The Price of Honor (Moretti Family #2)
Chapter 1
The Gathering in Sicily
The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow that bathed the rolling hills of Sicily. The sky was a canvas of muted oranges and pinks, the fading daylight stretching like a golden ribbon across the tarmac as Moretti’s private jet touched down. The quiet hum of the engines cut through the stillness, and as the aircraft’s wheels made contact with the runway, Matteo’s thoughts sharpened like a blade.
The cool Sicilian breeze, tinged with salt and citrus, washed over him as he stepped out onto the pavement. It was a welcome contrast to the cold, calculated world he was about to re-enter. The familiar scent of the sea mingled with the earthiness of olive trees, a reminder of how long he’d been away from this land, and how much had changed. This wasn’t the first time he’d been to Sicily, but tonight would be different. Tonight, he would stand on the precipice of power, a game of danger and alliances, both fragile and fleeting.
Matteo adjusted his cufflinks, the silver glinting in the fading light. His movements were deliberate, each gesture meticulous, honed through years of living in a world where appearance and composure mattered as much as loyalty and strategy. He straightened his tailored suit, feeling the weight of its fabric, the cost of it not just in money but in expectations. Every detail here would be scrutinized. Every word spoken, every glance exchanged, and every decision made would ripple outward, affecting not just his fate, but the fate of the Moretti family.
The annual Mafia gathering was not an event one attended lightly. It was a gathering of the most powerful crime families across the world, a clandestine meeting where grudges were settled, alliances were forged, and power was measured with the quietest of glances. This year, it was being held in a secluded villa overlooking the Mediterranean, a fortress of stone and secrecy, where the outside world could not intrude.
Matteo had been sent in his older brother Enzo’s stead; a decision that weighed heavily on him. Enzo, still recovering from the trauma of Julian’s kidnapping and the brutal war with the De Luca family, opted out of attending in the last moment and had entrusted Matteo with this responsibility. It was a burden Matteo wasn’t sure he was ready to bear, but it was one he would carry, nonetheless.
As he climbed into the waiting black sedan, the plush leather seats offering no comfort to his restless mind, Matteo’s thoughts flickered back to the events of the past year. The De Lucas were no longer the same. With Giovanni De Luca dead at the hands of his own son, Aldo had seized control of the De Luca crime family. A dangerous move, given the bloodshed it had caused, but Aldo was a wildcard; ruthless, unpredictable, and cunning.
Matteo had heard the rumors, the whispers of Aldo’s calculated ambition and unflinching desire to reshape his family’s legacy. The stories painted a picture of a man who did not shy away from violence, but who also understood power in ways that transcended brutality.
The car glided down the narrow, winding roads that led to the villa, the Mediterranean stretching like a dark, endless expanse below. The villa itself was a sprawling masterpiece; stone walls, ivy crawling up its sides, and vast terraces that overlooked the sea. It stood as a symbol of power, its beauty both mesmerizing and foreboding. Matteo knew this was more than just an opulent gathering; it was a battlefield.
Inside the villa, the air was thick with the smell of expensive cigars, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional clink of fine glassware. The guests, mafia bosses, underbosses, consigliere, moved through the grand hall like sharks, their suits tailored to perfection, their smiles sharpened with the same precision as their knives. Matteo’s gaze swept the room, nodding to a few familiar faces; old allies, respected families, but it was the new faces, the unknowns, that kept his senses on edge.
He was acutely aware of the eyes that followed him, the weight of their stares. The Moretti name carried weight, but it also carried a target. He could feel the subtle shifts in the room, the undertones of tension that no one spoke aloud, but everyone felt. In the world of organized crime, nothing was ever truly certain, and tonight, it felt like the storm was on the horizon. Matteo’s pulse quickened, but his expression remained unreadable. He was the epitome of control, even if his insides were a churning mass of uncertainty.
He weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, exchanging polite words, laughing at the right moments, nodding to men who had been in his life for years. He kept his distance from the cliques that formed, not letting his guard down, not even for a second. But it wasn’t long before his gaze landed on him.
Across the room, standing like a king surveying his court, was Aldo De Luca. Tall, his slim shoulders filling out the tailored suit with a subtle yet undeniable magnetism, he commanded the attention of the room without lifting a finger. The soft murmur of conversation faded as the crowd seemed to recognize the silent authority he exuded, his mere presence cutting through the noise like a blade through silk.
His dark hair was swept back from his face, the sharp lines of his jaw and the quiet danger in his eyes making it impossible for anyone in the room to ignore him. Aldo’s gaze was focused, unwavering, sharp enough to carve through the very air between them.
And then, his eyes locked onto Matteo’s.
It was as though the world stopped. Every other person in the room, every sound, every movement, became distant, irrelevant. It was just them; two men whose families’ pasts were so intertwined with violence, bloodshed, and betrayal that they couldn’t escape it, no matter how far they tried to run. The tension between them was palpable, a thread of electricity crackling in the air, the weight of everything they had lost, and everything they could still lose, suspended between them.
Matteo stood frozen for just a beat, feeling the burn of Aldo’s gaze like a physical touch. The memories surged in an instant; of violence, of war, of betrayal. Aldo had killed his own father only months before, something Matteo would never forget. He had seen the cruelty and ruthlessness Aldo was capable of, yet in the back of his mind, there was always that question: what had driven him to this? What had shaped him into this dangerous, calculating man who now stood before him?
And then, the world resumed, the noise and chaos of the villa flooding back into the space between them. But the moment, the shared history, still lingered. Neither man moved, neither showed weakness. They were professionals. It was a tense truce, understood by both. Not tonight. Not here. Tonight, they would hold their ground, maintain their masks, and pretend for just a while longer that the past wasn’t an open wound between them.
Aldo, ever the master of composure, raised his glass in a mock toast. His lips quirked upward in the faintest of smirks, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The gesture was an invitation, or perhaps a challenge, wrapped in the elegant pretense of civility.
Matteo’s gaze flicked briefly to the glass, then to Aldo’s face, his expression cool, controlled. His jaw was tight, but his eyes betrayed nothing. He nodded curtly in return, the message clear: tonight, they would play the game by the rules of the room, but tomorrow was another day. The rivalry, the tension, none of it was over. But here, now, neither would make the first move. Not yet.
As Matteo turned away, he could still feel Aldo’s gaze, like a weight pressing against the back of his neck. He didn’t need to look back to know Aldo’s eyes were following him, calculating, assessing, and measuring every move he made. Aldo De Luca was always two steps ahead, always calculating, always waiting for the moment to strike. It was that deadly precision that made him much more dangerous adversary than his father had ever been.
Matteo’s steps faltered for just a moment, and in that second, a thought crept into his mind, a nagging, unwelcome thought. Aldo was dangerous. There was no question about that. He was the kind of man who would kill his own flesh and blood without hesitation if it served his purpose. Matteo had seen it firsthand when Aldo had taken his father’s life without remorse. And yet, despite everything, there was something else about him. Something in the way Aldo carried himself, in the fire that burned behind his cold, calculating eyes.
It wasn’t just the threat of him that intrigued Matteo, it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
It was a dangerous curiosity. One Matteo knew he couldn’t afford to indulge, not in this world, not with everything at stake. But there it was, gnawing at him, making him question what Aldo truly wanted; what he was truly after. And even worse, the thought of Aldo’s smirk, that quiet, dangerous confidence, sent a shiver through him, one he couldn’t quite shake.
As Matteo mingled with the other guests, exchanging polite words with allies and enemies alike, he found it difficult to shake the image of Aldo standing across the room, that unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them. It was a game they both knew how to play, and yet somehow, the rules seemed to be changing.