Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 6

6

SCARY DOG PRIVILEGE

Ivory

The clip-clop of my heels bounces off the shipping containers as we head towards the back of the port where my dad’s shipment, over five-hundred grand in freshly washed cash, awaits us. We, as in me and my dad’s guys—the Belluci soldiers: Federico, Andrea, and Domenico. Manpower and security, they follow behind me like an entourage, my shadows, ready to strike and bite at a moment’s notice.

I like to think of it as scary dog privilege.

Unless we run into a problem tonight, I won’t be needing them for their brute strength, but it’s comforting to know I don’t have to lift a finger. I mean, I will if I have to. I’m no damsel anymore. Santo taught me everything I know, from throwing a solid punch to unloading a bullet. I just prefer not to. Chipped nail polish and smeared eyeliner isn’t really my thing .

My phone buzzes with a notification.

Santorini

HELU-485812-9

ISO code: 22G1

The container’s serial number and info, finally. Feels like I’ve been waiting half a century for my brother to text me back. This was supposed to be his job, but Lucia hasn’t been feeling well, and the doctor put her on bed rest two days ago. With nothing else to do for the next few days until I have to start on the next cake order, I offered to fill in. My father wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he had a charity function to attend with my mom, and Alessandro is still too young to be left responsible for anything related to the family business.

I relay the container information to the guys, their flashlights scanning each row as we pass them by. Federico takes the initiative to trot up ahead of us and clear the area, steel and gunpowder at the ready. His beanie-clad head whips side to side, and on his signal, we keep on, trudging deeper and deeper into the empty, dimly lit yard. There’s a slight chill in the air, the early winds of autumn besting summer rippling through my chocolate tresses. I don’t know if it’s the changing weather or how eerily quiet it is, but an unnerved shiver racks my spine like a xylophone, prompting me to clutch my coat. It’s a damn good thing I brought one.

“Up here, Miss Belluci. I see it,” Domenico alerts.

Thank fuck.

The faster we do this, the faster I can get home and unwind for the night. There’s a bottle of wine with my name on it and a brand new dark romance about a masked stalker that just dropped on my Kindle. If anyone needs me, I’ll be rotting in bed with my spoiled pups rotting right next to me.

Or at least…that was the plan.

It’s not until we close in on the unit that I note the red door to be slightly ajar. My stomach churns, and before I can take another step, I’m held back by two sets of hands while Federico pulls open the doors, all of my men’s weapons drawn and set to fire. A flash of their lights reveals a completely empty container.

Well, empty minus what looks to be like a small piece of paper on the floor.

Federico stalks in to retrieve it, but I break free from Andrea and Domenico’s hold, quickly trotting in behind him. I’m reaching for it before he can grab it, curious to see who the fuck could be stupid enough to mess with one of Amadeo Belucci’s shipments. But it’s not just any piece of paper.

No.

It’s a sliver of the stationary we used at Sweet Cheeks to take orders, the edges now coiled and burnt.

I have your shit.

-Rio

When I tell you every drop of blood in my body boils over, I’m not exaggerating. I nearly scream, more still when I flip the small paper over, revealing where I can find him.

Palazzo Verona.

Now’s the time to make a move, and let me tell you…I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I may not be the heir—that’s Santo’s destiny—but a mafia princess knows her role—and she isn’t anything less than lethal.