Mine
Rain clung to the windshield like desperate hands, smeared and frantic beneath the wipers as Alessandro Greco's black SUV turned the corner onto a quiet Queens block.
Three more armored vehicles followed behind, headlights cutting through the darkness. The convoy moved like a beast through the neighborhood.
Alessandro sat in the backseat, his suit crisp, his jaw tight. One hand rested loosely on his lap. The other, gloved in black leather, curled into a slow, deliberate fist.
His eyes were hollow, watching the familiar brown-brick apartment complex where Diamond lives, come into view. He didn’t blink.
Residents of the Midtown apartment complex peeked through blinds. Mothers gathering mail glanced over their shoulders. A man walking his dog paused mid-step as cars came to a full stop and doors swung open.
Black boots hit wet pavement.
Six men, armed and silent, filed out with military precision. Alessandro followed, stepping into the rain like a phantom emerging from Hell. His coat flared around him as he approached the building's entrance.
“Third floor,” Alessandro said to his men. “End of the hall. Apartment 23.”
His men immediately sprung into action.
They reached the apartment in under thirty seconds. The door burst open with a violent crack, wood splintering as Alessandro’s men stormed in, guns drawn.
Alessandro walked in last, slow and deliberate. His eyes scanned the room like a hawk. The air inside was still scented faintly with her perfume. It was unmistakably hers—the scent of vanilla and jasmine still hung in the air. A velvet robe lay tossed over a chair. A half-full coffee mug sat by the windowsill.
She was here recently.
But now? Gone.
He stepped into the center of the apartment, rotating slowly, eyes dragging across everything. Then came the voices of his men, searching the apartment.
“Clear left.”
“Bedroom’s empty.”
“Kitchen clear.”
“No one in the bathroom.”
He stood in the doorway to her bedroom, staring at the unmade bed as though it had offended him. His eyes twitched—just slightly. Rage crackled through his blood like lightning trapped in his veins.
His voice shattered the silence like gunfire. “WHERE. THE FUCK. IS SHE?!”
With a growl, he grabbed the glass lamp from the nightstand and shattered it against the wall. Then the mirror. The a framed photo of hers.
His men stood back, giving him space.
A buzzing of a phone cut through the chaos.
One of his guards held it out. “It’s Paolo. They checked Adriano’s villa.”
Alessandro snatched the phone. “Talk.”
“Sir, we just checked Adriano’s villa like you asked. It’s empty. Not a single soul here. No guards, no cars, nothing. Like they vanished.”
Alessandro’s nostrils flared. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.
Those cowards are hiding somewhere.
He turned to the man standing behind him—Enzo Ricci. Former member of Adriano's crew.
“You were part of Adriano’s inner circle,” Alessandro said, his voice dangerously calm. “If he was going to disappear, vanish into some dark little hole with that stripper and his crew… where would he go?”
Enzo didn’t blink. “He has a few properties out in Jersey. A spot in the Catskills. A warehouse in Yonkers, maybe. But I doubt he’d use any of them. He knows they’d be the first places you check.”
Internally, Enzo was screaming.
His heart thudded in his chest. He knew damn well where Adriano might be—the Northside safehouse, tucked deep in the industrial backlots of Staten Island. Untraceable. Armored. Trusted only by the inner circle.
Alessandro stepped closer, studying Enzo’s face like a snake eyeing prey. “You’re sure you don’t know anything else?”
Enzo met his gaze. “If I did, I’d tell you. I want to find him too.”
Lies. Every word tasted like ash in his mouth, but his expression never wavered. He thought of Adriano, the friendship they had. And most of all… he thought of balance. Alessandro had already tipped too far into madness. Someone needed to hold the line—even if it meant bleeding for it later.
Alessandro stared at him for another long moment, then turned away.
Enzo’s hands remained clasped behind his back. His face remained calm. But inside, he could still feel the bullet that had just missed his skull.
—
Later, in the back of the SUV, Alessandro stared out at the city lights, his mind spinning like the gears of a machine about to overheat.
His fingers tapped against the leather seat rhythmically.
Then suddenly, his phone lit up again. He brought it to his ear and answered, straightening his posture.
“Padre.”
“Alessandro,” came the deep, commanding voice of their father. “How are things going over there? I trust the transition’s going well?”
“It is,” Alessandro said smoothly, his tone instantly different. Measured. Polished. “There was a bit of tension with some of Adriano’s leftover men, but we’ve silenced the noise. Business is flowing. Accounts are stable. All of Adriano’s mess is under control now.”
Don Raffaele grunted in approval. “Good. That’s what I want to hear.”
“I’ve got eyes on every sector. If anything shifts, I’ll know before anyone else does.”
“That’s my son,” his father continued. “You’re doing what a Greco is supposed to do—restore order.”
Alessandro’s eyes flicked downward. “Thank you, Papà.”
“Keep it steady. And Alessandro…”
“Yes?”
“I’m proud of you.”
The call ended.
Alessandro closed his eyes for a brief moment and exhaled slowly, almost like the words had pierced something deeper in him. But whatever flicker of warmth had sparked—it died just as quickly.
He turned back to his men, eyes sharp and burning.
“I want a surveillance of the entire city. I don’t care if it takes every favor, every dollar, every fucking soldier we have on the East Coast. Find out where she sleeps. Who she talks to. Where she shops, where she breathes. I want every camera hacked. Every informant woken up. Every lowlife squeezed for intel.”
“And when we find her?” someone dared to ask.
Alessandro’s lips slowly curved into a razor-thin smile.
“Then drag her out of whatever hole she’s hiding in. I don’t care who’s with her. I don’t care who gets in the way. All I know is that she must be brought to me.”
Then his voice dropped into something darker and deeper.
“She’s mine.”