Giordano POV at his villa near the seashore
“Where the f**k is Scarface?”
I slammed the glass down hard. Champagne spilled, fizzing over the marble. No one answered.
“He’s missing probably caught by De Luca,” Mikey said from the shadows. “We will keep searching.”
Giordano snarled. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.” I wiped the glass with my ring finger. “Now he’s out there, bleeding and probably talking.”
The villa smelled like s*x, sweat, and sea salt.
My kind of night.
I stood on the second-floor balcony, watching the party below. Naked women danced in gold masks, twirling between marble pillars. Men in suits and masks lounged with glasses of dark liquor, passing girls between their laps like cigars. Power dripped off every corner. The kind of party where money forgot
