Antonio
I climb the steps back to the main floor of the restaurant, closing the door behind me. The party carries on, laughter and idle chatter echoing through the room. Glasses clink, voices weave together—a hollow, mocking tune over the finality I’ve just wrought. They revel above, oblivious to the death that lingers beneath the shadows, a secret I alone carry.
“Where’s Lena?” I ask Dante, who’s standing near the entrance, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a predator.
“I sent her to your office to wait,” he replies.
Offering a brief nod, I say, “Good,” before turning on my heel and making my way toward the back.
Just as I’m about to step into the corridor, Dante’s voice cuts through the noise. “What did Valentino think of his gift?”
A pause settles in as the question lingers in the air. Without turning around, I reply, “He said it was to die for.” My tone is flat, detached, betraying nothing.
As I approach my office, the door stands slightly ajar. My pulse quickens, but I keep my steps slow and measured, each one deliberate. Pushing the door open, I step inside.
Lena sits in the chair, legs pulled up tightly, her arms wrapped around them like a fragile shield. Her face is pale, eyes wide with uncertainty.
The door clicks shut behind me, the sound echoing through the small room. Lena flinches, her eyes snapping up to meet mine.
“It’s time.”
She swallows hard, her lips trembling. “Do I have to?” she whispers, her voice cracking under the weight of what she knows is coming.
Moving closer, I lean against the desk, towering over her. “Yes,” my voice is firm but steady. “Valentino’s waiting for you downstairs.”
Her eyes widen in terror. “I can’t do this,” she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s going to hurt me again, .”
Crouching in front of her, I force her to meet my gaze. “You’re strong,” I murmur, my voice low. “Just go down there and do what you need to do. It'll be over soon.”
Her shoulders sag, the fight draining from her as grim acceptance settles in. With a shaky breath, Lena pushes to her feet, attempting to straighten her spine, summoning courage that’s already slipping through her fingers.
“Good girl,” I say, standing and stepping aside. “When you’re done, come straight to me. I’ll have Dante take you home.”
She nods, saying nothing more as she walks out of the room. Her footsteps echo down the hall, each one a countdown to Valentino's end.
I take a minute to steady my racing heart, but my thoughts are already moving on to what comes next. Valentino’s death is the key to everything I’ve planned—the pivot point where I take control and get the Famiglia back on the right track. Every step must be flawless. One wrong move and my world will come crashing down.
If anyone even suspects I’m behind this, the entire Famiglia could turn on me. Men have been betrayed for less. The wrong whisper, the faintest slip, and their loyalty could shift, leaving me exposed. I’ve seen it before.
No one survives long in this world once they’ve lost trust. The consequences of failure will be swift—and fatal.
Leaving the office, I walk back into the restaurant, forcing a calm smile as I rejoin the guests. I greet those around me as though nothing is amiss.
A scream cuts through the air, sharp as a blade.
Dante and I exchange a glance, and without hesitation, we move swiftly toward the stairs leading to the basement. As we do, I nod to the men positioned throughout the restaurant. They spring into action, spreading out and securing the exits. The guests murmur in confusion, their laughter dying as they begin to sense something is wrong. My men are well-trained. They maintain control, ensuring no one leaves or thinks to venture downstairs.
Dante and I descend into the lower level, the sounds from above fading into muffled whispers. Lena’s sobs reach us before we even see her, growing louder with each step.
The door is open, revealing the grim scene inside. Valentino’s body is slumped against the bars of the cage, his face contorted in agony, and his veins bulging grotesquely from the poison’s effects. The dim light casts harsh shadows on his lifeless form, highlighting the unnatural pallor of his skin.
In the corner, Lena’s huddled, rocking back and forth. Her tear-streaked face twisted in horror and disbelief. Her cries are piercing, raw. Part of me feels awful for the role I’ve forced her to play, but there was no other way.
Dante steps forward, his expression worried as he crouches beside her. “Lena,” he says firmly. “Lena, look at me.”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes vacant, lost in shock. I step closer, looming over her. “Lena,” I say sharply, my voice cutting through her hysteria. “You need to pull yourself together.”
Her gaze finally shifts to mine, and for a moment, it’s as though she’s seeing me for the first time. Recognition flickers in her eyes, followed by a fresh wave of tears.
“Handle the body,” I instruct Dante coldly.
“I’m on it,” Dante replies, already pulling out his phone. He’s quick and efficient. Two of our men who followed us down begin securing the area, making sure nothing’s left to chance.
I grab Lena’s arm and haul her to her feet. Her legs buckle beneath her, but I don’t let her fall. “You need to get a grip,” I hiss in her ear, trying to snap her out of it. “We don’t have time for this.”
Lena clings to me, her nails digging into my arm. She nods weakly as she tries to pull herself together. I force myself to be patient as I guide her up the stairs and straight into the office. Once inside, I sit her down in a chair, watching as she curls into herself, her body trembling uncontrollably.
The weight of what I’ve set into motion presses heavily on me. Valentino is dead. The plan is in motion.
Before I can fully process the next steps, the door creaks open. Alessia steps inside, her eyes wide as she surveys the room. Her gaze moves from Lena to me.
“Valentino?” she breathes, barely above a whisper.
I study her closely, watching for any trace of genuine grief—but there’s none. Only a carefully crafted mask of shock. But I know better. I’ve seen the way she looks at Valentino, the loathing she can never quite hide.
Alessia takes a tentative step forward, her eyes narrowing as they meet mine. For a moment, we share a silent understanding.
She’s not mourning him. This isn’t a loss for her. It’s freedom.
“I... I should…” she stammers, glancing back toward the door.
“Go ahead,” I tell her gently. “After I take care of Lena, I’ll find you.”
She hesitates, glancing at me once more before slipping out. Alone with Lena, I lean back against the desk, crossing my arms as I observe her.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“If I wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground,” I reply, my tone calm, almost indifferent. “But that’s not what I want right now.”
She swallows hard. “What do you want?”
“For now, I want you to keep your mouth shut.” Each word is deliberate. “That’s the only way I can protect you.”
Lena blinks, caught off guard. “You’re going to protect me? Why?”
“Someone killed Valentino, and you were the last one with him,” I remind her. “For now, I’ll keep you alive. But don’t mistake this for kindness. Step out of line, and I won’t hesitate to make you disappear.”
She flinches, the reality of the situation hitting her hard. “I didn’t do anything,” she murmurs, her voice cracking under the weight of her innocence.
Her words hang in the air. I didn’t do anything.
Lena doesn’t know the truth—that her hands delivered the final blow.
But I can never tell her that. Her fear must remain real, her role played to perfection. Because if she falters, my carefully constructed plan will unravel. And if something happens to me, she’ll be on her own.
Lena’s eyes lock onto mine, a storm of fear swirling within them. “I hated him, but I would never have killed him.”
That’s the problem, Lena. You wouldn’t have.
I push down the guilt that tries to surface, reminding myself why I’m doing this. Valentino’s death wasn’t just necessary. It was inevitable. And Lena, with her pretty face and broken spirit, was the perfect scapegoat.
“If you do what I say and keep quiet, I’ll ensure your safety,” I tell her firmly. “But make no mistake, Lena—there’s no going back. You’re in this now, whether you like it or not.”
Lena’s eyes search mine, her fear and resignation battling. Slowly, she nods. She knows there’s no escape.
“Good,” I reply, turning toward the door. “I’ll have Silas take you to a safe house. He’ll stay with you until I can get there.”
“Why are you helping me?” she asks as I walk toward the door.
I freeze, my hand on the knob. “No more questions, Lena.”
And with that, I walk out of the office.
I glance around the restaurant, noting the uneasy faces of the guests as they mill about, trying to make sense of the chaos. My men are still in place, controlling the scene, keeping everyone calm. I straighten my jacket, forcing a relaxed expression as I step back into the center of the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I begin, my voice firm yet composed, cutting cleanly through the rising murmurs. "Thank you for your patience. Unfortunately, there’s been an unexpected turn of events, and we’ll have to end the celebration early."
There’s a beat of silence, followed by the voice of Fabrizio Ricci, an old associate with eyes as sharp as his instincts. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?” His words are polite, but there’s a calculated edge to them—an undertone that only someone who’s lived in our world would catch.
I meet his gaze, keeping my expression carefully neutral, offering nothing but a smooth veneer. “Nothing for you to worry about, Fabrizio,” I reply, sidestepping his question. “Just a minor issue downstairs.” I nod to my men, signaling them to begin quietly herding the guests out. "Thank you for your cooperation, and I appreciate your understanding."
The night isn’t over—far from it. As I survey the scene, watching the guests shuffle out under the watchful eyes of my men, a dark satisfaction coils deep within me.
Valentino’s gone. His presence no longer taints this world.
The air has shifted, but no one truly understands the gravity of the moment. Not yet, but soon enough, they will.