119

119
VINCENZO 

The wind off the port tasted like old metal and forgotten sins.

By the time we landed in Marseille, the sun had begun to dip low, casting amber streaks across the water. I made sure she and Enzo were tucked away in the safehouse first—an old family villa just off the coast, guarded and discreet.

I kissed the crown of my son’s head and exchanged a soft glance with her before heading out with Pedro.

We didn’t say much on the ride across town. We didn’t need to.

The intel pointed us to an abandoned warehouse near the old fishing district—supposedly used by Roche Maritime for “overflow storage.” But nothing about this setup screamed accidental.

The sea air tasted like rust and betrayal.

I stepped out of the black SUV with Pedro by my side, our boots crunching against the gravel as we approached the side of the dimly lit warehouse. A van was already parked near the loading dock—one of ours. Two of my men, Charlie and Seth, waited beside it, blending into the shadows.

Charlie straightened the moment he saw me, giving a sharp nod.

“Boss,” he said. “You’re going to want to hear this.”

I said nothing, only held out my hand.

He passed me a burner phone and a thin brown envelope. “Surveillance footage, intercepted documents, and the recording from the mic we planted inside. We didn’t want to assume, but…”

“Say it,” I commanded.

Charlie glanced at Pedro and then back at me. “Alejandra’s been meeting with Antonio behind your back. This place isn’t just a drop site. It’s a front. Documents link the shipment back to J&W, routed through shell accounts—all of it traced back to them.”

Antonio.

My own blood.

I opened the envelope, sifting through blurry stills—Alejandra stepping out of a black sedan. Antonio arrived separately. The timestamps were all within the last 48 hours. Then the transcript—a short exchange from earlier this afternoon.

ANTONIO: “Once this shipment clears, the Glaziers are ready to open the pipeline. Vincenzo won’t know what hit him.”

ALEJANDRA: “I don’t care about the drugs. I just want him to suffer and then grovel at my father's feet to help him.”

ANTONIO: “He will. Trust me.”

ALEJANDRA: “How much have you moved?” 

ANTONIO: “Enough to make him cry blood.”

I clenched my jaw. The blood in my veins ran cold.

Pedro cursed under his breath. “You want us to move in?”

“No,” I said, handing back the phone. “Not yet.”

I needed to see it. To feel it.

I needed to walk into that room and watch the people I once trusted—once loved—destroy everything for their own selfish gain.

And I needed them to know that I saw them.

I turned to Pedro.

“Get the cameras ready. We’ll burn the house after I’ve buried the snakes.”

Without another word, I turned and walked toward the warehouse door.

We entered through a rusted side door. Inside, the air was thick with dust, and the fluorescent lights flickered in sickly hues. Pedro moved ahead, checking the rooms. I followed, silent, focused.

And then I heard it—muffled laughter. Breathy. Guttural.

I moved closer.

A cracked office door stood ajar. Papers were scattered across a metal desk—diagrams, financial records… and blister packs of uncut Glaziers.

And then I saw them.

Alejandra’s bare back arched against a broken filing cabinet, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Antonio—shirtless, reckless—was pressed between her legs, murmuring something I couldn’t make out.

Time slowed. My heart didn’t race—it stilled.

I pushed the door fully open.

Neither of them heard me at first.

Until my voice cut the air like a blade.

“Hope it was worth it.”

Alejandra froze. Antonio snapped around, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

“Vincenzo—” she choked, scrambling to cover herself.

Antonio’s hand moved toward something on the table. A gun. I beat him to it.

With one step, I kicked the chair between us aside and slammed his wrist against the desk. The weapon clattered to the floor.

“Don’t,” I said through clenched teeth, pinning him with a stare that had ended lives for less.

Alejandra backed against the wall, panic now settling into her bones.

“You came all the way here… together?” I gestured at the table. “With this?” I shoved a stack of papers at them—payment slips, drug route maps, and fake shipping manifests.

“You’re selling my empire out to the Glaziers and secretly moving goods here?” I asked, quiet and deadly. “I am not even surprised; I have always known you are capable of the worst.”

Antonio hissed through his teeth, blood dripping from his mouth. “You were too busy playing house with your little side piece to see what’s happening. This empire isn’t yours anymore, Vincenzo.”

“You're wrong.” I stepped closer. “It never stopped being mine.”

Alejandra opened her mouth, but I turned away from her before she could speak. I didn’t want to hear her voice. Not right now.

To Pedro I growled, “Secure everything. Take pictures. I want every name in these documents traced. Lock the doors.”

As I turned to leave, I stopped beside Antonio one last time.

“You wanted to take me down, brother?” I whispered coldly. “You should’ve aimed for the heart.”

And then to Alejandra, 

“You've been fucking my own brother, and all the while, I was the bad guy? You disgust me.” 

Then I walked to the door. 

“This building? Burn it. Tonight,” I said to Pedro, who had stepped in behind me. “And send the video to Don Ceballos. Let him know his precious daughter pulled the same trigger.”

Alejandra’s breath caught.

I turned to leave.

My hand was on the door handle when Antonio’s voice rose behind me—strangled, raw. “You’re going to burn it all?”

I stopped allowing the silence to stretch before turning slowly to face him.

Antonio stood there, panic bleeding into his features. “You can’t do that, Enzo. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I think I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice cracked. “There are—there are goods in here. Shipments. Stuff that shouldn’t even be here. You burn this warehouse, and it all disappears.”

I stepped back into the room. “You mean the goods you stole from me? Rerouted under fake manifests and moved through the docks behind my back?”

His face paled.

I kept walking until we were just a breath apart. “How long, Antonio? How long have you been stealing from the family that raised you? From the brother who kept you fed while you wasted your life on bottle caps and bad bets?”

He gritted his teeth. “I was supposed to lead, Enzo. Not follow you like some goddamn errand boy.”

“So you partnered with the Glaziers? You slept with my wife?” My voice was cold steel. “And now you think you can plead for mercy because you’re cornered?”

“It’s not about mercy,” he hissed. “It’s about strategy. If you burn this place, you lose more than me. These crates—this supply—this leverage—you could use it against them.”

“I don’t need to use anything that touches your filth.”

I turned to Pedro, standing just behind me. “Burn it. No survivors, no witnesses.”

“No—no, wait!” Antonio surged forward, grabbing my arm. “Don’t do this!”

I shoved him back. Not hard, but with enough force to remind him that this conversation was over.

“You made your choice,” I said, eyes locked with him. “Now live with it in ashes.”

And with that, I walked out the door, the faint scent of gasoline already drifting on the wind.

I didn’t stop walking.

Let them feel the consequences of crossing me after I gave them so many chances to make amends.

My chest tightened with fury—not just from betrayal, but from the realization that this war was deeper, dirtier, and far more personal than I thought.

And now?

Now I was going to burn it all down.