Chapter 69
Victor rolled his eyes dramatically, speaking in Eldoria with a fast and sharp tone, "Honestly, Vitale, I'm sick of you mentioning Isabella every other sentence. We're talking about the survival of our family, the Lumaria territory, and deals worth billions of euros."
"And all you can think about is whether Isabella had a proper breakfast today?"
Vitale shrugged lazily, his movement as graceful as a fashion model, "What can I say? I'm into her, just like you're into your strong morning coffee or that 1967 Ferrari of yours. Some things, once you're hooked, you just can't quit."
Costa slammed his hand on the table, cutting short the brothers' bickering, "Let's get to the point, Vitale. I remember your family business has been completely cleaned up. After your father passed, you cut off all the dirty deals—arms, drugs, organ trafficking."
"And now you're saying you want to take on Yuri, which means getting back into that mess?"
"Yes," Vitale admitted bluntly, showing no trace of guilt on his face, "I don't have much of a choice. If I want Yuri to let his guard down and show a weakness, I have to play by the old rules."
He lit a cigar, the smoke swirling under the dim yellow light, "I think God will forgive me. After all, I'm just cleaning up the trash He missed."
Costa's eyes lit up, "So, you're in? You're helping me?"
"No," Vitale shook his head, his voice cold, "I'm not helping you, Costa. I'm getting revenge."
He leaned forward, his blue eyes glinting dangerously through the smoke, "I'm a petty guy. I hold grudges forever. Now, take me to see that person."
The water tower was in an abandoned industrial area on the outskirts of Palermo.
The rusty iron ladder spiraled upward, each step groaning underfoot as if it might give way.
When Costa opened the iron door at the base, a stench of mold, blood, and waste hit them hard.
Vitale didn't hesitate and stepped inside.
The basement was so dimly lit that you could barely see.
A man was chained to the corner of the wall, his bare upper body covered in overlapping old and new scars.
Hearing footsteps, the man jerked his head up.
When he saw it was Vitale, he started thrashing wildly, the chains scraping against the concrete floor with a piercing sound.
Vitale approached slowly, his leather shoes making a steady tapping sound on the damp ground.
He squatted in front of the man, pulling a butterfly knife from the inner pocket of his suit. The blade flashed coldly in the faint light.
"After my mother ran off with her lover, I lost contact with her until I heard about her death," Vitale began, his voice calm. "She jumped from a tower, landing in a rose garden. Everyone said she broke down from an unhappy life and killed herself. But I got the autopsy report."
He lightly tapped the man's cheek with the back of the knife, "That report, which cost me a lot to get, showed a large amount of black particles in her lungs. Do you know what that is?"
The captive's pupils shrank suddenly.
Sweat mixed with blood dripped from his forehead.
"Industrial-grade cyanide," Vitale continued, the tip of the knife tracing along the man's jawline, "Poisoned first, then staged as a suicide. Clever, but not clever enough."
He pulled out a photo from his pocket.
It was Liliana on her sixteenth birthday.
The girl with chestnut curls was hugging a guitar, smiling brightly, with the grand piano from Vitale's current office in the background.
"My sister, Liliana," Vitale said, his voice cracking for the first time, "When they found her, her heart was gone. The coroner said it was removed while she was still alive. Professional work, clean and precise."
He stared into the captive's eyes, "Why? Why would a seventeen-year-old girl have to go through that kind of pain?"
The captive started trembling, the sound of his chattering teeth echoing in the silent basement.
Vitale noticed a dark stain spreading quickly at the man's crotch.
He'd wet himself.
Vitale stood up, walked to a small table in the corner, and poured a glass of water.
He drank it slowly, then returned to the captive with the half-empty glass.
"My father," he said, "took three bullets to the chest, but the fatal shot was to the back of his head, point-blank. The killer was behind him, someone he trusted."
Vitale paused, slowly pouring the remaining water over the captive's head, "You know, what hurts me most isn't their deaths. It's that I couldn't protect them."
The captive coughed violently from the water, unable to make a sound.
His mouth was tightly gagged with a cloth.
He shook his head frantically, water droplets flying everywhere, a few landing on Vitale's face.
Vitale didn't wipe them off.
He just watched the man struggle, his gaze like someone observing a lab rat.
A few seconds later, Vitale smashed the glass over the captive's head.
With a sharp crack, glass shards mixed with blood splattered everywhere.
Vitale yanked the cloth out of the captive's mouth.
"Kill me!" the man roared, his voice hoarse from being silenced for so long, "Why don't you just kill me, you Eldoria scum!"
Vitale smiled.
It was a smile Victor had never seen before.
Cold, cruel, with an almost holy madness.
"Kill you?" he said softly, "That'd be too easy for you."
Vitale used the tip of his knife to lift the captive's chin, "I want to have some fun with you. Like, cutting off a piece of your flesh every day to feed the pigeons. Then, when you're barely alive, I'll ship you off to Eldoria. I know a few collectors there who are really into living artworks."
He leaned close to the captive's ear, his voice low like a lover's whisper. "I want you to remember the pain every single day. Remember the hunger, the thirst, every breath feeling like inhaling broken glass. That's how I felt when I lost my family. Now, it's your turn."
The captive let out an animal-like wail.
At the same time, in Marigoldia.
Isabella woke up in the morning light, saw Vitale's message, and felt a wave of disappointment.
But she quickly pulled herself together.
Vitale was the president of Tyson Group; business trips were normal for him.
However, as soon as she arrived at the company, she sensed something was off.
Security at Tyson Group's building had clearly been beefed up.
Two men she didn't recognize stood at the front desk, dressed in sharply tailored suits, but standing as straight as soldiers.
Even stranger, when they saw Isabella, they gave a slight nod of respect.
That level of deference went beyond the usual politeness shown to the president's secretary.
In the elevator, Isabella caught a familiar scent.
Cigar, leather, and that mix of danger and power that always clung to Vitale.
These new faces carried the same vibe.
By the time she reached her office floor, Isabella's unease hit its peak.
She called Vitale, but no one answered.
She checked her computer; everything seemed normal.
Isabella even slipped into Vitale's office.
His cigar box was still on the desk, his pen still in the holder, as if he'd just stepped out for a moment.
But the air was filled with a tense silence, like the stillness before a storm.
Suddenly, the noise outside stopped.
Isabella slowly walked to the door and cracked it open.
In the hallway, all the employees—the real employees, the accountants, marketing staff, and admin assistants she knew—were frozen in place, staring at the end of the corridor.
Isabella followed their gaze.
Amboni and Laura were walking quickly toward her, their faces showing a seriousness she'd never seen before.
Even more shocking, Henley was behind them, his eyes—usually hidden in shadow—now sharply scanning the surroundings.
This trio was too odd.
Vitale's business assistant, her work partner, and the mysterious head of security.
Amboni saw her and visibly relaxed, "Thank God you're here."
He hurried over, holding a thick folder, "We need to go over these documents urgently. Please, come into the office."
Before Isabella could react, Amboni and Laura flanked her, pulling her into Vitale's office.
Laura even let out an exaggerated scream, "Ms. Martinez, these documents need to be signed right now. It's about the company's survival!"
The door shut.
Henley stood guard outside like a statue.
"What's going on?" Isabella finally asked, her voice trembling with nerves.
Amboni took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Nothing. We just want to make sure you're safe."
He paused, then his tone turned stern, "Ms. Martinez, why didn't you wait for Henley to go to work with you this morning?"
Isabella was stunned, "I thought he only protected me sometimes, and since Vitale isn't here today, I thought..."
"Whether Mr. Luca is here or not, your security level doesn't change," Laura cut in, her voice unusually serious, "In fact, starting today, your security is upgraded to the highest level. Henley will be with you twenty-four seven, and eight others are rotating on the perimeter."
"Why?" Isabella felt a chill, "Is Vitale in danger?"
Amboni and Laura exchanged a glance.
Finally, Amboni said quietly, "It's not Mr. Luca who's in danger, Ms. Martinez."
He walked to the window and pulled open the blinds.
Down on the street, several black SUVs were parked around the building in a perfect formation.
Next to each vehicle stood two men in suits, their stance, gaze, even the way they positioned their hands, radiating professional menace.
"It's you who's in danger," Amboni turned back, his expression grave, "Word's out that you're Vitale's weakness. Now, the entire underworld is looking for you."