Lorenzo Ricci didn't often smile. It made the scar at the corner of his mouth pull tight, a reminder of knives and debts long settled. But tonight, as he read the message glowing on his phone, the smile came unbidden.
She's here. Wolfe won't let her go.
The words were simple, but to Lorenzo they were everything. Proof. Confirmation that Dominic Wolfe—the untouchable, the unbreakable—had finally chained himself to someone. And chains were meant to be pulled.
He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in his glass as he savored the moment.
"You're enjoying yourself."
The voice came from the shadows. Vivienne Duval stepped into the light, every movement deliberate, her crimson silk dress catching the glow of the chandelier. Unlike Ricci's coarse power, hers was elegance sharpened into a blade.
"Why wouldn't I?" Lorenzo lifted the glass in salute. "The great Wolfe has fallen. Not by bullets, not by steel—by a girl."
Vivienne tilted her head, eyes glittering. "Don't underestimate her. Moretti blood runs hot. She might surprise you."
"She won't get the chance," Lorenzo said flatly. "As long as Wolfe clings to her, he's vulnerable. We strike through her, and he'll tear himself apart."
Vivienne moved closer, plucking the phone from his hand to study the message. "Your informant—can he be trusted?"
"He's Wolfe's own man." Ricci's smile deepened. "There is no better dagger than betrayal."
For a moment, silence stretched, filled only by the soft clink of ice in Ricci's glass. Then Vivienne leaned in, her perfume sweet and lethal.
"Then let me handle the girl," she whispered. "You want Wolfe broken. I want him humiliated. And nothing humbles a man faster than watching the one thing he treasures slip through his fingers."
Lorenzo studied her, suspicion flickering in his eyes. But ambition was a language he understood. Slowly, he nodded.
"Very well. Play your game, Vivienne. Just remember—Wolfe may burn for her. But in the end, the city burns for us."