Page 59 of Broken Honor

My jaw clenches at the thought of the girl.

My phone buzzes sharply, dragging me from my thoughts. The screen flashes Bugatti’s name.

"What?" I snap, pressing the phone to my ear.

There’s a pause. Just the sound of breathing—uneven, strained—before Bugatti finally speaks, a tight edge in his voice.

“The autopsy results are in. DNA confirms it. The dead man is Mother J’s son.”

I go still, my fingers frozen against the polished surface of my desk. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he replies. “The tissue samples matched with what we collected from her estate. No doubt. It’s him.”

My jaw clenches. “Cause of death?”

“Severe internal trauma from blunt force,” Bugatti says grimly. “Multiple contusions—ribs broken, face fractured. And a deep stab wound to the abdomen. The coroner says he bled out internally. It was brutal.”

I lean forward, voice sharp. “Where did this happen?”

“He died inside Carmela Fiore’s café,” Bugatti answers, tone darkening. “Her granddaughter was closing up after the night shift when he stumbled in. Reports say she was alone.”

My pulse kicks up. “She called it in?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “She reported a stranger stumbling into the café, covered in blood, barely able to speak.”

I fall silent, suspicion already coiling in my gut. “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Bugatti says quietly. “But the report mentions he tried. Mouth moving, struggling to speak. He was trying to say something before he went.”

I sit back, heart thudding. "I think he was trying to tell her something. It can't be a coincidence."

My mind ticks through scenarios—each one worse than the last. How much does this girl know? How much did Carmela tell her about Lena and Vasco’s fortune—the diamonds? How much did Mother J’s son tell her?

My grip on the phone tightens, knuckles turning pale. "If Mother J’s son is truly dead, we need to find anyone and everyone connected to the Six. Tear apart this city if you have to. I want anyone who might know about those diamonds found—immediately."

Bugatti hesitates briefly, his breathing heavy. "Understood, boss."

"And Bugatti," I add coldly, voice low, "I’ll handle every warehouse in Melbourne myself, it could be stashed. Leave no stone unturned."

I end the call abruptly, dropping the phone carelessly on the desk. I rise from my chair, pacing restlessly across the study.

I pause, turning towards the window, hands clasped behind my back. The city lights blink slowly in the distance. My heart rate settles, resolve forming like ice in my veins.

The girl is of no use alive—better dead, better erased. Carmela Fiore could rage but without proof, her grief is meaningless. But first, I need answers. I need to know how much the girl knows—about what she was told that night when he walked into the café.

And after that, I’ll silence her forever.

Chapter Twelve – Lunetta

My eyelids feel heavy, like someone’s sewn weights into them. My body is distant, floating, and my head spins softly like the world is tipping sideways. The fog in my mind feels thick and sluggish, like honey dripping slowly off a spoon.

“Nonna,” I call softly, my voice barely escaping my throat. "My head hurts..."

I wait for her comforting touch, but nothing happens. A dull panic blooms deep in my chest, and I fight to open my eyes completely. When I do, the haze fades slowly into a stark reality—one hand strapped securely to an IV stand, clear liquid dripping steadily down into my veins; the other with my rosary around it is cuffed to the familiar cold metal frame of the bed.

This is no dream.

A deep, silky voice drifts from the shadows.“Finalmente sei sveglia.” You're finally awake

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