The Formidable Vicario Returns

Chapter Seven

Two years had passed since I, now known as Vicario, had shed my old identity and embraced a new life in the heart of Italy. 

 

The bustling streets of New York were a distant memory, replaced by the rustic charm of Italian villas and the sprawling estates that I now call my domain. 

 

Though my title was consigliere to Chris, earned through years of rigorous legal study, my reputation as Vicario struck fear into the hearts of many across the country. 

 

The man who was once looked down on in New York had evolved into a powerful force, amassing immense wealth and influence. 

 

 

My transformation was complete—not only in spirit but in body as well. My once slender frame, reminiscent of a man perpetually on the edge of starvation, was now powerfully built, thanks to years of intense training, and had been sculpted into a figure of power and intimidation. And my face, once soft and youthful, had hardened into a rugged visage with a thick moustache that masked any remnants of my former self.

 

 

Contrary to the vengeful ambition and obsession that had driven me to Italy, I discovered a deeper purpose within me. My initial thirst for retribution had been quenched, replaced by a clarity of mind that revealed a broader horizon. 

 

The pieces of Chris's enigmatic past fell into place: his insistence on my relocation, the brutal murder of his family—it all pointed to his hidden life as a mafia leader.

 

I, too, had stepped into that world.

 

On the surface, I was a legitimate businessman, the owner of many companies across Italy. But beneath that lay a far darker truth—my ownership of the largest drug cartel in the country, my tentacles reaching into every corner of the underworld.

 

 

 

A principle governed my life: "Dare me and face my wrath." 

 

It was a mantra that had served me well—a warning to those foolish enough to cross my path because I was not a man to be trifled with.

 

 

 

My aspirations had shifted from revenge to the pursuit of unparalleled success and wealth. I envisioned a future where my children would inherit a legacy built on power and affluence, sparing them from the struggles of my past.

 

Yet, for all my power and wealth, there was an emptiness that gnawed at me; the memory of Sarah, the love I had lost, lingered like a phantom, taunting me with the life I could never quite attain. 

 

 

No matter how many beautiful women graced my bed, none could fill the void she had left behind.

 

 

Few knew the true extent of my empire, as many of the companies I owned were, in reality, Chris's, cleverly signed over to me to obscure our connection. 

 

 

“Do you think I wouldn't find out?” I chuckled.

 

There I was, in the depths of a dark torture room.

 

The air was thick with the scent of fear and blood. Behind me stood a few of my thugs, their suits pristine and their expressions stoic.

 

Before me, bound to a chair, was a capo, Leao, who had crossed a line no one dared to. 

 

His flesh was ripped and bleeding from the punishment I had inflicted. 

 

His face was a mask of pain and terror, and his breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.

 

“I’m sorry, boss. Please forgive me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with fear and agony.

 

I rose from the chair where I had been watching.

 

I methodically rolled the sleeves of my white shirt down to my arms.

 

As I drew closer, he flinched, anticipating another wave of torment.

 

His eyes were wide, and his body was trembling. 

 

Blood trickled from the wounds I had inflicted, staining the floor beneath him. 

 

“You stole from me,” I said, my voice cold and measured, each word slicing through the air like a knife. 

"That is unforgivable.”

 

"I'm sorry, boss. Please forgive me." He whimpered, apologising again, which hit a nerve within me.

 

I reached out, gripping his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes. 

 

He needed to understand the gravity of his betrayal and see the consequences of his action.

 

“Mercy is for the weak,” I whispered, leaning in closer.

 

"And weakness has no place in my organisation.”

 

With that, I released his chin and stepped back.

 

 

He whimpered. "Please, boss, I accept any judgement you make, but please spare my family. They are innocent."

 

I snickered. "You don't need to beg me. I'm not like others. You are the one who dared me, not them."

 

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, boss."

 

Just as I was about to deliver my final judgement, my phone beeped in my pocket.

 

With arched brows in frustration, I fished it from my pocket, and upon seeing the name displayed on the screen, I knew something was wrong.

 

The caller was Butler Henderson, Chris's butler.

 

He was the third person who knew about my agreement with Chris and my true identity, after Chris himself and Sophia, Chris's daughter.

 

Sophia, who had been living with me in Italy for over a year for her safety, had travelled to New York to spend the mid-summer school break with her father as he had instructed.

 

It was not time for her to return yet, which gave me a foreboding feeling about his call.

 

"What happened?" I asked him immediately, my face and voice stern.

 

"There has been a problem, sir," he said, catching his breath.

"Just spill it out. I'm in the middle of something important."

 

He went silent for a split second before he spoke. "Sophia... I'm afraid she has been kidnapped."

 

"You are afraid she has been kidnapped? Are you not sure or what?!" I scolded him.

"She has..." He wanted to explain the details to me, but I cut him off because it was not necessary.

 

"Where is Chris? Why are you the one telling me this?" I demanded, sensing that something was wrong.

"He has been unconscious since yesterday when it happened due to the shock he experienced."

 

"Since yesterday? Sophia has been kidnapped since yesterday, and you're just telling me now?!" The room echoed with my roar, tension thickening.

 

Henderson was also complicit in it.

 

"I'm sorry, sir. We thought we could handle it."

 

"Handle it?" I scoffed in disbelief.

 

Over the time Sophia had been living with me, our relationship had grown to the point where she now called me "uncle".

 

She was the only person who could genuinely make me smile.

 

Hearing about her kidnapping triggered a sense of urgency within me to save her because something seemed wrong about the whole thing.

 

How could she get kidnapped when everyone thought that the real Sophia was dead, like I suggested to Chris?

 

As the weight of the situation settled heavily on me, I could not help but question Chris's judgement. 

 

He could have made it obvious that Sophia was his biological daughter rather than making her act as Henderson's cousin, who had come from abroad to spend the break with him.

 

I considered the reason Henderson called me was because he believed only I could handle the situation, which seemed to be getting out of their hands.

 

 

Considering the incompetence of Chris's thugs especially considering the tragic fate that befell most of his family, I could not entrust Sophia's safety to them. It only fueled my resolve to take matters into my own hands.

 

With a sense of urgency burning within me, I made it clear to Henderson that I would not stand idly by. 

 

"I'm leaving Italy tonight. I'll be landing in New York first thing tomorrow morning," I declared, my voice unwavering despite Henderson's attempts to dissuade me.

 

"But sir, don't you—"

"I don't need your opinion, Henderson," I interrupted firmly. 

"I will rescue her myself."

 

 

"One more thing..." I paused, turning to face my thugs, their tense postures resembling statues frozen in place.

 

Surveying the room, I moved to a secluded corner, ensuring that no one could overhear our conversation.

 

On getting there, I whispered. "Still, keep my identity secret. I don't want you to make it obvious by giving me special treatment. I will arrive at the mansion myself in a taxi under the guise of being a private investigator for Sophia's kidnapping case."

 

"Okay sir. I will be expecting you then."

 

I hung up immediately and walked back to the chair.

 

With my back turned against my thugs, I announced, "I'm travelling to New York tonight, and I may not return soon. Lisandro..."

 

"Yes boss!"

"You are now in charge. Report every damn thing that happens to me every single day. I'm glad you witnessed what I've done to Leao."

 

Lisandro was another Capo of the gang.

 

"I could have done worse to him..." I looked intensely into Steve's eyes, who was anxiously waiting to hear his judgement.

"Thank your stars that I could not."

He heaved a sigh of relief.

 

If only he knew that escaping my wrath was impossible. No one ever had, and no one ever would.

 

I stood up, fully aware that every moment was crucial.

 

Locking eyes with Lisandro, I made my command clear. "Cut off his left hand and strip him of his rank."

 

My decision was deliberate; I knew Leao was left-handed. 

 

By imposing this punishment, I was certain that he would face considerable challenges before adapting to his new circumstances.

 

"What?!" He gasped quietly, clearly taken aback by the severity of my decree.

 

 

 

"Send me the proof, and if I discover that you don't treat him according to his demoted rank, your fate will be worse than his." I warned Lisandro.

"Understood boss."

 

 

I firmly grasped Lisandro's shoulder and gave it a strong squeeze. 

 

"I hope you disappoint me." I chuckled.

 

 

With that, I turned and walked away, disregarding Steve's plea for mercy.

 

New York, here I come.