His Tesoro: An Arranged Marriage Age Gap Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 1)
His Tesoro: Chapter 61

Sofiya was on the other side of the bedroom door. We were separated by mere inches of wood, but it might as well have been an ocean.

Dr. Amato had come and gone throughout the day, refusing to give me any information except that Sofiya was stable. She’d left for the night, telling me she’d be back in the morning.

And now Angelo was in my bedroom with my wife. He’d gone in there a couple of hours ago. She’d asked for him, wanted him, not me. Because he hadn’t been the one to lock her away in a cell. He wasn’t the one who’d betrayed her.

My men were stationed outside the front door. Romeo was the only one I’d allowed to stay with me. No one else could witness my shame, witness their Don fall apart over a woman.

Romeo rounded the hallway, his jaw tense and tie askew. He had a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. He extended the phone to me. “It’s Franco.”

I put the cell to my ear.

“Boss, Domenico has a secret apartment in Brooklyn.”

My heart pounded in my chest. “What?”

“I found him on surveillance cameras. He’s been going to this apartment at least once a week for the past three months.”

I swore and turned to Romeo. “Franco’s sending you an address. You need to get there now! Take men with you. Be prepared for a fight.”

“Yes, Boss,” he said, clasping me on the shoulder before running out of the apartment.

I wanted to go with him but that would mean leaving Sofiya. And I was done putting anyone else above her.

I hung up, and an oppressive silence fell over the apartment. All the vibrancy Sofiya had brought into this space was shattered.

I paced the hall as I waited for Romeo’s report. I fantasized about all the ways I would torture Domenico, how I would peel the flesh from his skin. Slowly, so he stayed alive for days. Weeks.

He would beg for death, and I would not grant his wish until he was utterly destroyed.

My phone was at my ear the moment it rang.

“He’s dead,” Romeo said. “The bastard’s mutilated body greeted us as we walked into his apartment. Looks like they poured gasoline on him and set him on fire.”

I seethed as rage boiled my insides. “Who?”

“The Irish.”

It took me a moment to process what Romeo said. “The fucking Irish?”

“I know. There’s a shit ton of evidence that Il Diavolo was coordinating between the Irish and the Albanians to kill you and take your territory.”

“Motherfucking bastard!” I turned and punched a hole in the wall. I deserved to feel the pain in my knuckles. I deserved to suffer every day for the rest of my life for what I’d put Sofiya through. “I trusted him!”

This meant all the evidence he’d showed me about Sofiya’s betrayal was false. I waited for the sense of relief to come, but none did. Because I’d already known. She wouldn’t betray me.

She loved me.

Used to love me.

Because I was sure all those feelings were gone now. And it was all my fault.

“The apartment is trashed and the laptop screen was broken, but the hard drive was intact. There’s a shit ton of emails here between Domenico and Ronan Finnegan. Finnegan ordered Domenico to turn Sofiya against you so he could marry her. Then there would be an alliance between the Russians, Albanians, and Irish. Domenico arranged the attack on the warehouse. You were meant to die there.”

Ronan Finnegan had risen to power in the Irish Mob around the same time I ascended as Don, and we’d had an informal truce all these years to stick to our own territories and stay out of each other’s way.

What a fucking fool I’d been. Everything I’d built was falling apart. I’d sacrificed everything for the Family, for my empire, and look at where it’d gotten me.

“Why would the Irish kill Domenico now?” I gritted out. Anger burned in my chest that I hadn’t been the one to kill him, this traitor who had tortured my wife.

“Maybe they realized that you would never let him live after what he did, so they got to him before we could. You were right about the Irish involvement in the skin trade. There are spreadsheets here detailing how the Irish are selling girls to the Albanians.”

I closed my eyes as fire burned in my chest. Ronan Finnegan was a dead man, and this time I would ensure I had the pleasure of killing him. “Gather whatever evidence you can get from the traitor’s apartment and then come back here,” I commanded Romeo.

My fingers clenched around my phone after I hung up. I would need Rustik’s support in this war. The Irish Mob wasn’t as hierarchical or organized as the Five Families or Bratva, but I wouldn’t underestimate their strength. Not again.

I stared at the bedroom door, wondering if I should force Sofiya to listen to me, to explain what had happened. But what use would it be for my wife to know I had been taken in by a traitor in my own ranks? How would that repair what I had broken?

Still, my hand hovered over the doorknob. It physically hurt to be away from her.

I clenched the handle, the metal cold against my skin. Before I could turn it, an explosion shook the building.

I threw the bedroom door open. “Angelo! Guard Sofiya!” My wife was bundled up on the bed, Noodle beside her, a shocked expression on her face.

“Yes, Boss,” Angelo responded.

I tore out of the apartment. Who was attacking us—the Albanians? The Irish? I would not let them get my wife. I would protect her until my dying breath.

I ordered two guards to stay by the apartment door while the rest ran to the stairwell. The explosion had been on the east side of the building.

Fuck. Sienna.

I’d ordered her to stay in her apartment.

I tore down the stairs to her floor, relieved when I saw it was intact. I ordered one of my men to check on her while I continued down the stairwell. Acrid smoke filled the air as I neared my office. I went ahead of my men, barging through the door with my gun drawn.

My office was destroyed. The window was shattered from where an explosive had obviously flown in. But the room was empty besides fluttering paper and splintered furniture.

Warning bells sounded in my mind, but it was cloudy with exhaustion and pain. My shoulder was on fire, and when I glanced down, I saw blood seeping through my shirt. I must have torn my stitches.

My heart pounded, my gut telling me I needed to get back to Sofiya now. I called my men to me and ran back up the stairs. My watch vibrated and I glanced down at the alert—the fire escape alarm had gone off.

Fear like I’d never felt before flooded me as I threw the apartment door open and found it empty.