Trillionaire In Disguise (The Mafia's comeback)

In Italy,

"Capo, Mr. Romano is here to see you," Marco Russo, dressed in a well-tailored suit informed with an Italian accent as he entered an expansive office that contained a meticulously organized grandiose desk that stood at the center of the room, its surface occupied by different executive gadgets.

The walls were decked with contemporary artwork in gilded frames, the floor-to-ceiling window provided a panoramic view of the city skyline with plush leather chairs and sofas for guests.

He let the file slip from his grasp, raising his eyes to meet his personal assistant's gaze. "Now, what does that stronzo want from me?"

Marco, with a raised eyebrow, responded, "No idea, Capo, but I bet it's nothing good, especially with the incessant calls he's been making."

After a contemplative nod, he declared, "Then let him in,"

Showing a sign of respect, Marco left the office to escort Mr. Romano inside.

He came back to the office with Mr. Romano, a young businessman also the same age as the guy he was smirking at. As a matter of fact, they grew up together as rivals and could never stand each other. Marco observed the tension between the two.

"Lorenzo, Lorenzo, Lorenzo!" Stefano exclaimed in a playful Italian accent while laughing as he walked toward the desk, shaking his head at the same time. "You've ascended to a king now, my friend, but it seems you've forgotten how to take me seriously."

Lorenzo chuckled in response, countering, "Now? Building Spark Conglomerate wasn't a one-day affair, Stefano. Are you out of your mind?"

Stefano clenched his teeth in frustration, pointing accusatorily as he said, "You... cavolo!" shaking his head with a disapproving frown. "Io ho bisogno del tuo aiuto con qualcosa (I need your help with something)."

Lorenzo, tilting his head with an arched eyebrow, responded to the words unspoken.

"Didn't you hear me, or do you want me to speak in English? You worked for my father; you're obliged to work for me, bastardo!" Stefano bellowed, frustration evident in his voice.

Lorenzo, sporting a knowing smile, retorted, "You need my help with something, Stefano. However, just because I worked for your father doesn't automatically mean I work for you. As a matter of fact, you're gazing at one of the wealthiest men in Italy, helming the leading corporation with assets worth trillions of dollars. I'm also the Don of Italy's underground world. I'd advise you to watch your tone with me, or I might forget you're his son."

Stefano, letting out a shaky breath, nodded with a smirk, struggling to contain his anger towards Lorenzo. "Not too long ago, you settled my dad's unfinished business after he passed away, whoo! Even their deaths still give me the creeps!" He shuddered while hugging himself.

Seizing a chair, he took a seat before continuing, "It was enough to learn that despite your accomplishments, you still feel beholden to my father for shaping who you are. I am my father's son, and you are the Mafia of the Romano Family, which is why you must help me."

Lorenzo dismissed Stefano's demands with a shake of his head. "I am no longer tethered to the Romano Family's Mafia; that chapter of my life ceased with your father's death. I work for myself now..."

Bang!

A resounding bang echoed as Stefano abruptly stood, forcefully hitting the desk. "Che cazzo?! Without my family, you'd be nothing! The Romanos plucked you from the street and molded you into the formidable figure you are today, honed you into the most feared so you could be readily relied upon! If not for my family, Lorenzo Lombardi would have remained a nobody, you bastardo ingrato!"

Taking a calming breath, Stefano settled back into his chair. "All I need from you is to eliminate my competitors, just as you did for my father. That bastardo is making things difficult for me. If I'm the problem, consider it as helping me maintain my father's legacy; you owe that much to him!"

Lorenzo shot him a dangerous look. "I owe him nothing. Now, get the fuck out of my office!"

Stefano, in disbelief, retorted, "I'm not sure you're listening to me right now, Lorenzo. I'm ordering you to do as I say!"

Lorenzo curled his lip in disdain. "Mangia merde e morte! (Eat shit and die)! If you do not leave, I won't hesitate to throw you out. I have matters demanding my attention, Stefano."

Stefano seethed with anger, rising from his chair. Adjusting his jacket with a sneer, he warned, "This isn't the end, Lorenzo, mark my words!"

With one last glare, Stefano stormed out of the office, slamming the door in a fit of anger.

"Entitled son of a bitch!" Lorenzo muttered under his breath, casting a disgruntled look at Marco. "Start prepping for the next meeting!"

Marco nodded, adding, "Although, Capo, you've been receiving a call."

Lorenzo frowned and inquired, "With whom this time?" "He identified himself as your grandfather from Beverly Hills, California. His name was Donald Anderson." Marco informed.

Lorenzo regarded Marco, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, though he concealed it. Blinking, he inquired, "And did he convey anything else?"

"Not much, Capo. He insisted on speaking directly with you," Marco responded.

"And did he provide a reason?" Lorenzo probed.

Marco glanced left and right as he recollected the conversation. "Oh, yes, I recall now! He mentioned your brother, Noah, I believe. He said he's dead." Lorenzo was stunned by the revelation. "Connect me with him immediately."

Positioned before the expansive window that stretched from floor to ceiling, Lorenzo's gaze remained fixed on the city's skyline. One hand was casually tucked into his pocket, while the other held onto his phone tightly, engrossed in a crucial call.

From the other end of the line, a voice, that of Donald Anderson, spoke, "I'm so happy to hear from you, Liam..."

"You know my name isn't Liam anymore, grandfather. It changed the moment my mother sold me out. I'd advise you to call me by my real name," Lorenzo cautioned.

"Alright. Lorenzo, not a bad name either," Donald acknowledged.

Acknowledging the sentiment with a nod, "About what I've just heard, I wouldn't like the situation to be one where you use such fake news to get my attention."

"It's no fake news, Lorenzo. Your twin brother is really dead," Donald affirmed.

Still skeptical, Lorenzo responded, "I hope you're not pulling my leg, old man. I won't be dancing to a tune that's just smoke and mirrors. Spit it out straight, or I might just think you're crying wolf."

Donald, sensing Lorenzo's skepticism, insisted, "No smoke and mirrors, Lorenzo. It's the cold, hard truth. Your brother's gone."

Lorenzo's eyes flickered, a shaky breath escaping him. "Wow, that's a real heartbreaker. What happened? Accident? Did he get sick or something..."

Donald, his voice carrying a heavy burden, responded, "It's no accident nor was it natural. It was a deliberate act against him."

Lorenzo's countenance turned stone-cold. "What? You mean he was murdered?"

"Indeed. He got entangled in some nefarious dealings, and it cost him his life. He was shot to death and left to die. He went missing for days only for us to receive a call that his lifeless body was found," the pain in Donald's voice resonated as he recounted the grim details.

Lorenzo's eyes widened, their redness reflecting the shock as he absorbed the information. He fell into a contemplative silence before finally breaking it, "Why the sudden call, grandfather? I'm sure you didn't dial me up for a chinwag or just to inform me of my brother's death."

"The task of locating you, Lorenzo, proved to be quite challenging; not even your mother is aware of my persistent attempts to reach you..."

In agreement, Lorenzo nodded, his tone dripping with disdain, "That's very good to hear. That bitch can go jump in a lake for all I care."

"Careful with how you speak, Lorenzo! Your mother is my daughter; do you understand?!" Donald admonished with an undercurrent of anger.

Lorenzo let out a sigh, his laughter echoing through the conversation before he remarked, "If you've managed to locate me, then you must have an inkling of who I am and the turn my life has taken."

"What you've become is water under the bridge. I don't fathom how you ended up in the Mafia when the Italian folks your mom handed you to were as clean as a whistle. Nevertheless, I need that side of you. I need you to return to California and find out who killed your brother." Donald divulged.

"Revenge?" Lorenzo queried, a wry smile dancing on his lips. "That's a horse of a different color, grandfather. I have no intention of going back to that place."

"But it's imperative you do, for your brother's sake. You must reconcile with your mother; she needs you now more than ever," Donald insisted with a resigned sigh.

"Hmm," Lorenzo hummed, lost in contemplation. "She needs me, doesn't she? Alright, fine then. The prospect of revenge appeals to me, and I prefer to keep my arrival under wraps."

"I understand and I'm glad you accepted."

Lorenzo acknowledged with a nod. "First and foremost, I've got to tie up loose ends at the office, and then I'll catch the next bird to California." Swiftly concluding the call, he averted his gaze from the captivating city skyline, focusing on his attentive personal assistant, Marco.

Surprised, Marco inquired, "You're leaving?"

Lorenzo affirmed, making his way to the desk and taking a seat. "I need Luca to act as my eyes and ears here. Contact him and convey that his presence is urgently required to oversee Spark."

"Understood, Capo. I'll inform Luca right away," Marco responded, heading to his desk to make the necessary arrangements.

After a brief interval, Luca Santoro, Lorenzo's crime partner and right-hand man in the underground world, arrived. Their connection traced back to Lorenzo's Mafia training under the Romano family, and they stuck together as allies after Lorenzo carved his own path.

Upon bowing respectfully, Luca inquired, "Marco mentioned you're leaving, Capo. What's the situation?"

Lorenzo rose, facing Luca. "I have business back in my hometown, and I need you to step into my role temporarily-be my proxy here, you understand."

Luca nodded in comprehension. "I'll ensure your office is secure, attend to all matters in your absence, and close up shop before your return. You can trust me, Enzo."

Lorenzo acknowledged with a nod. "Certainly. Remain vigilant, keep tabs on the surroundings, and keep me informed of every development here, particularly regarding Stefano. Quel ragazzo non sta tramando niente di buono (That boy is not plotting anything good)"

"There's nothing he can do, Capo. If you give me the green light, I'll put an end to his existence!" Luca asserted confidently.

A contemplative silence lingered as Lorenzo gazed at Luca. Eventually, he spoke with a measured tone, "The notion is tempting, and it aligns with my deepest desires, but he's his father's only son. Just keep a watchful eye on him."

Luca nodded, a sign of respect. "I'll do just that. But if I may inquire, why the return home after twenty-four years? You mentioned you'd never go back to your biological family."

Turning away as he reached for his coat for an imminent meeting with a pensive expression, Lorenzo explained, "Circumstances have changed. The heinous murder of my twin brother demands retribution. Someone must answer for this."

"You must care about him," Luca observed.

Lorenzo emitted a subdued chuckle, remarking, "All I know is, if there ever were a reason for my return, it was him. I expected to reunite with him in the realm of the living, but fate has twisted the narrative, and now I'm compelled to go back because he's no more. Quite ironic, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry for your loss, Capo," Luca expressed with genuine sympathy.

Lorenzo, dismissing the condolences, shook his head. "There's no need for apologies. We were mere five-year-olds when we parted ways anyway..."

Upon descending from the plane in Beverly Hills, California, Lorenzo, smartphone in hand, scrutinized the address sent by his grandfather, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone. A sense of anticipation lingered as he walked out of the airport, dragging his travel-worn bag behind him.

As he emerged from the airport, preparing to hail a taxi, a persistent driver rushed toward him, inquiring, "Where are you headed, Sir?"

Considering the question, Lorenzo pocketed his phone, his voice steady as he responded, "Harmony Heights."

"Ah, Harmony Heights, we all know the place. Come on, I'll take you there," the driver offered with an air of familiarity.

Just as Lorenzo was about to follow the driver, a voice sliced through the air, a warning laden with concern. "If you know what's good for you, don't follow that guy!"

Turning toward the source of the cautionary words, Lorenzo met the eyes of a stranger and inquired, "And why not?"

"Many disguised as taxi drivers are out to steal people's luggage. He's one of them," the informant explained.

The taxi driver, offended, retorted, "How can you say that?! That's blasphemy, and I can sue for that!"

"Go ahead!" the informant challenged.

Caught in the middle of this unexpected confrontation, Lorenzo furrowed his brows in confusion. He studied the stranger who had issued the warning, asking, "I see you're a taxi driver too. How can I be sure that you're not a robber as well?"

"Because I'm not," came the straightforward response.

With a scoff, Lorenzo took control of the situation, dragging his luggage away from the brewing conflict. "Fucking bastards!" he muttered under his breath, choosing a different taxi that eventually transported him to Harmony Heights.

Upon reaching his mother's residence, he gazed at the sizable structure of the building, a far cry from the grandeur of his mansion in Italy.

Rationalizing that it was merely a temporary residence, he reassured himself, focusing on the sole purpose of his visit: to unveil the mystery shrouding his brother's death.

Summoning a nod of self-assurance, he approached the entrance, only to become acutely aware of the curious eyes of onlookers who emerged from their homes, regarding him as if he were a captivating spectacle.

Responding with nods and awkward smiles, Lorenzo couldn't help but overhear snippets of gossip circulating among the intrigued neighbors.

"Wait, isn't that Noah? The son of Carol who died tragically?" "Yeah, it definitely looks like him. How is he alive and well?"

"He's also kind of different. More handsome and structured than before. I mean, look at him. Apart from the handsome face, the body structure is different."

"You're right, you're right."

Sighing, Lorenzo directed his attention to the door, intending to announce his presence. A couple of brisk knocks echoed, and as the door swung open, it revealed his mother-Carol, a woman of striking beauty approaching her fifties, adorned with short black hair and blue eyes mirroring those of her sons.

Carol's eyes widened in shock, and a surge of fear prompted her to slam the door shut. She appeared utterly bewildered, struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

In a moment of frustration, Lorenzo forcefully banged on the door with his hand. "Come on, Mom, open the door! Have you forgotten you had twins? It's the son you sold out!" His voice resonated with exasperation as he folded his arms, awaiting a response.

Carol's heart skipped a beat, a cascade of emotions flooding her as those words reached her ears, an overwhelming sensation of everything around her crumbling. Slowly, she opened the door, her eyes filled with disbelief as she gazed at him.

"Li... Liam?" she stammered, her voice tinged with a mixture of shock and hope.

"I'm Lor..." he began and lowered his gaze, knowing that if anyone was to know his Italian name, they'd know who he was with just one search and he wanted to keep his identity unknown. Maintaining a strained smile, he addressed his mother, "Yes, Mom. It's me, Liam."

Carol gasped, her hands instinctively covering her mouth in sheer astonishment. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, her disbelief echoing through her words. "Oh my God, you..." In an attempt to reach out, she extended her hand toward his face, but Lorenzo subtly evaded the touch, gently guiding her hand back down.

"I didn't die, Mom. Enough of that," he said with a forced smile before taking his luggage and entering the house.

Carol let out a sigh, her hand resting against the closed door, caught in the whirlwind of emotions that still seemed surreal. Was this a dream? Her son, standing right in front of her! The notion lingered in her mind, making her question the reality of the moment.

As Lorenzo surveyed her modest living room with an expression that revealed his lack of enthusiasm, Carol felt a multitude of unspoken queries bubbling within her. Yet, she hesitated to voice them, aware of the wounds of the past and her involvement in it.

"Living solo, Mom? No new man in the picture?" Lorenzo inquired, turning to regard his mother with a quizzical eyebrow.

Carol shook her head, her eyes meeting his. "Since your father, I haven't remarried. And I haven't been entirely alone; this house was once filled with the presence of your brother, his wife, and their son, Christopher," she explained, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips as memories resurfaced.

Lorenzo absorbed the revelation with a series of blinks. "Noah was married?" he echoed, seeking clarification.

Carol nodded. "Yes, he was. Aren't you married, Lorenzo? Approaching your thirties in a year, right?"

"I have so many obligations and marriage was never part of them," he declared bluntly, his gaze drifting away. "So where are his family? Why aren't they here?" he inquired.

Carol sighed and answered, "Stella's family never approved of their marriage. Despite that, because she loved your brother, she chose to leave her family and reside here with us. However, after she lost your brother, her family reclaimed her and our grandchild, cutting off any contact between us," she revealed, the anguish evident in her voice.

Intrigued by the family dynamics, Lorenzo pressed for more details. "Why were they against the marriage?"

He walked toward a shelf and saw some of Noah's pictures with a woman and a little boy as he listened to his mom's explanation.

"The Millers, Stella's family, are a prominent wealthy clan in Beverly Hills. They had aspirations for their daughter to marry into wealth, and unfortunately, we did not fit that mold. Your brother faced a series of setbacks-losing his job, resorting to becoming a delivery driver, and tragically, losing his life," Carol explained, her head shaking in a mix of grief and frustration.

Lorenzo nodded contemplatively as he processed the shared details. "So, to grasp everything you've just revealed, the Millers harbored a deep-seated hatred for him, correct?" he sought clarification.

Carol confirmed with a solemn nod. "Yes,a significant amount. They held an intense animosity toward him, subjecting him to insults and humiliations regularly. Life became increasingly challenging for him simply because he married their daughter. I considered advising them to end the relationship for your brother's well-being, but circumstances took a different turn when she became pregnant."

In a moment of introspection, Lorenzo uttered, "l'odio è la spina dorsale dell'omicidio," expressing his thoughts as if lost in a profound contemplation.

"Huh?" Carol interjected, her expression reflecting confusion.

He eyed his mom before saying, "Hate is the backbone of murder."

Carol sighed, nodding in a mix of surprise and confusion. "I don't quite comprehend why you said that, but how about you wait here? I'll prepare the room you'll be staying in. Your unexpected arrival has caught me off guard," she awkwardly suggested, finding it challenging to divert her gaze from her son.

It was like she was seeing a different Noah. For some reason, he was more taller and broader and his voice was deeper and different due to his accent. It made her wonder how his life had been since she gave him out.

As Lorenzo settled onto the couch, diverting his gaze from his mother, a subtle smirk played on his lips, realizing he now possessed a crucial lead.