Vittorio
Vittorio woke the next morning in a foul mood and in an empty bed. His dreams had yet again been filled with Sharon, but this time, Rocco had been in them as well. Rocco had taunted him by touching Sharon, the terror in her eyes causing him to beg for her life.
It had been so real, so vivid, that his cheeks were wet with tears when he woke. This not being able to find her was tearing him apart, making him weak and wanting to kill Rocco at the same time. He should have done it last night, ended it all.
Vittorio dressed and went into the kitchen, forcing himself to brew some coffee and not head straight to the bar on the other side of the room. He had to keep his head clear, to continually take down Rocco until there was nothing left. He might not have Sharon, but it didn’t mean that the fucker didn’t deserve everything that he had coming to him.
The door to his penthouse opened a few minutes later and Marcello walked in, a grim look on his face as he placed the newspaper on the counter.
“Looks like you both made the news.”
Vittorio picked it up, a grimace of his own crossing his face as he saw the burning building on the front page. Contarini-Anafesto War Rages in the Big Apple, it said above the picture. The article went on to talk about the beef between the two families and how many people had died in their war.
“Shit,” Vittorio swore, throwing the paper down on the counter. “That’s all we need, the cops sniffing into our business.”
“But you got some of them in your back pocket, right?” Marcello asked, walking over to pour himself some coffee.
Vittorio nodded. His pockets ran deep with the police force, leaving it damn near impenetrable for the Anafesto family. While Rocco had some on his payroll, it didn’t even compete with the ones the Contarini family had. It was yet another reason for Rocco to hate him.
“But there will be some looking for a way up in the ranks. You took care of the bodies, right?”
Marcello nodded, remembering the spree they had gone on the previous night, after the confrontation at the club. Their car had been ambushed at the stop light, but the men who had attempted the hit were woefully unprepared for firepower that Vittorio and his men had been armed with.
“It’s taken care of.”
Vittorio blew out a heavy breath.
“Thanks. I know I’m asking a hell of a lot from you lately, but I do appreciate it. I don’t trust anyone else like I trust you.”
Marcello burst into laughter.
“Are you really thanking me? Man, you must have it bad for this chick, uh, for Sharon then. She’s turning you into a fucking softie. What’s next? You getting out of the business?”
Vittorio ran a hand over his face.
“Of course not. But, when I do find her, I will be calming down my activities.”
“After Rocco is dead, I hope.”
“After,” Vittorio promised, glancing back down at the paper. “I see that they found the girls we left.”
One of the places they had hit up last night had a bevy of girls, most of them drugged, waiting for the next auction. Sick to his stomach at these girls being sold to the highest bidder, Vittorio had ordered his men to get them to safety and put in the tip to the cops himself. He was tired of Rocco using the women against their will. Had he not saved Sharon that night, she could have easily fallen into a vicious cycle of being picked up by his men and used repeatedly by men who would not have been as kind as he had to her.
He wanted it to stop, this sex trafficking. It could be his own fucking daughter one day that got picked up. He would tear this damn city apart attempting to locate Sharon, killing anyone who stood in his way.
Vittorio swallowed hard. Was he really thinking about kids one day? Long ago, after Lara’s death, he had made the decision never to have kids, not wanting them to be used in any game his rivals might come up with.
But the thought of Sharon’s stomach swelling from his kid made him feel those tender feelings again. He had to find her. He couldn’t be living in this limbo any more.
His cell vibrated against the counter and Vittorio picked it up, holding it up to his ear.
“Yeah?”
“Boss,” one of his men said excitedly. “We found her.”
Vittorio’s heart dropped out of his chest, clutching the counter for support as his legs suddenly became jelly.
“You found her.”
“Yeah and she’s fine,” the man continued. “Or at least, as far as we can tell. Rocco wasn’t lying. He doesn’t have her.”
Vittorio closed his eyes, sending prayers up to whoever was listening. Sharon was fine, she was safe.
“Where is she?”
“Looks like she’s gone back to school. I have someone following her from a distance, but we haven’t approached her yet. Do you want us to grab her today?”
“No,” Vittorio ground out.
Another peculiar feeling was running through his veins. If Rocco hadn’t taken her, that meant she had left him under her own free will, putting him through hell and back. He should be pissed at her but was glad that she was safe and not in harm’s way. She had done a number on him, that was for sure. But it had been his own damn fault. He had exposed her to his violence without thinking about how she would handle it.
She had taught him a valuable lesson, but now it was time for her to come home to him.
“Continue to follow her. If Anafesto learns she’s ripe for the taking, he might take her. Don’t fucking let her see you.”
“Got it,” the man said before Vittorio ended the call.
“They found her,” Marcello said flatly.
Vittorio let out a harsh laugh, wiping a hand over his face.
“She fucking left me. She was never with Rocco.”
Marcello let out a strangled laugh.
“So, we started a war for nothing?”
Vittorio looked at his best friend.
“Hell no. We started something we shoulda finished a long time ago.”