Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
"Spit it out, Carlo," I commanded, my voice carrying the edge that made grown men flinch. "Don't waste my time."
"Yes, boss. We don't know exactly who, but somebody took Pearl. Knocked out the guards in her tower."
The silk tie crumpled in my fist as rage coursed through my veins. Twenty years of careful planning, of molding that girl into the perfect pawn, threatened to unravel in an instant.
"What the fuck did you just say?" My voice was deadly quiet now, the calm before the storm.
Carlo stammered through the details, but I barely heard him.
My mind was already racing, calculating the implications. Pearl was more than just my stepdaughter—she was my masterpiece. Years of careful manipulation, of breaking down her will while maintaining that perfect, pristine exterior. She was my key to legitimacy, my ticket to respect among the old families who still whispered about my methods.
"I don't give a damn about the fucking bodies!" I roared, hurling my phone at the wall. It shattered satisfyingly, pieces scattering across the imported marble floor. "I had plans for that little—"
I caught myself, forcing the rage back down where it belonged. Control. Everything was about control.
My office—my sanctuary—suddenly felt too small. The walls seemed to close in, mocking me with their expensive artwork and carefully curated antiquities. Each piece chosen to project power, sophistication. The image I'd spent decades crafting.
I moved to the study window, gazing out over the manicured grounds of my Federal Hill estate. From this vantage point, I could see the city skyline beyond my iron gates, the tower where I'd kept Pearl rising like a sentinel against the darkening sky. Below, my men's vehicles were already pulling out of the curved driveway, mobilizing to find her. They knew the price of failure.
"Marco," I muttered, thinking of Pearl's weak fool of a father. "You should have seen this coming. Should have known I'd take everything."
The memory of that night still brought a smile to my face. Marco Divino, the honorable don, never suspected his trusted friend would betray him. His death had been quick—perhaps too quick, in retrospect. But his daughter... ah, that had been my true victory.
I'd shaped Pearl like clay, molding her into my vision of perfection. Every restriction, every rule, every manipulation designed to make her dependent on my approval. The perfect daughter, the perfect bargaining chip.
And now someone had dared to take her from me.
My reflection caught my eye again, and I watched my face transform with cold satisfaction. This was the real me—not the polished businessman, not the charming stepfather. This was the monster that clawed its way up from nothing, that built an empire on broken bones and shattered lives.
I reached for my spare phone, dialing with deliberate precision. "Carlo. Five hundred thousand to the man who brings me my stepdaughter's kidnappers. Alive." I paused, letting my next words carry their full weight. "I want to handle them personally."
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of blood red. Somewhere out there, Pearl was with them—probably terrified, possibly hurt. The thought should have concerned me as a father figure, but all I felt was rage at the violation of my property.
"Sir?" My secretary's voice came through the intercom. "Mr. Rosetti is here about the shipment..."
"Cancel everything," I ordered, already reaching for my coat. "And get me everything we have on the Barbieri family."
Because I knew—deep in my bones, I knew—this had Giuliano Barbieri's stink all over it. That arrogant pup, always trying to prove himself worthy of his father's name. Well, he was about to learn what happened when you crossed Vittorio Salvatore.
I checked my reflection one final time, straightening my tie with mechanical precision. Perfect control, perfect appearance. The mask firmly back in place.
"Time to remind everyone why they fear me," I murmured to my reflection, watching my lips curl into a smile that never reached my eyes.
As I strode through the mansion's marble halls, my men parted like waves before me. They could sense the storm coming, the violence barely contained beneath my polished exterior. Good. Fear was a valuable tool, one I'd wielded expertly since taking control of the family.
Pearl would be found. The Barbieri boy would suffer. And everyone would be reminded why crossing Vittorio Salvatore was a death sentence.
After all, I hadn't built this empire by showing mercy.
8
PEARL
Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains of my room at Giuliano's compound, painting everything in soft yellow hues. My fingers traced the spine of the leather journal he'd left behind after our encounter by the window.
The memory of how close he'd stood, how his eyes had darkened when I challenged him, made heat pool in my belly. But I couldn't afford to be distracted by dangerous attractions—not when I was finally starting to see clearly.
For the first time in years, I felt something awakening inside me. Yesterday, when Angelo had awkwardly asked what clothes I'd prefer, I'd surprised myself by admitting I'd always wanted to dress like Rory from Gilmore Girls—in comfortable sweaters and well-worn jeans, looking so effortlessly free. Now, wearing exactly that, I felt more like myself than I had in years.