Antonio
Tonight’s supposed to be a celebration—a party in my honor. The restaurant is closed for the private event, filled with our long-time associates including Draco Moretti and his top men. But the real tension comes from the unfamiliar faces—Giovanni DeLuca and Emilio Salazar, dangerous men with deadly ambitions.
Valentino’s confident that the evening will go off without a hitch. But in a room full of power, egos, and shifting alliances, control is only one misstep away from disaster.
Sitting at the bar, I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. The atmosphere is tense, thick with cologne and anticipation. Our guards search every guest as they arrive, but it does little to ease my nerves. I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep in my chest.
“Ready for your big debut tonight?” Valentino’s voice cuts through the noise as he slides onto the stool beside me. The bartender doesn’t even ask, immediately pouring him his usual—whiskey on the rocks.
I force a smile. “You know parties aren’t my thing. I would’ve preferred to slip into the role quietly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is an event worth celebrating,” he says as he walks away.
Servers weave between the guests, offering drinks and hors d'oeuvres, while the low hum of conversation fills the room. Men in tailored suits gather in small clusters, talking business, veiling their threats with polite smiles.
With his drink in one hand and a cigar in the other, Valentino moves through the crowd, flashing that charismatic grin. As the night wears on, his laughter grows louder, each drink fueling his arrogance. He’s the center of attention, and he knows it.
A knot forms in my chest when I spot Alessia, not on Valentino’s arm where a queen should be. Instead, she’s waiting tables. Her face is composed, but I see the strain in her movements. The bruises that had been glaringly obvious earlier are now masked beneath layers of makeup. They’re still visible but far better concealed than before.
Isabella approaches, carrying another tray, and I catch her eye. “Did you help her with the makeup?” I ask quietly.
“I’ve been there,” she admits. “I learned how to hide the worst of it when I needed to. Figured I could help.”
I glance at Alessia again, then back to Isabella. “Thank you.”
Isabella offers a slight, understanding nod before returning to her work.
A movement catches my eye—Draco Moretti. He’s watching me, his gaze sharp and calculating. He follows my line of sight straight to Alessia. He looks at her with casual indifference before his expression darkens. Without a word, he makes his way toward Valentino.
“Ah, my favorite son-in-law,” Draco calls out as he claps him on the back, loud enough to draw attention. “Looks like you’ve been keeping her in line.”
Draco chuckles, glancing at me once more before turning his full attention back to Valentino, the jab unmistakable.
Vigo flashes a grin, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. “You know how it is. Sometimes, you have to remind them who’s in charge.”
Their laughter grates against my nerves, but I keep my expression neutral, watching the exchange from a distance.
The men around them chuckle. I grip my glass until my knuckles turn white. The urge to shatter it in my hand surges, but I force myself to stay calm. This is not the place to make a scene.
All I want to do is get the formalities over with and go home, but the night drags on.
Valentino's newest associates are deep in discussion, their tones low. I don’t trust either of them, but they’re here on Valentino’s invitation.
Dante catches my eye from across the room, his expression focused and knowing. He senses the same undercurrent I do—tonight’s balance could tip at any moment.
Lena moves cautiously through the crowd, trying to keep her distance from Valentino. Usually, she’d be all over him, but tonight, she’s avoiding him like the plague.
Valentino’s eyes follow her, a predatory gleam in them. He corners her near the kitchen, gripping her arm tightly. She tries to pull away, but he leans in, whispering something that makes her flinch. Then, with a rough tug, he drags her toward the stairs leading to the basement.
Disgust churns in my gut. I know exactly what he’s about to do—fuck his mistress downstairs while his wife is forced to serve the very men who should be bowing at her feet.
What feels like an eternity passes before Valentino returns, his face flushed. He grabs a fresh drink from a passing server downing in one go and grabbing another.
Lena trails behind him, eyes downcast, mascara streaking her cheeks. There’s a shift between them, subtle but unmistakable. From my seat at the bar, I watch as Lena blends into the crowd, hurrying toward the ladies’ room.
Valentino stumbles toward the stage at the far end of the room, tapping the microphone. A few people wince from the feedback. The chatter begins to die down, and all eyes turn to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice booming through the speakers. “Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate my dear cousin and his, let’s say, unexpected promotion to underboss.”
Polite applause ripples through the room, though I can see the skepticism in some of the men’s eyes. Vigo gestures for me to join him. I down the last of my drink before making my way over, keeping my expression neutral.
“Come on, , don’t be shy,” he grins, slapping me on the back as I reach the stage.
The applause fades, and Valentino’s voice drops. “Since we were kids, I’ve kept by my side because, as we all know, every leader needs a loyal side kick.” He pauses as the room erupts in laughter, the humor hitting precisely as he intended.
Valentino raises his hand. “Alright, enough joking. Let’s get serious for a moment.” The applause fades, and his voice drops, taking on a darker edge. “’s been my right-hand man for years, dependable as ever. But let’s be honest—he’s always been second to me. Just like his father was second to mine.”
My body stiffens. I’ve endured a lot from Valentino, but dragging my father’s name into this? That’s a low blow.
His eyes gleam with cruel delight as he continues, “He’s the kind of guy who’ll never step up and try to steal the spotlight. That’s why he’s perfect for his new role.” A wave of uneasy laughter sweeps through the crowd.
“’s been loyal. Like a dog,” he says, his laughter ringing out, mocking. “I never have to worry with him by my side.”
“I’ll always have your back, cousin.” The lie slips from my lips.
Valentino swirls his whiskey. “That’s what I like to hear—loyalty.” He pauses, his smirk deepening. “It’s funny, though. Where does it really stand when the stakes are high?”
The room falls into tense silence, every eye on me. I glance at Dante, who gives a subtle nod, his gaze focused. He’s not only observing, but he’s also gauging the shifting power dynamics.
“And speaking of loyalty,” Val’s eyes shift to Alessia, standing off to the side. “Why don’t you tell us what you really think of her, ? What do you see when you look at my wife?”
The sudden shift catches me off guard. I know what he’s doing—trying to humiliate me, maybe even provoke me. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Alessia’s your wife and a respected member of our family,” I reply calmly.
“Come on,” Valentino taunts. “Tell the truth. Or are you too scared?”
My jaw tightens. “Alessia’s a beautiful woman. Intelligent. Strong-willed.”
“Beautiful, yes,” Val sneers. “But have you ever wondered what it would be like to fuck her? To have what’s mine?”
The air in the room shifts, thick with tension. Alessia’s face flushes with a mix of anger and humiliation.
“Of course not,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. “I would never?—"
“Not even back when you two were together? Before she was promised to me?” Val leans in, his breath reeking of whiskey. “You never dreamed of it?”
The crowd shifts, nervous laughter filling the gaps. I keep my face impassive, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with cruelty, half to me, half into the microphone. “Alessia’s a terrible fuck. She’s horribly boring. I’m hoping she can learn a little something about how to please a man while she’s working alongside my favorite whores.”
Valentino’s gaze shifts to Lena, who’s waiting tables, her movements nervous and uneasy. “Lena here,” he continues, flicking his hand toward her with careless arrogance. begs for my cock. “Her cunt drips for it every time. You should give her a go,” he slurs, his words dripping with mockery. “Almost forgot—she used to let you fuck her, too.”
“Were you not able to satisfy her? Is that why she stopped letting you into her cunt?” Valentino spits the words, his sneer curling as flecks of saliva hit my face. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. He turns back to Alessia, a cruel smile twisting his lips, and continues his drunken tirade. “Maybe Alessia will spread her legs and let you try out all her holes—if you don’t mind sloppy seconds.” His eyes light up as though he’s had a sick revelation. “Hell, the two of you can watch me fuck Lena. Maybe you’ll pick up a few new tricks.”
Lena’s tray slips from her hands, the glasses shattering on the floor, the crash piercing through the uneasy quiet. Alessia’s face crumples, and I see her fighting back tears. Valentino stumbles forward, still grinning like a fool.
“Enough, Vigo,” I say, my voice low but firm.
“Enough? We’re just getting started,” he replies, raising his glass to take another sip of whiskey. His aim falters, and the drink spills down the front of his shirt, but he barely notices.
“The party’s over, cousin,” I say flatly.
I catch Dante’s eye. He’s already making his way toward us.
Grabbing the microphone, I force a calm, composed tone despite the turmoil inside. “Excuse me, everyone. I apologize for Valentino’s behavior. He’s had a little too much fun this evening, and I think it’s best if we get him some fresh air.”
Valentino, oblivious to the shift in the room, keeps rambling, his words slurring into incoherence. Dante and I guide him off the stage, his loud, unrestrained laughter echoing as we make our way down the back hallway. He stumbles, barely able to keep himself upright, still grinning like a fool.
“You know,” Valentino mutters, slurring his words, “I’ve always been meant to be the one in charge. I’m the best there is.”
“Yeah, Vigo. Something like that,” I reply, keeping my tone carefully placating.
We reach my office, where Valentino’s personal guards are already waiting. “I pulled the car out back,” Guido informs me.
“Take him home. Get him sobered up,” I instruct, my voice level though the fury boiling inside me threatens to spill over. “I’ll make sure Alessia gets home safely.”
Valentino stumbles into their arms, barely managing to stay on his feet, his words slurring together. “You can have her if you want,” he spits, his last attempt at provocation before they begin to drag him away. “She’s useless—barely worth the effort. Maybe I should’ve let you have her all along,” he adds, his tone dripping with malicious satisfaction, a reminder of how he lied to his father to arrange the marriage, making sure my future would never include her.
I don’t take the bait. My expression stays neutral as I hand him over to his guards, watching as they guide him toward the back exit.
“What the hell was that?” Dante asks once Valentino’s out of sight.
“I have no idea,” I mutter, grabbing the back of my neck. “We need to get back out there, do some damage control, and then get everyone the fuck out of my restaurant.”
For the next hour, I work to clean up the disaster Valentino left behind. I smooth things over with our associates, both old and new, assuring them this isn’t typical behavior. My face stays calm, my posture relaxed, while inside, I’m seething.
Valentino had no right to speak my father’s name, to soil his legacy with his drunken lips. The sound of it made my blood turn cold, my pulse slowing to a steady, ominous thud. The rage it stirred was something deeper, darker—a quiet storm building, poised to unleash its fury and consume everything in its path.
His fatal mistake, though, was dragging Alessia into his drunken spectacle. With every vile word, every degrading comment, he signed his own death warrant. The way he spoke about his own wife, humiliating her in front of everyone, stripping away her dignity as if it were a mere trinket to be discarded. It was a cruelty that I cannot and will not overlook.
I can endure the insults, and the cheap shots aimed at me. But what he did to her? That sealed his fate in blood.
Every instinct screamed for me to wrap my hands around his throat, to feel the slow ebb of life slip from him as his breath faltered. But I didn’t. I stood there, absorbing his insults, letting them roll off me as though they meant nothing. Not because they didn’t matter but because something far darker began to stir inside me.
Reacting in anger would’ve been a mistake—a foolish, reckless misstep. Control is what matters. Every move must be exact, like the steady beat of a pendulum marking the slow, inevitable passage of time toward his ruin.
And now, the plan begins to creep into my mind, a quiet, sinister whisper.
The bottle of Macallan, still wrapped in its packaging at my apartment, is waiting. Soon, it will serve a purpose much darker than what it was meant for. When the moment comes, the whiskey will play its part—but what flows through him will be far more insidious.
Something undetectable, working its way through him like a creeping shadow.
The pain will come, slow and excruciating.
His fate was sealed long before he ever saw it coming.