Chapter 22: Ride or die

Vittorio and Salvatore walked out of the building in silence.

The night was cool, the air too still for what just happened.

Salvatore’s steps were heavier than usual. His face was a storm — fear, anger, exhaustion, and something deeper, something that looked like betrayal.

The chauffeur opened the car door. Neither spoke as they got in.

Vittorio picked up the camera he’d dropped earlier, scrolling through it with calm fingers. Salvatore, meanwhile, reached into his pouch on the seat and drew a golden revolver.

He pressed the barrel against Vittorio’s temple, his jaw tight, breathing sharp through his nose.

“Start talking,” he growled.

Vittorio didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. “Relax, Sal. Your BP’s gonna rise.”

Salvatore let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Thanks, Doc McStuffins. Yunno, cos I’m your puppet now.”

Vittorio kept scrolling. “Don’t mind us, Barnabas,” he told the chauffeur through the rearview mirror. “Drive.”

The engine hummed to life.

“I wasn’t planning on a carwash today, Vito,” Salvatore muttered, eyes burning. “Don’t make me.”

“I said relax,” Vittorio replied evenly. “Put the gun down. We both know that thing’s not going off.”

“Oh yeah?” Salvatore pulled the hammer back. “You wanna test that theory?”

“Drop it, Sal. It’s not a toy. Neither are you. So why would you think I used you?”

Salvatore’s face twitched. “Why? Threw my name around like you fucking own it. Not telling me a damn thing, just dragged me into your stunt to get your stupid revenge . You got what you wanted uhn?—so why shouldn’t I pop you right here, right now?”

The gun pressed harder into Vittorio’s head. His voice stayed calm. “Drop the gun, Sal. You wanna hear why? Drop it”

Salvatore’s hand trembled. He lowered the weapon slowly but kept his finger hooked around the trigger. “Why?” he asked, quieter now.

It wasn’t just rage anymore — it had something else. Something raw.

Vittorio finally looked at him. “Because they were going to whack us. Both of us.”

Salvatore blinked. “What?”

“It was meant to be just me. But they knew you’d take it personally, so they had a coffin ready for you too.” Vittorio pulled the memory card from the camera, rolled the window down, and tossed it into the night.

“How do you know that?”

“Guns aren’t allowed at the assembly, you know that.” Vittorio said. “But every one of them was strapped. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

“That was after you declared war, Vito,” Salvatore argued.

“I told you it was a gamble.” Vittorio’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t fall — just steady, infuriatingly calm.

Salvatore stared at him, disbelief painted across his face. “You’re telling me you just went in there and declared war on the top families to see how they’d react? And if they didn’t have guns? You’d just laugh it off as a joke?”

“I had clues.” Vittorio met his eyes. “First — the woman offered you a wheelchair. They’ve never done that, not even when you had the stroke. Then the guards by the door — new faces. Not Italian. Not made men. Mercs. Trained. And…”

“Bullshit,” Salvatore snapped. “That’s your big clue?”

“Let me finish,” Vittorio cut in. “The thing you’ve all been cooking with the cartels —yunno, the reason you all love the Giordanos?" He teased "It worked out.”

Salvatore froze. “What?”

“Seven billion dollars’ worth of dope shipped from Peru.”

He was stunned. He knew of the operation, of course — just not that it had succeeded. “How the hell do you know that? And I don’t?”

“Guess your head’s been too far up your own ass you didn't realize” Vittorio said. “Getting it to port was easy. Moving it from port without the feds sniffing around? That’s the nightmare. Word is, the families are looking for men to move the product. My guys heard chatter — it’s massive. It’ll take months to move.”

Salvatore’s anger started to crumble into shock. “Then why the fuck am I just hearing this now?”

“I figured you didn’t know,” Vittorio said. “At first I was confused why they’d leave you out. Then I realized — if I told you, you’d storm in there demanding your cut.”

Salvatore didn’t respond. He knew it was true. He sighed, tucking the revolver away, his voice low. “Christ.”

“Seven billion isn’t small change, sal” Vittorio said. “Too many hands in the pie already. And they all had to be… settled.”

“By settlement you mean?”

Vittorio nodded, his gaze was unreadable, his tone almost gentle. “You were never supposed to leave that room, Sal.”

Salvatore buried his face in his hands. The weight of it sank in. He almost died today — and didn’t even know. “Those fuckers…”

“I was going to tell you,” Vittorio said softly. “But you needed to keep your cool. And you did great today.”

Salvatore scoffed under his breath. Vittorio continued, “I had my guys surround the estates of all the families. If we didn’t make it out, they’d take the whole line down.”

Salvatore looked over, still half in disbelief. “You don’t have that many men. Not even with ours combined.”

“True,” Vittorio nodded. “But even reckless moves can get the job done. That’s why we came without escorts. Not because I didn’t want them — because there was no one left to send.”

Salvatore looked out the window. “Another gamble?”

“Another gamble,” Vittorio said.

For a moment, neither spoke. The city lights passed by like ghosts on glass.

Two men. Two powers.

Drifting into a war neither could back out from..

\---

It had been almost two hours now.

At first, I was worried.

Now, I was just pissed.

I’d waited long enough to pay the bills, doze off on the bench, and wake up to find nothing had changed — same closed restroom door, same silence. I even asked one of the janitors if anyone had come out.

They said no one had gone in or out since Lucian.

The mall was practically empty now, lights dimming, the air-conditioning still humming like a taunt. I checked the time — 6:45. It had to be dark outside already.

“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, losing what little patience I had left.

I spotted a woman nearby, shopping with her kids, and walked over. “Hi, sorry — can I use your phone? Just need to make a quick call.”

She hesitated, holding her purse tighter. “I’m sorry, but there’s a phone booth just over there.”

Her voice was polite, but I didn’t wait for her to finish. I just turned away. I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be nice.

The booth smelled faintly of metal and gum. I slid a coin in, dialed Aria’s number, and turned toward the restroom — just in case Lucian finally decided to show his face.

The phone rang twice.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Hey, Aria. Good evening,” I said, forcing some warmth into my voice. “How are you?”

“How am I?” she snapped, half whisper, half yell. “That’s really bold of you, Francesca. You said you’d be back before dinner. Where the fuck are you?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, okay? Something came up — nothing bad, but I can’t come home tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow, I swear.”

“Oh my God, Francesca…” Her voice dropped to that dangerous, frustrated whisper I knew too well. “You promised no funny business. Uncle Benny’s already pissed you skipped dinner, and the only reason he still thinks you’re home is because I told him you were sick. I can’t keep covering for you.”

“Please, Aria. I’ll explain tomorrow morning. Just… cover for me one more night, okay?”

“You always do this,” she said softly. And that tone — that tired, half-broken tone — hit harder than the yelling.

“I know,” I said, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry. Please.”

There was a pause. I heard her sigh. And just as she started to speak again, I saw movement near the restroom.

Lucian.

He was walking out — slow, calm, like nothing happened. My heart leapt and crashed all at once. Two hours of waiting, worrying, and cursing, and there he was.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye. Goodnight. Love you.” I hung up before she could answer and stepped out of the booth, almost running toward him.

The relief was instant, but it came tangled with anger.

Two hours. Two goddamn hours.

And yet… thank God he didn’t vanish.