CITY OF CATANIA, SICILY, ITALY.
(SALVATORE'S POV)
I hang up the phone and toss it onto the glass table in front of me. The clatter echoes through the room. I let out a slow, measured sigh, though it does little to ease the frustration knotting deep in my chest.
Valentino… my blood, my youngest child and also, a thorn in my side.
One moment he gives me hope that he might finally show me he's capable, and the next, he proves again and again that he's reckless, careless, and a liability to everything I've built.
My blood boils thinking of how easily he could destroy everything we've worked for, how thoughtless he is with something so vital, so utterly important. He's a storm I can't control, a constant test of my patience, and I don't know whether to scream at him or feel a deeper, sinking disappointment that he still doesn't understand the weight of his actions.
Sitting on the soft leather sofa across from me, were my two older sons, Raffaele and Angelo.
Raffaele's fingers dive into his jacket pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. He flicks open his golden lighter, lighting the cigarette stick pressed in between his lips, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features. He takes a long drag, then exhales.
The smoke curls into the air, hanging like a shroud over the room.
Angelo, sitting just behind him, pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "Seriously. Can you not do that right now?"
Raffaele doesn't even turn to face him. He exhales slowly, letting the smoke drift lazily in front of him. "You're very much welcome to leave the room, brother," he says, his tone sharp, almost teasing.
Angelo mutters something under his breath, grudgingly sliding a little further down the sofa.
I almost chuckle at the exchange, the tension between them a faint escape from my own simmering anger. My hand finds the wine bottle beside me. I pour the deep red liquid into the glass, then lift it, swirling the wine before taking a sip.
I set the glass down gently, letting the silence stretch a beat longer before I speak.
"Your younger brother… is a fucking mess."
I take another swig of wine, hoping the taste will wash away the sting of failure, and the bitter realization of Valentino's carelessness.
"Cento milioni di dollari, spariti…" I mutter. "così, semplicemente." (One hundred million dollars, gone… just like that.)
Raffaele flicks ash from his cigarette into the crystal tray on the side table. His eyes narrow as turns to look at me. "I think he needs to be dealt with."
"No," Angelo shakes his head, leaning back. "He should be replaced."
I finish the wine in my glass in one gulp, setting it down gently. My gaze drifts between my two older sons.
Their advice, their instincts—they matter. And yet, the decision rests with me.
I sit back, contemplating which action to take. My fingers drum lightly against the glass table, the faintest shadow of worry creeping into my chest.
Valentino may be reckless, but he's cunning too. And I can't help but wonder… how far will his carelessness push him before it finally costs him everything?
—
CITY OF LAS VEGAS – THE PALACE OF SIN, BACK OFFICE.
(LEONARDO'S POV)
The room was silent. Dead silent, except for the faint tapping of Alessandra's fingers against her laptop keys. Every other sound—Valentino's uneven breathing, the distant noise of the club below—was swallowed by the tension pressing down on us.
I sat across from him, trying not to make eye contact. Not because I was afraid of him... well, maybe a little—but because right now, there was nothing I could do but watch.
The rest of the crew hovered nearby.
Michele leaning against the wall, Bruno shifting impatiently, Alessandra buried in her screen.
Valentino's hair was a mess from running his hands through it repeatedly. His jaw twitched every so often, a quiet tick of his anger and frustration. But it was his eyes that struck me hardest. They were bloodshot from crying, obviously, even if we didn't see it for ourselves.
But nobody dared point it out. Not now. Not when his mind was spiraling, when the room felt like it might implode at any second. Even though we all go way back, even though he treats us like family… now wasn't the time for jokes or snarky remarks.
Finally, he leans forward, resting his hands on the table. The hollow voice that comes next makes the silence feel heavier.
"As you all know…" he says. "We lost a hundred million dollars tonight."
Nobody says a word.
He lets the silence stretch just a fraction longer before sighing, heavily.
"My father… is furious, and disappointed."
Some of the crew exchange quick glances upon hearing that.
Don Salvatore's angry. Nothing good ever comes from that.
No one says a word until Alessandra breaks the silence.
"I've found something," she says, her voice cautious but firm.
Valentino's bloodshot eyes flick toward her. "What?"
She doesn't hesitate. "I did a deep dive on the Russian broker—the one you struck the deal with. Dmitri Ivanov."
"And?" Valentino presses, leaning closer.
Alessandra taps a few more keys before swiveling the laptop toward him.
"Turns out Dmitri has ties with I Diavoli Rossi."
"What?!" he snaps, his eyes narrowing at the screen.
After a few seconds, his eyes widen. He freezes for a moment, then slowly sinks back into his chair, stunned.
"Let me see," I say, reaching for the laptop as Michele and Bruno crowd in beside me.
Bruno leans in so close I can feel his breath on my neck. "Hey! Bruno, back up a little."
"Ah… sorry," he mutters, shuffling backward.
I scroll through the photos and messages Alessandra has pulled up: Dmitri with men in deep red suits, his past deals, his connections. Every single detail points to I Diavoli Rossi, The Red Devils. The rival Mafia family that kidnapped and murdered Valentino's mother ten years ago.
"Fuck," Michele mutters quietly beside me.
I glance up at Valentino. He looks… lost.
I know what this means for him. The pain. The memory.
"Val…" I start but before I can finish, he erupts.
"THAT FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!" he screams, springing from his chair and slamming his fists onto the table. The sound reverberates through the office.
Alessandra leans forward, her tone careful. "I'm sorry this happened, Val, but we need a plan. If we don't recover quickly, we won't be able to keep the other businesses running for much longer."
"You think I don't know that?!" he snaps, spinning toward her.
Her hands go up in surrender, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm just asking if you have any good ideas… if you have a plan."
He begins pacing around the room like a caged animal. After what feels like eternity, he stops suddenly, turns, and the flicker in his bloodshot eyes tells me exactly what's coming.
"What is it?" Michele asks cautiously. "You have a plan?"
A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face.
"Yes," he says, nodding to himself. "I do."
"Uh–oh," Michele replies.
"This can't be good," I mutter under my breath, watching the way that look takes over his features.
Any time Val has that look on his face, it means that whatever he's about to say, is the craziest, most unhinged thing you've ever heard in your life.
Valentino walks back to his desk, picks up his chair, and sits. He folds his hands on the desk in front of him and smiles.
Sandra, Bruno, Michele and I exchange glances, bracing ourselves for the madness that's about to come out of his mouth.
He leans forward. His grin wide, his green eyes glinting with trouble.
"We're gonna rob a fucking bank."