Twisted Obsession

51 - The Empire Falls

Lorenzo Vincelli

It had been exactly three weeks since Luciana tore my world to pieces. A month since she transformed her vendetta into a flawless execution of destruction, branding a target on my back so glaringly obvious that every step outside felt like I was walking straight into the line of fire. To put it bluntly, I was a dead man walking.

She hadn't just come for me—she came for everything I stood on, everything I'd built. Just like she promised. One leak at a time, she peeled back the layers of my empire and laid them bare for the world to see. Offshore accounts? Exposed. Shell companies? Listed in bold print across every major news outlet. Smuggling routes? Compromised and swarmed by authorities. Even the safehouses—locations only a handful of people should've known—were raided like clockwork, one after another.

She knew where to hit. God, she knew. Every skeleton in my closet, every sin I'd buried deep, she unearthed like it was child's play. Evidence of extortion deals that had taken years to craft was now public knowledge. Names of officials I had in my pocket were blasted across headlines, their resignations flooding in like dominoes. She handed them over on a silver platter.

The fallout was immediate. Overnight, allies became liabilities. My business partners, once eager to share in the spoils, now ghosted me like I was a disease. Shipments were seized. Contracts dissolved. Money—billions—vanished faster than I could comprehend. 7.8 billion dollars, gone in three weeks. That number fucking haunted me.

And the cops. Christ, the cops. They weren't just knocking on my door—they were battering it down with warrants and questions. Every conversation started with smug faces and ended with thinly veiled threats, as if they knew it was only a matter of time before they had enough to bury me.

But Luciana hadn't stopped at business. No, she made it personal. She dug up dirt on my family. My father's dealings with the old syndicates, my mothers, connections to certain Mexican cartels—all of it was laid bare. Even the whispers about my brother Alessio's disappearance were dragged into the spotlight, stirring up rumors I couldn't afford to address.

My men started questioning everything. Every order I gave was met with hesitation, their eyes filled with doubt and unease. They wondered how she'd gotten that close, how she'd learned so much. And worse, they wondered if I could stop her.

I slammed my fist against the desk, the sharp pain barely cutting through the chaos in my head. She hadn't just weakened my empire—she humiliated me. She made me look vulnerable, exposed me as someone who could be outmaneuvered. And damn it, I couldn't help but be fucking proud of her.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd taught her this. The cunning, the patience, the ruthlessness—it was all me. And she'd turned it against me with devastating precision.

I ran a hand through my hair, my chest tight with anger, admiration, and something dangerously close to regret. She'd gotten her revenge. Hell, she'd perfected it.

And now, I was left standing in the wreckage of my empire, knowing that no matter how much I hated her for it, I could never hate her enough to forget what she'd done. Or who she was.

The liquor on my desk sat untouched, but the glass next to it had been drained more than once. I could feel it—my control slipping, no matter how hard I tried to hold it together. The walls of my empire were crumbling, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But I'd be damned if anyone saw me break.

It was almost laughable to think about how far I'd come. From the dirty streets of Naples to the penthouses in Monaco, I had built this empire from the ground up. Every decision was calculated, and necessary. From smuggling to laundering money through shell corporations to buying politicians—it was all part of the game.