DEADLY DECEPTION

CHAPTER 31

(Rick's POV)


The flames had long died out, but the damage was done.

Sergei's warehouse was gone—burned to the fucking ground.

I leaned back in my chair, the scent of whiskey thick in the air. The report had come in an hour ago.

Job done. No loose ends.

Thomas knew better than to leave a mess.

The news was already spreading like wildfire. The whispers. The warnings. The reminder that I was back.

And then, right on time, the envelope arrived.

Thick parchment. Sealed in black wax.

L'Ordine Nero.

I turned it between my fingers, letting the weight of it settle. A formal invitation, signed and stamped with tradition. The Gala.

The same fucking event my great-grandfather created to keep these bastards from slaughtering each other in broad daylight. A fragile excuse for peace, masked in luxury and politeness.

Friendship.

I nearly laughed.

There was no such thing in this world. Especially not after what Sergei did.

He tore through my family, took everything that wasn't nailed to the fucking ground, and fed off the remains.

And the worst part? He hadn't done it alone.

Some of them—the ones who had sworn loyalty to my father—had bent the knee to him the moment the Rossi name lost its weight. Unloyal fucking dogs, wagging their tails for the man who put a bullet in their Don's head.

And while I spent years keeping my distance, Thomas had been in the shadows, rebuilding. Handpicking men. Quietly restoring the famiglia brick by fucking brick.

But loyalty?

That was still up for debate.

Half of these men weren't mine. Not yet.

And until they knew what happened to traitors—until I made an example of the first fool who thought he could outplay me—I'd keep my guard up.

Even in my own house.

I set the invitation down, exhaling slowly.

The Gala was a stage. A declaration.

And soon, every single one of them—Sergei included—would understand exactly what it meant when a Rossi walked back into the room.

---------------------------

I shouldn't fucking want her.

Not now.

Not yet.

But ever since that night, she'd been in my head, clawing her way in like a goddamn parasite I had no cure for.

I kept telling myself—not yet, not yet, not yet.

The second I claimed her, it would be over.

Not for me.

For her.

The moment they realized she was my weakness, they'd start circling like vultures. Sergei was already watching. Already fucking waiting. And I wasn't naïve enough to believe he'd back off. Not now. Not ever.

He knew who I was.

He knew who she was.

And if I made it obvious, if I gave them proof—Sergei wouldn't be the only one coming for me.