Page 3 of One Savage Union

He finally lifts his eyes to mine, and what I see there makes even me stand straighter. Not rage. Not grief. Strategy. Ice-cold calculation edged in steel.

“We won’t move on him yet,” he says. “No fireworks. No warnings. Let him think he’s clever, that he’s still in control.”

He stands, slowly wiping his bloody hand on a white linen napkin—symbolic as hell, considering the blood will never come out. “I want names. Every coward he’s recruited. Every whisper of treason. We won’t just cut off the head—we’ll gut the whole thing, root and stem.”

He pours himself another drink with his uninjured hand and downs it in one swallow.

“He’s my son,” he says, almost like he’s reminding himself. Then his voice drops into something darker. “But if he wants war… we give it to him. Just not on his terms.”

I nod, already planning my next move.

Leo started this strike against the family.

But I’m going to end it.

I owe my life to my uncle.

Now, it’s time to truly pay my debt to him by terminating his treacherous son.

He can’t put a hit out on him or personally kill him because it would make the family look weak. It would appear that the Don cannot control his son or the rats. Acknowledging Leo’s scheme would give him more recognition than he deserves.

Leo will die, but it will be carefully orchestrated and not at our hands.

I pull the final piece of information I brought for him from the right inside pocket of my suit jacket and hand it to him.

A photograph of the beautiful woman who’s haunted by thoughts since I found out she existed twenty-four hours ago.

The last bastard I kidnapped and tortured for information was Matteo Ricci’s trusted valet. He climbed into bed with Leo for a quick payday—and it cost him dearly.

He begged for his life, offering intel that could shift the tide of our cold war with the Riccis. I told him if it were worth something, I’d let him live… just not speak. He already would never walk again due to the crowbar I took to both his knees.

What he gave me? It was worth far more than his tongue.

I point to the photo, my voice calm but deliberate.

“That’s Matteo Ricci’s daughter.”

My uncle scoffs, waving a dismissive hand.

“Impossible. Everyone knows Ricci was made sterile. Capo Parisi ensured it—part of his punishment for what happened to your parents. The man has no heir. His men are fighting like dogs because they know the top seat is up for grabs.”

I shake my head slowly and smirk.

“No, Zio. That’s what Ricci wants us all to believe. But the truth’s more complicated.”

I pull up a photo on my phone—Chrisette Asare, mahogany-skinned and radiant, her eyes sharp and captivating even in a still frame.

“This was Chrisette Asare. Ricci’s secret lover for years. She gave birth to a daughter twenty-four years ago, named Lucia. The child was kept hidden from the world, tucked away behind a fake name and a quiet life. But Chrisette died last week. Left everything behind—including proof of who Lucia is.”

I let that settle before delivering the kill shot.

“Lucia Asare is an accomplished pianist, Ricci’s blood, and according to my sources, Leo’s next target. He plans to kidnap her and force a marriage.”

My uncle’s jaw tightens. His hand slams down on the desk, the crystal ashtray jumping.

“That idiota son of mine will get us all killed. Matteo will assume we’re behind this. If he harms his daughter, Ricci will take it as an act of war. So will the Commission.”

Exactly. That’s the point.

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