twitch. “Well, I’d gut him before he even got the chance.”

I leaned forward, “What the fuck are we even talking about, Dad? I’m the underboss now. You think keeping me in the dark is smart? ‘Cause it’s fucking not.”

Dad exhaled, and finally sank into his chair, “When Rino was sixteen, he asked for Alessia’s hand. She was fourteen at the time, he came with his father to meet your grandfather and one look at her. One goddamn look, and he was obsessed. Your grandfather promised her to the Lombardis to secure their loyalty in our war with the Cosa Nostra.”

He paused, remembering the past was always difficult for him.

“Then that bastard Rossi—the Costello rat—showed up when Alessia turned eighteen. She fell for him hard and stupidly got knocked up, no thought to her engagement. She hated Rino, hated everything he stood for.”

Dad’s fist slammed the desk, “And after all those declarations of love she did for him, Rossi disappeared, left her damaged and took the kid in the night. Her marriage to Rossi turned out to be a sham, because he was already married back in New York. Alessia was shamed, disowned by every family that mattered. And Rino’s father declared war because the deal was broken.”

I felt fire crawling up my spine. “So now his wife’s dead, and you’re saying... he wants what? Alessia?”

Dad poured himself a drink, “I don’t think. I know it.”

Vincenzo ran a hand through his hair, “That’s not a fucking joke. Alessia’s not some piece on the chessboard we can trade for peace.”

Dad leaned back, eyes haunted, “Rino’s obsession didn’t die even after he had been with Valeria. Twenty-three years later, it's still there. Age doesn’t matter. He doesn't care if Alessia is forty-two or sixteen, she’s still his debt. The price he wants to collect.”

He looked at us, “And that debt? I will never pay it.”

I stared at my father. At the lines time carved into his face and all I could see was Aunt Alessia being handed over like a peace treaty.

Vincenzo stepped forward first, "You even think about letting Rino get near Alessia, I’ll put a bullet in his mouth before he touches her."

Dad’s jaw tightened, "You think I don’t want to protect her? You think I forgot what they did to her? I’ve been shielding her for two decades. I buried this deal for a reason. But now it’s clawing back up from the dirt."

"Then let it," I said, "We’ll bury it again. This time with bodies on top."

Dad looked between us, "Rino’s not some street-level thug with a chip on his shoulder. He’s got backing now. International, silent partners. The kind of people who erase cities when they lose."

"Good," Vincenzo said with a cold grin, "Let them come. I’ve got enough bullets to go around."

I leaned forward, knuckles cracking. "We’ve already carved our name into his underboss. You think there’s a way back from that? War was decided the second he touched our shipments. And I’m not giving Alessia to anyone. I don’t care if we have to bleed this city dry.”

Dad’s eyes were like stone, "And what if he doesn’t back down? What if he comes for her? Takes her like Rossi did? You boys willing to bury her a second time?"

Silence.

Fucking silence.

And I hated it.

Because the thought of someone laying a hand on Alessia made my vision go red. I grew up watching her rebuild herself from ash, from betrayal, from shame that wasn’t even hers to carry. And now some obsessed, grieving psycho thinks he’s gonna take a second shot at owning her?

“I’ll skin him alive before that happens. I’ll fill a grave with every Lombardi son of a bitch before they touch her.”

Vincenzo glared at the wall, like he was already thinking of ways he is going to kill them all, “This isn’t a negotiation. I don’t care what Grandfather promised. She’s not his to take, not anymore.”

Dad looked down at his desk. Rubbed the spot where his ring had dented the wood years ago, and slowly he smiled, “Then let’s give Rino his answer.”

𓎢𓎠𓎟☠︎︎𓎟𓎠𓎡

The bat hit with a crunch. Wet, ugly and something cracked, I didn’t know what, didn’t care. Blood sprayed, dotted the concrete. The fucker didn’t scream anymore. Just groaned, real low, like a dying animal.

“Shut up,” I growled, and slammed the bat again into his ribs.

There was a heavy thud behind me, boots on concrete. Vincenzo. Dante was already there, leaning against the wall like he was watching a pay-per-view.

I didn’t stop.

The bat came down again and again. And again. Until my arms burned and the Lombardi fuck on the floor stopped twitching.

“Jesus, Adriano,” Dante muttered, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting answers,” I said, breath ragged, sweat dripping down my spine.

“You already got answers,” Vincenzo's voice was clipped, “He’s not even conscious.”

I finally stopped, bat in hand and my chest heaving.

Truth was, I didn’t care about answers. I just needed an outlet for this pent-up aggression inside of me.

I stepped back, looked at the broken mess on the floor. Blood leaking, one eye swollen shut, a tooth on the ground.

Vincenzo looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

He crossed his arms, “What’s really going on with you?”

I didn’t say anything.

He still didn't let it go, “No one’s gonna take Alessia, not while we’re breathing. So what the fuck is this?”

I spat on the floor and wiped the bat clean with the guy’s shirt.

“This isn’t about Alessia.”

Vince’s brow furrowed. “Then what?”

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