Chapter 225 Murder you

Chapter 225 Murder you


Ridge stood in front of his multi-monitor display, his eyes locked on the surveillance files downloaded directly from the maximum-security federal penitentiary. 

The high-resolution freeze-frame of Rick Darco,the man the world knew as Vicenzo,stared back at him with cold, calculating eyes. 

The plastic surgery adjustments were subtle, but the predatory smirk was unmistakable.

He had stared at the screen long enough to realize a chilling, undeniable truth: no matter how vast his empire, no matter how many armed guards patrolled the perimeter, he couldn’t take Vicenzo down alone.

With a hardened jaw, Ridge reached for his encrypted satellite phone and punched in a direct, transatlantic frequency.

It rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered on the other end, carrying the rich, distinct cadence of the Sicilian underworld.

"Pronto."

"Rafaele," Ridge said, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising register. "I need an answer. If you want to catch a mafia ghost who lives in the shadows, how do you do it?"

There was a brief pause of silence on the line, followed by the soft, rhythmic clinking of ice against crystal glass.

"Ah, my favorite Lockhart," Rafaele chuckled darkly on the other end. "You call me not to chat, but for blood. Tell me, mio amico, how does a wolf catch another wolf when they both refuse to leave the trees?"

"Talk to me," Ridge demanded, gripping the edge of his desk. "Give me the play."

"Simple," Rafaele replied, his tone turning razor-sharp. "You have to risk one of your loved ones to trap him. If you do not offer a piece of the bait, the fox will never step out of his hole. And listen to me well, Ridge,do not hand him over to the cops. The police are boys playing with whistles. They can never tame mafia men. You give them jungle justice. You erase them."

Ridge’s breath hitched. A cold knot twisted violently in his stomach.

"Set the woman as the trap," Rafaele continued smoothly, as if reading his mind. "The syndicate outside knows you love her. They always love getting to a king through his queen. If you want a permanent happily ever after, you must draw him into the open."

"No," Ridge snapped, his voice rising with fierce, protective panic. "Elisa is too fragile for this. She just gave birth, she's dealing with the fallout of my paranoia, and I refuse to put her life on the line. Find another way."

A suffocating silence hung on the line for three long seconds. When Rafaele spoke again, all amusement had vanished from his voice, replaced by a harsh, brutal coldness that pierced straight through the speaker.

"Do you want to lose Elisa the same way you lost Amanda?"

The name hit Ridge like a physical blow to the chest, knocking the wind entirely out of his lungs.

Amanda. The ghost of his past, the tragedy he had failed to prevent, the open wound that still bled in the dark corners of his memory. 

Hearing Rafaele throw her name into the conversation was the absolute height of cruelty,the one thing Ridge never, ever wanted to hear. His vision blurred for a fraction of a second, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk.

"Listen to me, Ridge," Rafaele’s voice softened just enough to carry absolute authority. "Once you trap Vicenzo, I will handle the rest of the cleanup. My men will sweep through and ensure he never breathes another day. All you have to do is make Vicenzo break mafia rule number one: never touch the family. Once he crosses that line publicly, he signs his own death warrant."

Ridge closed his eyes, his chest heaving as a bitter, agonizing war raged inside his mind. He thought of Elisa,her fiery red hair, her sharp tongue, the way she looked at him with a mix of fury and fierce devotion. He thought of baby Sunny.

"If I do this," Ridge whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage and fear, "you swear. You swear on your blood, Rafaele. You protect her."

"Ti do la mia parola solenne. Sul mio sangue, nessuno toccherà tua moglie," Rafaele swore instantly in rich, flowing Italian, his tone absolute and unbreakable. “A mafioso never breaks a promise on his blood, Ridge. You know that.”

Mafia people didn't break promises on blood. In the brutal code of the underworld, that oath was more binding than any written contract. Ridge let out a slow, shuddering breath, his grip loosening slightly on the phone.

"Alright," Ridge murmured, sealing his fate. "I'll do it."

"Good," Rafaele said briskly. "Now, where is she right now?"

"She went out with a bodyguard this morning to visit a friend's place downtown," Ridge answered, his mind racing.

"Bene. It is going to happen naturally then," Rafaele declared. "No need to force an artificial trap. Go to where she is. Take her out to somewhere public where she will be seen by everyone. Bug her jacket, and then... pretend to leave her alone for a moment to go find something you both need. Let the wolf see the sheep standing alone."

The call disconnected with a sharp click.

Ridge didn't hesitate. He grabbed his car keys, his tailored jacket, and a small, high-frequency digital tracker from his desk drawer. He had a mission to execute, and every second counted.

Across town, the quiet ambiance of the Kristy Therapy Clinic was interrupted only by the soft hum of lavender diffusers.

Elisa was sitting on the client sofa, trying to convince Matteo her stone-faced, Italian-speaking bodyguard not to inspect every single potted plant for hidden explosives, when the heavy glass front door swung open.

Ridge strode into the clinic, his dark coat sweeping behind him, his expression a mask of cool, calculated urgency.

Kristy looked up from her reception desk, raising an eyebrow. "Well, look who survived his own kitchen. Did you come to burn down my clinic next, Mr. Lockhart?"

"Kristy, I need you to excuse us," Ridge said smoothly, not breaking eye contact with Elisa, who was glaring at him from the sofa. "Matteo, step outside into the hallway. Elisa and I need a moment alone. We have somewhere urgent to go together."

Elisa crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. "I am not going anywhere with you, Ridge. Especially not after you sent a walking mafia dictionary to babysit me this morning."

"Signora?" Matteo muttered, instantly stepping forward with a scowl, his hand drifting toward his jacket as if ready to defend her from her own husband.

"Stay back, Matteo. It's fine," Elisa sighed, standing up and smoothing down her oversized hoodie. She glared at Ridge. "You better have a damn good explanation for barging in here looking like you're about to rob a bank."

"I do," Ridge said smoothly. He stepped closer to her, and with a swift, practiced movement of his hand while pretending to adjust the collar of her jacket, he slipped the micro-bug into the inner lining of her hoodie. "Trust me, sweetheart. We're going out."

Before she could argue, Ridge took her by the hand, ignoring her protests, and led her out of the clinic toward his waiting armored town car.

"Where are we even going?!" Elisa demanded as he opened the passenger door for her, her dark eyes flashing with suspicion.

"A beauty spa," Ridge replied deadpan, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine.

Elisa’s jaw dropped. She stared at him as if he had just grown a second head. "A beauty spa?! Are you out of your mind? I am hiding from half the city's paparazzi and crazed fans, and you want to take me to a spa?!"

Ridge shifted the car into gear, keeping his eyes glued to the road, his heart hammering against his ribs as he remembered Rafaele’s instructions. Make her visible. Let them see her.

"Well," Ridge muttered, throwing in a completely unconvincing, teasing smirk, "you do look a little ugly these days. Thought you could use a touch-up."

If looks could kill, Ridge would have been incinerated right there in the driver's seat.

"You—you absolute jerk!" Elisa shrieked, swatting playfully at his arm. "Ugly?! After I just pushed your child into the world  months ago?! I am going to divorce you twice as fast now!"

Ridge laughed, though the sound was tight and strained. Inside, his nerves were stretched to a breaking point. He was terrified, playing a high-stakes game of poker with human lives, but he forced himself to stay calm, taking all his strength to keep up the charade.

Meanwhile, back at the Lockhart estate, their newborn baby Sunny was resting safely in the nursery under the watchful, bulletproof care of old Arthur and Mrs. Higgins, the head maid, who treated the baby like an imperial crown jewel.

Twenty minutes later, the town car pulled up in front of Aura, the most exclusive, glass-fronted luxury beauty spa in the heart of the downtown shopping district.

"Get out," Ridge instructed softly, killing the engine.

"I am going to murder you," Elisa muttered, pulling her hood down lower over her face as she stepped out of the car.