Page 51 of Temptation

“There’s no need for me to hurt you,” he states, his face a mask of chilling indifference. His eyes bore into mine, devoid of any emotion. “So stop struggling and move.” Vance’s fingers, long and unyielding, dig into my arm with bruising intensity as he drags me down the dimly lit hallway. Each step is a struggle to keep up with his relentless pace. My arm aches from his iron grip, and I futilely attempt to pull away, my efforts only provoking his anger.

“Stop that shit,” he bellows, his voice echoing through the narrow corridor. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, unable to mask the desperation that taints my voice. The question hangs in the air, laden with unspoken fears. He shrugs nonchalantly, hisshoulders rising and falling with a casual indifference that chills me to the bone.

“Everything has a price,” he replies, his tone devoid of any remorse or guilt. His words hit me like a physical blow, and my eyes widen in shock. My mind reels, struggling to process the callousness in his demeanor.

He has sold me out. Not just me, but Fabrizio too. And the twins. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless and bewildered. As we finally reach the end of the hallway, a potent whiff of alcohol hits my nostrils, so strong and acrid that it nearly stings. What on earth is this place? Just a second later, every smell, every touch, every sensation bombarding me seems to vanish into thin air. The only thing I can perceive is the blond woman standing in the dark, shadowy hall. At that precise moment, the only thing keeping me from collapsing is Vance’s firm grip on my arm.

“Are you alright?” she asks with a chilling grin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her voice drips with malice, and her lips curl into a sinister smile.

Thirty

Fabrizio

Silvio Vitarelli’s mansion sits snugly in one of Atlanta’s most elite neighborhoods, an area that mirrors the posh surroundings where my own family resides. As Lucas expertly navigates the car up the long, winding driveway, the sheer opulence of the place hits me. Everything about it screams wealth—from the perfectly manicured gardens to the numerous armed guards stationed around the property. It feels like a fortress, a fitting stronghold for a man who’s barely holding on to life.

Taking a deep breath, I unclip my gun from its holster and place it on the backseat. Bringing a weapon into this house is pointless; I don’t need it. The old man will tell me everything I need to know.

One thing my father always drilled into us was that knowing your enemy’s weakest point gives you complete control over them. Though I haven’t yet figured out what exactly is ailingSilvio, I have no plans to hasten his suffering. As I approach the imposing front door, the two guards on duty straighten up, their eyes widening slightly in recognition. I press my lips together and raise my hands, showing that my jacket is already unbuttoned and I’m unarmed. One guard gives me a thorough pat-down before nodding to the other, who opens the door and motions for me to follow him inside. We walk through a hushed, dimly lit hallway that seems to stretch on forever. The mansion is eerily silent, devoid of other guards or staff, the quiet almost suffocating. We continue down the corridor until the guard stops in front of a large, ornate door.

“Wait here,” he instructs before disappearing into the room. He returns shortly. “He’ll see you, but keep it brief. Mr. Vitarelli needs his rest.”

The room I enter is dimly lit and sparsely furnished, dominated by a massive bed. It’s been years since I last saw Silvio, but the frail figure swallowed by the sheets looks nothing like the man I remember. He’s aged drastically, and I feel no compassion.

“What do you want?” His voice is raspy, each word a struggle that ends in a violent cough. I step closer to the bed, meeting his venomous gaze.

“You have something that belongs to me,” I say firmly. “I’m here to get her back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lies, but his face betrays him.

“Where is she?” I demand. The silence stretches like a taut wire. “I asked you a question,” I press, my voice hardening. Silvio’s eyes lock onto mine, his mouth opening slightly, but only a wheeze comes out.

“If you don’t answer me, there will be consequences,” I warn him. Silvio rolls his eyes, seemingly unfazed.

“You already killed my son. What else could you take from me?”

“How about them?” I ask, my voice laced with triumph. I pull out some photos and toss them onto the bed. Silvio barely glances at them, but his grimace says he knows exactly what they show. My father had known for years that Luca wasn’t Silvio’s only child. He fathered two more with different women, none of whom were part of his life, though he ensured they were well provided for while living far away from them. I watch as the reality hits him, his face paling.

“It wasn’t me,” he says weakly. “I’ve been out of the game for a while. You should know that.”

“The little army you have here suggests otherwise,” I retort, even though I know he’s telling the truth.

His body shakes with a violent cough as he chuckles. “I made a lot of enemies back in the day,” he wheezes. “But now, all I want is to die in peace.”

“You can do that without worrying about your children if…” I trail off, exasperated. “Fine. It wasn’t you. But you know where she is, don’t you?”

Another cough wracks his frail body.

“Do you?”

He exhales a raspy breath, his tired eyes searching my face. “If I tell you, will you leave my kids alone?” he asks.

“If your information is good,” I reply. “Yes, I promise. And I keep my word.” He lets out a displeased chuckle that quickly turns into another coughing fit. His body shakes as he points to a notepad and pen on the dresser. Until now, I hadn’t paid much attention to the sparse decor or the few pictures on the otherwise bare walls. But as I turn to get the notepad, my eyes fall on a particular photo. It looks exactly like the ones I have stored away, mementos of happier times. Even the woman’s radiant face on Luca Vitarelli’s arm haunts my dreams sometimes.

Realization dawns on me, and my stomach tightens. I can only imagine the look on my face as I turn back around, clutching the frame in my trembling hand. Silvio’s face lights up at my reaction, and he throws his head back in a roaring laugh, his spittle tinged with deep red. “She was right; this is delicious.”

She.

My fucking sister-in-law.

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