Page 26 of Obsidian Devotion

“Nothing more?”

My father’s eyes—mirrors of my own—narrow with the scrutiny that’s kept him alive through three bloody mob wars.

“Then why were you seen with her—doing things that raise questions—just weeks after meeting her? Why are you escorting her home yourself?”

I remain silent, unable to deny the truth in his words.

"The family comes first, Lorenzo," Father says, but his tone is gentle now.

"We need you at your best," Matteo adds, leaning forward. "The Carelli are watching for any sign of weakness. The FBI is circling closer. Gabriel's testimony could destroy everything our father built, everything I'm trying to protect as Don."

"And everything you enforce," Father finishes, squeezing my hand before releasing it. He reaches for his cane, and I instinctively move to help him stand. "Fix the weapons deal. Find Gabriel. And remember who you are—a Bellanti. My son."

"Yes, Father."

"We trust you, brother," Matteo says as he walks us to the door, his hand firm on my shoulder. " Whatever's happening, whatever's got you off your game—handle it. The family needs you.”

Outside, I slide behind the wheel of my Maserati and sit in silence for a long moment, hands gripping the leather until my knuckles turn white.

Something doesn't add up about last night. I've gone through the security footage a dozen times. The only suspicious thing was that someone disabled the cameras in the VIP section—standard procedure for certain clients. No faces I didn't recognize. Just dancers, servers, the usual.

Yet someone got close enough to drug me. Someone knew exactly which drink to bring, how to approach me without raising suspicion.

And just before my consciousness slipped away, I heard something. A soft tinkling sound. A bell.

Like the one on Sofia's bracelet.

I shake my head, refusing to follow that thought to its conclusion.

Not Sofia.

Not possible. She was bartending last night, not serving in VIP. It was just a hallucination from whatever they slipped into my drink. It must be.

My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. One of my men, Dante.

"It's done, boss," he says without preamble when I answer. "We have the girl."

A grim satisfaction replaces the sour taste of failure. "Any complications?"

"None. Clean extraction from her school. No witnesses, no traces. She's secured at the warehouse on Marshall Street."

"Good." I start the engine. "Keep her comfortable. I don't want her harmed."

"Understood. But, boss... she's just a kid. Ten, maybe eleven."

"I'm aware," I snap, then soften my tone. "Make sure she has food, water, whatever she needs. This ends today."

I hang up and pull away from father's estate, mind already racing ahead to the next move. Gabriel's daughter, Anna. His only weakness.

The last time I saw her was at a family barbecue three years ago, before her father betrayed everything I'd given him. She'd been a tiny thing with her father's eyes and a gap-toothed smile, shyly asking me to push her on the swing.

I don't want to use a child as bait. But Gabriel has left me no choice. The family's security—Father's legacy, Matteo's future—depends on my next move.

I send the text from a burner phone:‘I have Anna. Come alone to the abandoned Larson Textiles factory at midnight, orI sendher back to you in pieces.’

It's a crude threat. One I have no intention of fulfilling.

But Gabriel doesn't know that.

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