Page 8 of Twisted Devotion

Even though I hate Marco to the core, he’s still a Rossi. And now I can’t help but wonder who would have the balls to launch a direct attack on them. Since I didn’t authorize what Marco just accused me of, someone else is pulling strings in the shadows.

Friend or foe? That’s the question.

The door to my office creaks open, and Luca steps inside. His face is pale, and he clutches a sheet of paper like a grenade about to go off. “What is it?”

“The shipment, sir,” he says, his voice trembling.

I arch a brow. “Go on.”

Luca shifts on his feet, his knuckles white as he tightens his grip on the paper. “It’s been intercepted.”

The words hang in the air for a few seconds while I process them. My jaw tightens as I force the heat in my chest into a cold, controlled burn. “Details,” I demand, my voice like the edge of a blade.

“It was the shipment coming in through the Adriatic,” Luca begins, his words careful, measured. “The goods never made it to the dock. The crew… they’re gone. No one was spared.”

I snatch the report from his hand, skimming the messy scrawl on the paper. Each word I read fuels the fire simmering inside me. This wasn’t just a hit; it was a calculated blow. And it wasn’t just any shipment—it was vital.

Twelve containers. Weapons. Cash. Materials promised to our allies across the border. Months of meticulous preparation and millions of euros—wiped out in a single, precise strike.

“Do we know who?” I ask, my voice an arctic calm.

“Not yet,” Luca replies, his face pale. “There were no witnesses and no survivors. It wasn’t… messy. Just efficient. Clean.”

That one word lingers in the room:clean. Not some street-level opportunists. This was professional and deliberate. A move meant to send a message.

I set the paper down slowly, the edges crumpling under my tightening grip. “And no one saw anything?”

Luca shakes his head. “No witnesses, no survivors.”

The chair scrapes against the floor as I rise to my feet, the sound slicing through the tension in the room. Luca flinches, his unease a shadow of the storm brewing inside me.

“Maybe… maybe it was the Rossis,” he ventures, his voice uncertain.

I shake my head. Marco? Not a chance. Unlike him, I’m not impulsive and don’t leap to conclusions without cause. “I doubt it,” I say, pacing toward the window. My reflection stares back at me, sharp-edged and cold. “Rossi doesn’t have the network or the discipline for something like this. He’s… reactive, not strategic. And this? This was top-level planning. Months of it.”

I pause, my thoughts turning. Marco is brawn, no brains. Sure, he’s a thorn in my side, but he doesn’t have the precision or patience for a hit of this caliber. Not unless he’s grown desperate—or smarter.

“Still,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, “double-check. Question every dock worker. Review every camera. I want to know if there’s even a whisper of this leading back to Rossi.”

“Yes, sir,” Luca says, retreating toward the door, his steps quick and uneasy.

My hand clenches into a fist at my side. A ship doesn’t just vanish into thin air. The lack of witnesses, the absence of any trace—it gnaws on me.

“Increase security on all shipments,” I order, my tone leaving no room for debate.

Luca pauses at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. “And Marco?”

I let out a slow, controlled breath. “Leave Marco alone. He’s too stupid to have pulled this off. But keep an eye on him. If he so much as steps out of line, I want to know immediately.”

“Yes, boss.” Luca nods curtly before slipping out of the office, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sink back into my chair, fingers drumming on the polished wood of the desk as my mind races. Someone out there is playing a dangerous game, stirring the pot, testing boundaries. And it’s not just me they’re targeting. Whoever this is, they aim to fracture the delicate balance between the two most powerful families.

That’s not a game you win.

And then there is Aria…

My fists tighten involuntarily. Her image surfaces in my mind—unbidden, unwelcome. She’s a complication I can’t afford, a distraction I shouldn’t entertain. Yet, there she is, weaving her way through my thoughts, softening edges that should remain sharp.

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