Page 40 of A Bride for the Mafia King

By the time we hit the lobby, the man who kissed her in the doorway is gone. Replaced by a stone cold killer. By the Pakhan.

Chapter Fourteen

Tolya

Alleyway near the docks

The alley smells of salt and oil, the pungent smells permeating from the nearby docks. Across the street, shadowed by cranes and container stacks, is the Don’s warehouse.

We’re early.

My anxiousness to get this done and over with rising with each passing moment. Yaro stands at my right, checking the earpiece looped over his ear. Behind us, my men fan out there are six of us in total, all in black, all armed. Ghosts in the shadows.

One watching the street. One on the roof. The rest, waiting for my signal.

Nico’s arrival is less subtle.

A black sedan pulls up to the mouth of the alley, followed by two more. All with tinted windows. Engines purr low, but every one of the doors opens fast and silent.

Nico steps out of the first car. Hands gloved. His expression is unreadable. But his eyes give him away. Sharp. Focused. Hungry. This isn’t about retribution, it's about power.

Each car is full of Italians. But these aren’t foot soldiers. These men carry themselves with rank despite their tactical clothing. Half of them I recognize from sit-downs and dinner parties.

“You brought half the fucking house,” I say as he approaches.

Nico shrugs, a smug smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “They finally realized where their future lies.”

I glance past him at the others behind him, men who, only days ago, bowed to the Don. Now, they stand behind Nico like loyal dogs. Armed and ready.

“How did you convince them all?” I ask.

“Idly knowing that there are whispers is one thing, hearing the shouts is quite another.” He pulls a folder from inside his coat and hands it over. “Especially when most of these men have daughters or nieces of their own.”

I flip it open.

Photos. Surveillance stills. Shipping manifests. Wire transfers. Girls in cages. Dated. Traced. All pointing back to the Don.

Yaro exhales beside me, low and bitter. “Motherfucker. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

I close the file. “That was enough?”

Nico’s smile fades. “It was calculated. I released the documents in pieces. Leaked just enough to make them question their loyalty. Let them stew in doubt. Then I gave them the rest. They flipped instantly.”

“You planned this all along,” I accuse, both in admiration and in frustration at being left out of this part of the plan.

He meets my gaze squarely. “Of course I did.”

There’s no guilt in him. No hesitation. Not anymore.

“Eva marrying you was the match that lit the flame,” he adds, voice like a blade. “But this fire? I’ve been building it for years. I’m done pretending De Mello represents anything worth saving. The old man’s a relic. I’m the upgrade.”

“You want the chair.”

“I’m taking the chair.” His voice is low and vicious with those words. He says it like a vow.

I nod slowly. The ambition rolling off him is sharp enough to slice concrete. He is far more strategic than I ever gave him credit for. And he’s playing to win.

I glance across the street again. The gates shift. Lights flicker on. A black truck is backing into the main loading zone.