Chapter 36 His Mission
GIOVANNI’S POV
I climbed into the back of the black Mercedes, my jaw tight with barely contained fury. I pressed the button on my phone without looking, the line connecting immediately.
"We've arrived," I said curtly.
"Good flight?" Enzo's voice came through clear despite the distance. "How's our blushing bride handling Italy?"
"She's fine," I replied, my tone clipped. I didn't want to talk about Arya right now.
It would only lead me to want to think about the way her face had lit up when she realized where we were, or how she'd looked sleeping on the plane before I’d woken her.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Enzo spoke again, his voice had lost its teasing edge.
"Boss, I need you to be careful over there. This situation… it’s volatile. You're walking into a hornet's nest."
"I'm aware," I said, watching the Italian countryside blur past my window. The familiar landscape should have been comforting, but all I felt was cold rage.
"I mean it, Gio," Enzo pressed, using his first name. It was something he only did when he was genuinely worried. "This guy, he's desperate and desperate men do stupid things. And you're on his home turf now."
"He made it my home turf the moment he stole from me," I said. "The bastard had the audacity to drag me all the way here to Italy. He thinks distance will protect him but he has no idea how wrong he is.”
Enzo sighed. "Just... watch your back."
"I always do." My fingers drummed against my knee, a rare tell of my agitation. "Handle things there. I'm not returning until I recover what's mine and make him understand the cost of betrayal."
"How long are we talking?" Enzo asked. "Days? Weeks?"
"However long it takes." My voice was firm. "Every day he runs is another bone I break when I catch him."
Enzo sighed again. "Alright. I'll keep things running smoothly. You just… take care of yourself. And maybe don't traumatize your wife too much while you're at it."
I ended the call without responding to that last comment.
I leaned back against the leather seat, my mind churning with dark thoughts.
Rafael Ricci.
The rogue had been one of our most trusted men in the Italian operation and he was responsible for overseeing shipments, and ensuring everything ran like clockwork.
For fifteen years, he'd been reliable. Until three weeks ago, he'd vanished along with a cargo shipment worth twelve million euros.
But it wasn't just the money that made my blood boil.. It was what the cargo represented.
Those weapons belonged to Don Vittorio Marchesi, one of the most powerful mafia lords in Southern Italy. A man whose friendship I had cultivated grew over the years.
Losing that shipment didn't just cost me money. It cost me my reputation. It made me look weak, careless, and unable to control my own people.
And in out world, perception was everything.
Don Vittorio had been understanding for now. He'd given me two weeks to recover the cargo and handle the traitor.
But I could read between the lines. If I failed, the consequences would extend far beyond a business loss.
Rafael Ricci had signed his own death warrant. He just didn't know it yet.
The car slowed as we approached the warehouse on the outskirts of Naples. My men were already there, visible through the tinted windows as the vehicle pulled up to the secured entrance.
I stepped out into the warm Italian evening, my expression was calm despite the storm raging inside me.
"Boss," my head of Italian operations, Luca, approached immediately. "Welcome back to Italy. I wish it was under better circumstances."
"Have you found him?" I asked without preamble.
Luca's expression darkened. "Not yet. We've had sightings in Salerno, possibly as far south as Calabria. But nothing concrete. He's moving around, staying off the grid. Very smart of him.”
"Not smart enough," I said coldly. "What about his family? His contacts?
"His wife and kids left the country three days before he disappeared. They're in Argentina now, completely out of reach. As for contacts-" Luca pulled out a tablet, showing surveillance photos. "We've been watching everyone he's ever worked with. So far, nothing. Either he's acting alone, or he's got help we haven't identified yet."
I studied the photos closely. "Double the surveillance. I want eyes on every person who's ever shared a meal with him. Someone must know something."
"Understood."
We spent the next two hours inside the warehouse, and ensured everything else was running smoothly despite the crisis. I met with various lieutenants and soldiers, my presence alone enough to remind them that leadership hadn't abandoned them just because one man had turned traitor.
Near the end of my visit, an older man named Paolo Esposito stopped by, a family friend who ran one of the most successful wineries in the region.
His weathered face broke into a genuine smile when he saw me.
"Giovanni! I heard you were in town." Paolo embraced me warmly, kissing both my cheeks in the traditional manner. "Though I also heard you've brought a wife this time. Is this true?"
"It's true," I confirmed, returning the embrace.
"Magnifico!" Paolo's eyes crinkled with delight. "You must come to the vineyard. Both of you. We're having a celebration next week. I insist you attend with your wife."
I hesitated. The thought of bringing Arya to a social event should have been unappealing. But Paolo was more than a business associate. He was one of the few connections I had to my father's generation.
"I'll consider it," I said finally.
"Consider it strongly," Paolo urged, gripping my shoulder. "Your father, God rest his soul, never missed our celebrations. It would honor his memory to have you there."
After Paolo left, I wrapped up the remaining business quickly. My mind was already elsewhere.
Where was Rafael? Who was helping him? And how could I flush the rat out of hiding?
As my driver pulled away from the warehouse, heading back toward the villa, I glanced at his watch. It was nearly eight pm.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d barely eaten all day. Which meant that she would probably be hungry as well.
I thought about it for a while then relented with a sigh. Home cooking it is.
"Turn here," I instructed my driver suddenly, gesturing toward a side road.
"Sir?"
"There's a market still open. I need to stop."
The driver looked confused but obeyed, and I leaned back against my seat, wondering what she would be up to.