Chapter three

Victor's point of view.

I leaned back in my chair, the cold blade of the knife glinting under the dim light as I peeled an apple with deliberate precision. My focus wasn’t on the fruit, though. It was on the sniveling mess dangling over the edge of the room, blood dripping from his swollen face.  

Mateo's voice broke the tense silence, his desperate pleas ringing out. "Please! Please, I’m sorry I betrayed you, Don! It wasn’t intentional!"  

I chuckled softly, amused by his pathetic attempts at redemption. Unintentional? Was that his excuse? My gaze remained on the apple as I asked, my tone calm, almost curious, "Unintentional, you say?"  

He stammered, but I didn’t need his explanation. I already knew the truth. His hands didn’t "accidentally" steal an entire shipment of guns. I set the apple down, finally meeting his terrified eyes. The fear in them was satisfying—a reminder that betrayal in my world came with a steep price.  

Rising from my chair, I flipped the knife in my hand, testing its weight as I took a slow bite of the apple. I chewed thoughtfully, savoring the moment. "In the spirit of friendship, Mateo," I said, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "I’ll grant you one last wish. Choose wisely. It’s the only choice you’ll ever get."  

"Please, Don… mercy. Kill me quickly," he begged, his voice trembling with the understanding of what mercy meant coming from me.  

I smiled, a cold, cruel smile, stepping closer. "Mercy?" I repeated softly. Then, without hesitation, I plunged the knife into his throat.  

His eyes widened in shock, and his gasps turned into choking, wet gurgles. Blood spilled, warm and thick, staining my hands as I stood there, unmoved. I watched as his body convulsed, then fell still.  

"Mercy granted," I muttered, pulling the knife out and wiping it clean on his shirt. My eyes flicked toward my men, who stood silently against the walls. They knew better than to look away. Mateo’s death wasn’t just a punishment—it was a message.

  

“Clean this mess up,” I ordered sharply, turning on my heel and striding toward the door. My polished leather shoes echoed against the floor, the sound punctuating the cold silence I left behind.  

Alex was waiting for me outside, as always, handkerchief and sanitizer at the ready. "Boss," he greeted, dipping his head.  

I took the handkerchief, wiping my hands briskly. "You said you had something to tell me?" I asked, not breaking stride.  

“Yes, boss,” Alex replied, struggling to keep up with my pace.  

“Well, get on with it," I barked, glancing at my wristwatch. "You know how busy I am today. Have you checked the manifest? Are the goods here yet?"  

Alex nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Everything’s in order."  

His hesitation made me pause. My gaze snapped to him, my patience already wearing thin. "What is it, Alex?"  

"It’s about Sophia, sir," he blurted, his voice unsteady.  

His words made me pause mid-step, straightening. Slowly, I turned, my eyes narrowing. "What about her?" I asked, my voice dropping as low as my heart.  

"Matilda called," Alex began, fumbling for his phone. "She engaged with her and—"  

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I grabbed the phone from his hand and pressed it to my ear. "I told you not to engage with her!" I growled. Matilda’s job was simple: keep an eye on Sophia, report back, and nothing more.  

"I had to, boss," Matilda replied, her voice calm. "That bastard husband of hers wanted to beat her up."  

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Good,” I said, my voice softer than I intended, betraying the gratitude I refused to express outright.  

Matilda’s voice lowered. "I think I’ve destroyed any chance of getting any more information about John, but the bug I planted in their room picked up something."  

"What did you hear?" I wondered, trying to hide my emotions from Alex, who stared curiously at me. 

 

"She’s in danger, sir," Matilda said, and my heart sank. 

 

"What?" I exclaimed, my emotions betraying me.  

"John’s has employed someone from the Jackson Cartel. He placed a hit on Sophia today—5 PM." 

 

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, suppressing the surge of anger that rose within me. "That bastard!" I muttered under my breath.  

"Call the Jacksons, tell them to call it off," I commanded, and I could hear Matilda stutter slightly.

  

"It’s not that simple, sir. It’s the Jackson crew." The Jacksons were professionals, hitmen, and they lived by a code; once they got paid, the only way to stop them was death.  

I took a deep, frustrated breath as my eyes shifted back to Alex, who stood ready for my command.  

"Do what you can to protect her, Matilda. I will be there soon," I said, ending the call and passing the phone to Alex.  

"Call the pilot, tell him to get ready. We’ll be leaving for Manhattan in five minutes," I said to Alex.  

“But sir, your meetings—” Alex started, but the glare I shot him silenced him instantly.  

“Did I stutter?” My voice was ice, my patience razor-thin.  

Alex swallowed hard. “No, sir. Right away,” he stammered before running down the hall to carry out my order.  

In exactly five minutes, we were on the plane, my heart racing as my knee bounced restlessly, and my fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest. Every second felt like an eternity as I glanced at the time, aware that the flight from Italy to Manhattan would take over eight hours.

  

"Can the pilot speed this up?" I asked, my voice betraying the unease I rarely let surface. The thought of her hurt—or worse—was a knife twisting in my chest, one I couldn’t pull free. 

 

Alex, seated across from me, shook his head. "I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think that’s possible."  

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. For the first time in years, I felt helpless, a sensation I despised. My mind raced through every scenario, every possible outcome, but all I could do now was wait—and hope Matilda and her men could at least do something before I arrived.  

"Sir, if I may?" Alex's voice cut through the silence. I raised my head to catch his gaze.  

"Go on," I said, already bracing for the question I knew was coming.  

"For as long as I’ve known you, sir, you’ve been protecting this woman from the sidelines. She’s not family, and she’s not a client. Who is she, and why do you always get so nervous when she’s in danger?" Alex asked, his tone probing.  

My legs froze, and my chest tightened. If he could see the nervousness, I wondered who else could. I didn’t think I’d made it that obvious.  

"She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved," I said flatly, not because I owed him an answer, but because there was no point in denying it.  

Alex furrowed his brow. He had never heard me talk about love, and I guess it confused him even more.  

"If you love her like you say, sir, why hide in the shadows?" Alex pressed, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "You’re not one to shy away from a challenge."  

I rolled my eyes, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. "You’re asking too many questions, Alex. Mind your business," I snapped, shifting my focus to the window.  

But his words lingered, hitting closer to home than I wanted to admit. He wasn’t wrong—he was asking the very question I asked myself every day. Despite knowing the answer too well, it never got easier to face.  

Sophia was the only person who had ever made me feel human, the only light in my world of shadows, and if she ever found out who I really was, she’d hate me. And I—Victor Falcone, the man who inspired fear in everyone, was a coward  who would rather stay in the shadows than have the woman I love find out who I was and the part I played in her misery.