Mafia's only obsession

CHAPTER 1: The girl behind the counter The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the streets of Port Blackwood slick and gleaming under the yellow glow of streetlights. Aldo De Luca stood at the window of his corner office on the twenty-third floor of the De Luca Tower, watching the city breathe beneath him. His fingers absently tapped the face of his gold wristwatch with the De Luca family heirloom, a ring that had been passed down through generations. A light tap came from the door “Come in” The door was quietly pushed open. “Boss,” He bowed as he called. The young man was Enzo, one of Aldo's trusted men. He was five years younger than Aldo, black thin, with dark hair and a well-built body. “How is the debt collection at the primary Dock going?” Still blowing “He's still playing tough.” Aldo spun around, a dark frown settling on his face. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened into a cold glare. “The nerve on this guy. Let's go pay him a visit.” He smirked. Thirty minutes later, Aldo stepped out of his black SUV in front of a club on the outskirts of the dock. The men waiting outside stiffened the moment they saw him. The front door burst open. Every conversation died. Aldo De Luca entered without an invitation, his polished shoes echoing across the marble floor. The club owner's smile vanished the instant he saw Aldo. His eyes widened for a split second before he forced them back to normal. He swallowed hard, the color draining from his face as sweat gathered at his temples. He rushed forward the moment Aldo stepped inside. "Mr. De Luca... if I had known you were coming.” "You owe me two million euros," Aldo interrupted, his voice calm enough to make the room fall silent. "Where is it?" The man's smile faltered. He fell on his knees. "I... I just need another week." “Three days," Aldo said. Aldo took one slow step forward. "You had a month.” Silence. "If my money isn't on my desk by then, this club won't belong to you anymore." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out. Aldo stepped out of the club, buttoning his suit jacket as the heavy doors shut behind him. The cool evening breeze carried the sounds of honking cars, distant laughter, and street vendors calling out to passersby. His bodyguards instinctively formed a circle around him. "The car is ready, Boss," Enzo said. Opening the rear door of the black SUV. Aldo didn't move. His gaze had drifted across the street. A young woman stood behind the counter, carefully arranging a package for a customer. A loose strand of chestnut hair escaped her ponytail, dancing in the evening breeze as she tucked it behind her ear. A gentle smile curved her lips while she laughed at something the customer had said. She looked... peaceful. Entirely out of place in a city ruled by blood, money, and fear. For the first time that day, Aldo found himself staring. "Boss?" Enzo called. No response. Enzo followed Aldo's line of sight until he spotted the woman across the street. One brow lifted in quiet surprise. "Boss," he repeated, a little louder this time. Aldo blinked, as though waking from a trance. "What is it?" he asked without taking his eyes off her. A faint smile tugged at Enzo's lips. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten we had another meeting." Aldo finally looked away, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm. "Get in the car," he said. But as the SUV pulled away, his eyes found the young woman once more through the tinted window.He didn't know her name. He didn't know why he couldn't look away. He only knew one thing. Somehow... She had caught the attention of a man who never looked twice. “Get me all her information” “I need to know who she is." Enzo blinked. "Boss, with respect, that's not…" "Tomorrow." Aldo's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of an order. "Name. Age. Where she lives. Who she belongs to. Everything.” “Yes, boss,” Enzo replied. The whiskey sat untouched on the corner of Aldo's De Luca desk. He'd poured it an hour ago, right after Marco finished delivering the bad news. Another shipment was intercepted. Another loss to the Italians. Another c***k in the foundation his father had built with blood and silence. Aldo had stared at the amber liquid, swinging himself around the leather seats. Willing himself to take the edge off, but his hand wouldn't move. Anger didn't need numbing. Anger needed action. "You're brooding, boss." Marco stood by the door, arms crossed, his heavy jaw set in an expression that bordered on loving concern. The man was forty-five, built like a fridge, and had been with Aldo since the old days. He was the only person in the world who could speak to him like this without losing a tooth. "I'm thinking," Aldo corrected, his voice flat. "Same thing." Marco shrugged. "You've been in this office a long time. The men are starting to think you've grown roots." Aldo's jaw tightened. He knew what Marco was doing, pushing him out of his head and back into the world. It was irritating. It was also necessary. "Petrov is testing us," Aldo said, finally reaching for the glass. He took a sip. The burn was familiar, welcome. "So what do we do?" "We tighten our perimeter,” Aldo said coldly. “We wait. And then we remind Petrov that this city still belongs to the De Luca family.” A knock sounded at the door. "Come in." Enzo stepped inside, a thick manila folder in one hand. "You asked me to find out who the woman outside Bellagio Club was." Aldo looked up. It came faster than he'd expected, Enzo had his contacts, and the street talked when De Luca asked questions. The folder was thick, the paper crisp, the details arranged in neat rows: photographs, addresses, employment records, social media printouts. "And?" Enzo placed the folder on the desk. “Here," Enzo dropped the folder on the desk. "Everything I could pull down in two hours. Her name is Natalia Cavallo. Twenty-two years old. She lives alone in a small apartment on the east side of the city and works at Sofia's corner to support herself. No criminal record. No known connections to any mafia family." Aldo opened the file, scanning the first page without much interest. The first page was a photograph, a candid shot taken from the café's social media page. She was laughing, her head tilted back, a streak of flour on her cheek. The dimple on her left cheek was visible, small and perfect. "Natalia," Aldo repeated, the name settling in his chest like a stone. "Yeah. That's where it gets interesting." Enzo sat down heavily in the chair across from the desk. "She's adopted. At three, she was found outside the orphanage gate. She was in foster care for three years before… Vincent's Cavallo adopted her." Aldo's eyes stopped. Guardian: Vincent Cavallo. His expression hardened. "That's impossible," he murmured. Marco stood up from his chair, walking over to lean against the edge of the desk. "Cavallo? As in Vincent?" Aldo didn't answer. He was staring at the photograph, his mind racing. Vincent Cavallo. His best friend Enzo frowned. "Boss?" Aldo didn't answer. He was staring at the photograph, his mind racing. Vincent Cavallo. His best friend. His brother in all but blood. The only man Aldo had ever trusted with his back, his secrets, his heart. Vincent had died five years ago, gunned down in a hit ordered by his cousin,a cavallo. Aldo had avenged him within seventy-two hours, but the hole Vincent left in his chest had never healed. He remembered it now. Vincent's daughter. The girl he had mentioned once, in passing, over a bottle of whiskey. "I found someone, Aldo. A little girl. She's got these eyes,like she's seen too much, but she's still fighting. She reminds me of you." Aldo had forgotten that conversation. He had buried it along with Vincent's body. He turned to the next page in the folder. Vincent's will. A copy, certified and notarized. His eyes scanned the text until they found the passage he was looking for. "I, Vincent Cavallo, leave my daughter, Natalia Cavallo, in the care of my dearest friend, Aldo De Luca. Should she require guidance, protection, or a home, I trust Aldo to provide these as if she were his own. This is my final wish." “But there is another unread clause,” Enzo said. Aldo’s eyes flicked away from the documents.“What?” Enzo flipped the will. "Natalia is free to choose her own path until her twenty-second birthday. If, by then, the conspiracy behind my death remains unresolved, she is to enter the protection of Aldo De Luca under a legally binding marriage contract.” Until now. "She refused," Enzo said quietly. "Five years ago, when the will was read. She was seventeen, almost eighteen. She chose to live with her godmother instead. A woman named Rosa Martelli." Enzo shrugged. "Maybe she didn't want to be passed around like property. Maybe she didn't trust a mafia don to take care of her. Maybe she just wanted to be free." Free. The word stung. Aldo had never been free. He had been born into chains, the chains of legacy, of duty, of blood. He had never questioned them. He had never wanted to. But she had. At seventeen, she had looked at the life Vincent had laid out for her and said no. He should have respected that. He should have let her go. But as he stared at her photograph, at the dimple on her cheek and the flour on her face, he felt something shift in his chest. Something cold and hungry and absolute. Vincent had asked him to take care of her. Vincent had trusted him. And Aldo De Luca did not break his promises. Aldo gave a single nod. "Five years ago..." His voice was low, almost to himself. "He entrusted her to me." Silence settled over the office. Then Aldo pushed back his chair and stood. "Prepare the car.” Enzo straightened. "Where are we going, Boss?" Aldo picked up the file, his gaze lingering on Natalia's photograph. "To fulfill a promise I should have kept five years ago.”