Rocco glanced at Emma.
“Because someone used my name to hurt your family.”
His voice turned colder.
“And that makes it personal.”
What he meant was simple—Vice Caruso had just signed his own death warrant.
But first, Rocco needed to understand how deep the betrayal went.
Because in Rocco’s world, there were rules.
And the most important one was clear.
Poor families are never touched.
You never take food from children.
Mothers are never left without choices, forced to pick between medicine and food.
Vice had broken that rule.
And now he was about to learn why Rocco Moretti was feared across the city.
Part 2
When Rocco left Sarah and Emma’s house that night, his phone vibrated with a message from Toy confirming the delivery.
But Rocco was already thinking ahead.
Men like Vice were always alert—there were always eyes watching. By morning, he would know that Rocco Moretti had personally visited one of his victims.
Rocco drove through rain-soaked streets, his knuckles pale from gripping the steering wheel.
For thirty years, he had built his organization—thirty years of strict rules and clear boundaries his men knew never to cross.
So why had Vice crossed them? For a few thousand dollars stolen from families barely surviving?
His phone rang.
The name on the screen made his jaw tighten.
Vice Caruso.
“Boss,” Vice said, his tone overly smooth. Too smooth. “I heard you were in my neighborhood last night. Everything alright?”
