Page 28 of His Son's Ex

The bastard tied to the chair lifts his head. His face is a mess of sweat and blood, a cracked brow bone leaking red down his cheek. He’s younger than I expected—early thirties maybe—dumb, greedy, and shaking like a rabbit that’s wandered too close to a wolf den.

Behind me, Luca clears his throat.

He insisted on coming, said he wants to learn, to prove he’s got what it takes to stand at my side. But I know better. He’s been nervously pacing since we dragged this rat in here.

“You got a name, asshole?”

The man swallows thickly. “D–Darren,” he wheezes. “Darren Harper.”

I glance at Luca, then back at the sniveling mess in front of me. “Darren,” I repeat. “You and your crew decided to crash my son’s wedding. Pulled guns on my guests, thinking you could score easy cash. That sound about right?”

Darren nods weakly. “We didn’t know?—”

I cut him off. “You didn’t know what? That you were robbing a Bellacino wedding?” I take a slow step forward. “That you were pointing guns at my family?”

He flinches. Blood dripping off his chin splatters onto the concrete. “We… we got tipped off. Some big shot, lots of money. We had no idea it was?—”

“Shut up.” My voice echoes off the walls. He clamps his mouth shut, shoulders trembling.

I let the silence stretch, make him wait for the potential consequences coming. I turn to Luca. He’s trying to appear indifferent, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation in his stance.

“You wanted to learn, to be here,” I say to Luca, nodding toward Darren. “Go ahead.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Luca asks, a slight tremor in his voice.

“You tell me,” I say. “This man humiliated our family. Ruined your wedding. Terrorized your new wife. Clearly, he needs some incentive, so make him talk.”

Luca’s jaw tightens as he flicks his gaze between Darren and me. “He’s already hurt,” he says, his voice quiet.

I feel a flash of irritation. This is the difference between my son and myself. Luca wants respect, but he’s never been willing to take it, to demand it the way I do. The same way my father taught me.

I snap my fingers, and Vito, one of my heavies, hands Luca a pair of brass knuckles. He stares at them like they are about to bite him.

“Go on,” I say, challenging him. “Show this shit stain what happens when you cross the Bellacino family.”

For a second, I think he’ll do it. His fingers twitch, his expression darkens. But then he exhales and hands the knuckles back to Vito.

“I’m good.”

Disappointment flares hot in my chest. I should’ve known. Luca wasn’t made for this world. He wants the power, but he won’t spill blood for it.He’s not willing to do whatever it takes to earn and keep it.

I push him aside and turn back to Darren. “Guess I’ll be handling this myself.”

Darren’s breath stutters. “Please,” he croaks. “I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

He hesitates before speaking. A mistake. I slam my fist into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs. He doubles over, wheezing, and I grab his hair, jerking his head up. “I said talk.”

“We got a call!” he sputters. “He said the place would be full of high rollers, big money. That the cops wouldn’t come near it because the bride’s mother had connections. He told us?—”

“Who?” I growl.

He mumbles something about a service tunnel under the catering wing—an access point someone on the inside left unsecured. Security cameras were looped. The timing too perfect to be random.

His eyes dart to Luca then back to me. His voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “Lombardi. Gianni Lombardi.”

Rage surges through me, cold and sharp. I release Darren, letting him slump back into the chair. “You’re telling me the Lombardi family set this up?”

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