Snapping Point||Book 1

Sequel...

Romano De Rossi

"You didn't really think that was just a smoothie in your glass, did you?"

"Romano," Rossi replied, his voice dripping with defeat. He looked down, beaten, his grip on the glass tight enough to break it.

He didn't bother to turn around, waiting for me to step forward. Funny how without a doubt, he had known it was his son behind him, that I'd caught up to him. It made sense that I thought he'd have had enough time to forget the voice of his biggest mistake—me. Having a son as desperate as he was, that was a death sentence. Four months in hiding seemed like an eternity, but clearly he could still tell what was what.

Underestimation had never cut so deep. My old man thought we were fools. He figured he could outrun even the shadows of his enemies. Buying a house in Monterosso? That just proved how tiny his brain really was.

I was here to set him straight: no matter how fast a man runs, his shadow always catches up. I was that shadow, the darkness God sent him for the sins of his past, a constant reminder of what he couldn't escape.

I wanted my anger, bitterness, and darkness to haunt him even after he turned to dust. That's why I spent the last four months tracking every lead Ottavio dropped on Rossi's location.

From a hotel in Bologna, to a cabin in the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines, and finally here in Monterosso.

Sure, I wanted him dead for everything he did to me and the family. But there was another reason. Morelli's demand for retribution hung over me, pushing me to prove my loyalty by exposing the lie of my father's peaceful life. Still, deep down, this was my last act for the TIF before I rose to power again.

"I guess I'll skip the part where I explain how I knew I'd find you in Monterosso, in a house bought with an offshore account traced back to you. Oh, and moving two million dollars onshore? That was a nice touch."

It wasn't as simple as it sounded. First, I needed access to records of offshore accounts, which was no easy feat. Once I had them, tracing the money to a specific person was another hurdle. Even after pinpointing it to him, I needed proof of what he used it for, which involved firing at someone to get this location.

I clicked my tongue, noting the recognition in his posture. "Four months, and you already forgot everything about the TIF? Even your own teachings? Not too bright."

"Yes, skip it," he replied with a deadpan expression. "Now what? You are here for retribution? Wanna off your father and leave your sisters and mother alone?"

"They're not alone; they have me." Nothing could be truer. "And you haven't been around for four months, so you're as good as dead to them."

Rossi gave a gloomy, hopeless shrug and turned to glare at me. His stubble had grown, giving him a rougher look. His grey eyes locked onto mine, a reminder of the moments I despised—looking at a man who reminded me too much of myself.

"Who would have thought," he choked out. My frown must have demanded an explanation, because he continued, "You're finally living up to expectations, carrying out the duties of a true capo in his last days."

Then he must have heard that Morelli was stepping down. I had less than three weeks to hold this position, which required me to pull the trigger on an enemy. Soon, it would be the entire TIF's duty to follow nothing but my orders.

"You're very aware of everything from your little castle," I remarked, casting a dismissive glance around the cramped apartment that paled in comparison to the grand mansion the TIF had once built for the Rossis. "Only, I'm disappointed this is how the mighty Rossi's story ends."