All Girls’ are the Same

Ricardo's POV

The next morning, I step into my secret mansion whilst rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. My suit jacket is slung over my shoulder, and my tie hangs loose around my neck. Luca walks beside me, silent as always.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "Did you give her the dresses?"

Luca nods. "I did."

I'm about to say something else when movement from the grand staircase catches my attention.

Lana.

She's coming down the stairs wearing one of the dresses I had sent for her. Red and Silk. It clings to her curves, highlighting every inch of her body. The sight of her should please me. But my satisfaction is short-lived when I notice the thin fresh cut on her wrist.

In three strides, I'm in front of her, grabbing her wrist, and pulling it up to examine the wound. My grip tightens on her skin.

"How the fuck did this happen?" I say with a low voice.

She doesn't answer immediately. I see something in her eyes; defiance, regret, or fear.

Luca steps closer and scoffs beside me. His smirk is audible. "She must've tried something stupid, like trying to escape."

I don't acknowledge him. My focus remains on Lana, waiting for her to speak. When she finally does, her voice is quiet, but there's no mistaking the bitterness in it. "What does it look like?"

I arch a brow at her audacity. "It looks like you forgot who the fuck owns you now." I release her wrist, letting her stumble back a step.

"Leave us," I say, without looking at Luca.

Luca hesitates for only a second before nodding. "Yes, Capó."

The moment the door clicks shut, I turn back to Lana, taking in the way she shifts under my scrutiny. Her eyes shift towards the door like she's considering running. But she knows better.

I step closer, grabbing her wrist again, gently this time, but firm enough that she knows not to pull away. I bring it up between us, with my thumb running over the fresh wound.

"Try that again," I murmur, "and I'll make sure you won't have the hands to attempt it next time."

I feel her stiffen. Her throat bobs as she swallows, but she doesn't speak. I let go of her wrist, watching her rub the spot where my fingers had been.

"When are you going to let me go?" She asks in a shaky and desperate voice.

I don't answer.

Her voice is clearer as she continues "I'm not your guy. Whatever you think I did, whatever you told me, it died with me. I didn't tell anyone."

I snap with rage. "Stop with the fucking lie!" I yell and the sound makes her flinch visibly.

I begin to run my fingers through her hair, each touch is filled with anger and desire. I caress her, making her shudder.

"There's a reason you have me here, and I wanna know why." She shudders as she asks.

I smirk. "You're right Lana. There is a reason I haven't put a bullet in you yet,"

She doesn't look away. "And what reason is that?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. My eyes move down to the swell of her cleavage before I meet her eyes again. "Normally, what I do to snitches is a lot worse than locking them in a mansion and buying them fancy dresses." I say with a mocking tone. "But you? You're a different breed."

She watches me with an expression I can't quite read.

My tone shifts to bitter disappointment as I continue. "You crossed me. I trusted you. And You sold me out like some fucking—" I exhale sharply, my jaw clench as my anger amplifies. "Like some fucking street rat who doesn't know loyalty."

Lana tightens her jaw. "Why put your trust in a slut then?"

What did I just hear?

I scoff and let out a chuckle. "You know, you're right. Why the fuck did I trust a fucking slut? Maybe I thought you were different."

She tilts her head slightly, and her lips form into something that's almost a smirk. "Why would you think I'm different from all the other hoes you've fucked?"

I smirk back. "I should've remembered, all girls are the same. Hoe or not. You all just wanna fucking take."

Lana shakes her head slowly. "I didn't take anything from you." She whispers with pain in her voice.

And that's it. That's the last straw. I feel my temper at its peak. Abruptly, I seize a handful of her hair and yank her face forward so that our eyes meet, and our faces inches apart.

"You took my fucking dignity," I yell. "My fucking integrity. You made me betray my baby mama's father!!!"

I see her wince as pain flashes across her face. Her head aches from my grip, but she dares not look away. "I didn't sell you out," she says weakly.

I am beyond reasoning now.

"Lie one more fucking time," I growl, "and I'll have you killed."

Lana remains silent, and her eyes are downcast. I release my hold abruptly and step back, watching her struggle to regain some composure.

"I'm gonna find out who you work for," I say coldly and lethally. "And when I do, I'm gonna have him or her killed before your fucking eyes."

She flinches and I could see it; the fear, buried deep in her eyes. Whomever she is protecting, it's either they have something against her that could end her, or she is innocent.

I sink into the leather seat of my car. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and glance at the screen. It is Antonella.

I sigh and answer. I barely get a chance to say anything before she speaks abruptly.

"Get to my father's company. Now."

The line goes dead. I clench my jaw, slipping the phone back into my pocket. That arrogant fucking bitch.

I tap on the partition, signaling my driver. "Take me to Inzaghi's Enterprise."

When we arrive, I step out, adjusting the cuffs of my suit before entering the grand, heavily guarded building. Inside, Angelo and José are already seated in the conference room. I'm late and Inzaghi fucking hates tardiness.

The old man sits at the head of the round table, with his white hair slicked back, and his eyes cutting through me the moment I walk in. He doesn't say anything at first. But a smirk is plastered on his wrinkled face. He claps his hands together once. Then twice. Then, in Italian, he gestures to the others to applaud me.

"Tutti applaudono Ricardo."

I can hear the sarcasm in his voice. I keep my expression neutral. I know better than to let this bastard see even a flicker of emotion.

Then he switches to English. "Borrelli's first son. His spitting image and likeness. They say we should respect the dead, but somehow, the dead have become the living again." He says with disdain. "So fuck you, Simeone Borrelli."

"Daddy, please. That's enough," Antonella says, trying to placate him.

He doesn't even look at her, his focus remains solely on me. "Center of attraction. World's sexiest man alive. Egoistic, self-centered bastard. The man that is Ricardo Borrelli. Like father, like fucking son."

I reach my seat and sit down, offering him a feigned amused smirk. "And a good morning to you too, Mr. Inzaghi."

I glance at Angelo and José. "Gentlemen." I pointedly ignore Antonella.

Inzaghi doesn't waste time. "You betrayed me, Ricardo."

Angelo clears his throat. He knows what's coming.

"You slipped up," Inzaghi continues. "And when things went to shit, you decided implicating me was your best shot at escaping. And it fucking worked, didn't it?"

I lean back in my chair, keeping my tone calm. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Inzaghi. But I would never do such a thing. How could I? You're the father of my children's mother."

His fist slams against the table.

"Don't bullshit me," he snaps. "I know what you're capable of."

José clears his throat, trying to intervene. "Mr. Inzaghi, pardon me, but I am the lawyer, and we did no such thing."

Inzaghi turns his cold eyes on him. "Don't act a fool, son. It might've even been your calculative idea to implicate me. After all, lawyers are liars."

There is silence. Angelo and I exchange glances. And we say nothing. Because we both know it was.