Chapter 224 Italian bodyguard

Chapter 224 Italian bodyguard


Jason Wang let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping as the heavy weight of betrayal finally settled deep into his bones. Vicenzo hadn't just abandoned him; he had left him to rot in this concrete cage without a second thought, breaking every promise made in the shadows. If loyalty was a one-way street, Jason was more than ready to drive a Mack truck straight down the opposite lane.

"Vicenzo is Rick Darco," Jason muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh, conspiratorial whisper as he leaned closer to the small speaker grille.

Ridge froze, his dark eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. "Rick Darco?"

"That's right," Jason nodded bitterly, a humorless, ugly smirk twisting his lips. "He’s using a brand-new identity now because federal marshals have been hunting him across three different states after the bastard murdered a prison warder back in '22 and vanished into thin air before the body even hit the floor. If you need his new face,hs exact current mugshot, complete with the plastic surgery adjustments,don't waste your time looking through public databases. Just ask the warden for the recent visitor surveillance logs of this exact block. He was here just three days ago."

A cold, heavy silence filled the booth.

Ridge stared at the inmate, the final pieces of a puzzle snapping violently into place in his mind. Vicenzo or Rick Darco, as the law now knew him wasn't just some random syndicate boss trying to muscle in on local territory. 

He was the son of the disgraced treasurer who had once embezzled millions from the Lockhart family vaults decades ago, carrying a generational, festering grudge that he was now trying to settle in blood.

If one did wrong, shouldn't they be punished?

Ridge stood up slowly, the movement smooth and deliberate, towering over the metal partition. He didn't offer a thank-you. Men like Ridge Lockhart didn't thank traitors; they simply cashed in their debts.

He raised his voice, shouting toward the heavy steel door behind him. "Guard! Get in here!"

The metal door clanked open instantly, and the burly senior warder hurried into the room, snapping to attention under the sheer, suffocating weight of Ridge's presence.

"Mr. Lockhart? Is there a problem?" the warder asked nervously.

"Pull the visitor surveillance logs for this specific block over the last seventy-two hours," Ridge ordered, his tone absolute and unyielding. "Compile every frame of footage showing unauthorized entries, secure aliases, and encrypted visitors. Send the entire data package to my private terminal within the hour."

"Right away, sir! Consider it done," the warder stammered, glancing sideways at Jason with a mixture of shock and wariness.

Ridge looked down one last time through the plexiglass at Jason Wang, who was watching him with a mixture of desperate hope and lingering dread.

"You'll be released on parole by tomorrow morning, Wang," Ridge said, his voice cold as arctic ice. "Keep your head down, stay out of public view, and remember this conversation word for word. Because if you fumble,if you so much as whisper a hint of this to anyone,I won't bother bringing you back to a federal cell. I'll handle your sentence personally."

Jason swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as he gave a tight, terrified nod. "Understood... just get me out of here Lockhart."

Ridge turned on his heel and walked out of the visitation room without looking back.

As he strode down the concrete corridor toward the armored town car waiting outside, his mind was racing with ruthless clarity. If he could get his hands on Vicenzo…this Rick Darco ghost….first, he would cut the head off the entire serpent. He would conquer the rest of the syndicate scum with one sweeping blow. 

Whoever didn't want him to have a happy home with Elisa and baby Sunny was about to learn a very permanent, very painful lesson.

He was going to eradicate the problem right from the root.

Across the city, tucked away behind a row of quiet, the Kristy Therapy Clinic hummed with the soft, soothing sound of ambient whale music and lavender diffusers.

The  front door swung open, and Elisa stepped inside, wearing an oversized black hoodie pulled low over her forehead, dark Gucci sunglasses that covered half her face, and al mask hooked over one ear. In the world of high-society pop culture and fandoms, she was wouldn't dare show her face or she'd be crowded and might faint.

"Look who finally decided to grace my humble establishment," Kristy called out from behind her mahogany reception desk, looking up from a stack of client files with a bright, teasing grin. "Did you have to disguise yourself as an urban ninja just to cross the street, or is Ridge turning your life into an action movie?"

Elisa pulled down her sunglasses, letting out an exhausted sigh as she dropped onto the plush client sofa. "You have no idea. If I hear one more word about DNA tests, burnt kitchens, or threats, I am going to pack up Andrew and Sunny, move to a remote island, and become a professional hermit."

"Oh, please, you love the drama," Kristy laughed, walking over with two steaming cups of herbal tea. 

"Speaking of drama,where is the golden god today? Did he finally burn the rest of the mansion down, or did you lock him in the doghouse?"

Elisa took the tea, blowing on the surface before taking a small sip. "He had some 'business' to take care of downstairs. But that’s not even the funniest part. Because he's convinced that every shadow in the city is trying to assassinate us right now, he insisted on employing a personal bodyguard for me."

Kristy’s eyebrows shot straight up. "A bodyguard? Oh, spicy! Is he gorgeous? Does he wear a tailored suit and look like a secret agent?"

"He looks like a mafia hitman who wandered off a movie set," Elisa groaned, gesturing toward the waiting room outside. "And the absolute best part? He doesn't speak a single word of English."

Kristy burst into loud, snorting laughter, nearly choking on her tea. "Wait—what?! Ridge hired a non-English-speaking bodyguard for his American-born wife?!"

"From Rafaele! One of his contacts across the Atlantic!" Elisa threw her hands up in exasperation. "He understands English perfectly fine, but whenever I try to talk to him, he just stares at me like I'm speaking ancient Greek and replies in rapid, terrifying Italian! I have to use a pocket translation app on my phone every single time I want to ask for a bottle of water!"

Just then, the waiting room door creaked open.

Stepping inside with the silent, predatory grace of a panther was Matteo or Il Brutto, as Elisa secretly called him in her head. He was built like a brick wall, wearing a sharp, black three-piece suit, dark sunglasses indoors, and a permanent scowl that suggested he hadn't smiled since 1998.

Matteo stopped near the doorway, locked his eyes on Elisa, and instantly placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly.

"Signora Lockhart, tutto bene?" Matteo rumbled in a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the floorboards. "Il palazzo è sicuro. Nessun pericolo all'orizzonte."

Elisa winced, instantly pulling her smartphone out of her hoodie pocket with a heavy sigh. She tapped the screen, opening her translator app, and held the speaker up toward him.

The phone’s robotic synthetic voice chimed loudly into the quiet room: "Mrs. Lockhart, is everything alright? The palace is safe. No danger on the horizon."

Matteo didn't blink. He simply stared at the glowing iPhone screen with deep, unmasked suspicion, as if the small device was an explosive contraband item engineered by a rival gang.

"La tecnologia moderna è una debolezza, Signora," Matteo replied deadpan in Italian, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "Meglio una pistola carica che un telefono che parla."

Elisa tapped her screen again, waiting for the app to process his words before the robotic voice echoed back: "Modern technology is a weakness, Madam. Better a loaded gun than a talking phone."

Kristy was shaking with silent, hysterical laughter, clutching her stomach as she leaned against the reception desk. "Oh, my god, Elisa. He is a walking meme. You need to keep him forever. This is peak billionaire romance comedy gold."

"I am going to murder Ridge," Elisa muttered through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Matteo through her sunglasses. "I swear to you, the second I get home, I am handing this walking Italian dictionary back to my husband and telling him to ship him back to Sicily."

Matteo tilted his head slightly, clearly catching the angry tone of her voice even if he missed the exact English vocabulary. He reached inside his jacket, his massive hand hovering dangerously close to a shoulder holster, and spoke with solemn intensity.

"Signora, se il vostro sposo vi fa arrabbiare di nuovo, posso sistemarlo discretamente in un vicolo buio. Nessun testimone."

Elisa tapped her translator app frantically, holding her breath as the phone’s tinny voice translated the Italian sentence aloud:

"Madam, if your husband makes you angry again, I can take care of him discreetly in a dark alley. No witnesses."

The clinic fell completely silent.

Kristy stopped laughing, her eyes widening as she stared at the terrifying Italian hitman in utter awe. Elisa stared at the phone, then slowly raised her gaze to meet Matteo’s stone-cold, sunglasses-covered face.

For three whole seconds, Elisa stood there blinking. Then, a slow, wicked, incredibly dangerous smile crept across her lips.

"You know what, Matteo?" Elisa said softly, tapping her phone screen off and tucking it into her pocket. "Let's not make any final decisions just yet. I might actually need your services by dinner time."

Matteo gave a single, solemn nod of approval. "Ottima scelta, Signora."

Kristy shook her head, grinning ear to ear as she raised her herbal tea cup in a mock toast. "Welcome to married life, babe. May your husband survive the next forty-eight hours."