16. Alessio #2
Caterina pales, the color draining completely from her beautiful face as the horrific reality of Matteo's actions crashes over her.
She knows her refusal to provide the biometric codes triggered this massacre, and the guilt immediately begins to pool in her eyes.
I want to pull her against my chest and reassure her that she made the right choice, to promise her that I will handle the fallout of her deception, but there is no time for comforting confessions.
"Niccolò has summoned the entire hierarchy to the war room at the central estate," I inform her, guiding her toward the corridor. "We are leaving right now. You are going to stand by my side and project the flawless, unbothered confidence of a Severato wife. Do you understand me?"
She nods, swallowing hard to regain her composure, slipping her arm through mine as we walk out to the waiting vehicle.
The journey to Niccolò's sprawling fortress is consumed by a dense, oppressive silence, the spacious interior of the Maybach feeling incredibly claustrophobic as we navigate the winding roads leading to the most dangerous room in the city.
Caterina stares out the tinted window, her fingers twisting the platinum wedding band on her left hand, bracing herself for the political nightmare awaiting us.
The war room inside the central estate is a cavernous, imposing space designed to intimidate anyone foolish enough to cross the threshold.
The walls are lined with dark mahogany paneling, devoid of any artwork or distracting decorations, drawing the room's attention to the massive, rectangular table at the center of the floor.
When Caterina and I enter, the atmosphere is suffocatingly tense, filled with murmurs and shifting postures of a dozen deadly Capos and lieutenants anticipating the Don's wrath.
Niccolò sits at the head of the table, his bespoke black suit immaculate, his expression a terrifying mask of controlled, homicidal rage.
He does not offer a greeting, his obsidian eyes locking onto my face with an uncompromising demand for answers.
Livia is conspicuously absent, sensibly removed from the violent, unfiltered reality of the syndicate's punitive measures.
I pull a leather chair out for Caterina, ensuring she is seated securely by my side before I take my own place at the table. Dante and Silvio stand against the far wall, their arms crossed over their chests, presenting a united front of Severato loyalty.
"Four men are dead," Niccolò begins, his voice incredibly calm, which only serves to amplify the terror radiating from the surrounding lieutenants.
"Four initiated members of this family were slaughtered on our own docks because a fractured, disorganized group of traditionalist rats somehow managed to bypass our outer perimeter patrols and strike our logistics without triggering a single early-warning system.
This was not a random act of violence. This was a highly coordinated ambush reliant on classified, internal intelligence. "
The room descends into a muted, uncomfortable hush, the men avoiding eye contact with the Don, terrified of drawing his deadly focus.
I lean back in my chair, resting my hands on the polished wood, prepared to defend my territory and deflect the blame onto the corrupted port officials Dante mentioned yesterday.
Before I can speak, Enzo steps out from the shadows near the unlit stone fireplace, carrying a thick manila folder.
The Consigliere’s icy blue eyes are fixed entirely on my wife, possessing the calculating, ruthless detachment of an executioner preparing to drop the blade.
He walks slowly around the perimeter of the table, the repetitive clicking of his shoes sounding exceptionally loud against the hardwood floorboards.
"The traditionalists did not orchestrate this ambush using intuition, Don Niccolò," Enzo states, coming to a halt directly across the table from Caterina and me.
"They utilized an inside mole. Someone with intimate knowledge of our guard rotations and the capacity to communicate with the enemy from within our fortified walls. "
I push myself up slightly in the leather chair, a warning growl vibrating in my chest. "I already told you to watch your mouth regarding my wife, Enzo. If you attempt to hurl baseless accusations without proof, I will rip your tongue out."
Enzo does not flinch. He opens the manila folder, withdrawing a stack of digital surveillance logs and dropping them onto the center of the mahogany table with a dismissive, triumphant flick of his wrist. "I do not deal in baseless accusations, Alessio. I deal in verifiable data."
He slides the documents across the polished wood, forcing everyone at the table to look at the undeniable evidence.
"Our technical specialists intercepted a rogue cellular signal attempting to bypass the encrypted jammers surrounding the Falco compound last night.
The signal was brief, heavily encrypted, and powered down before we could isolate the exact recipient.
However, we managed to trace the origin of the transmission. "
Enzo points a manicured finger directly at Caterina, his expression devoid of any mercy or hesitation.
"The unauthorized communication did not originate from the servant quarters or the exterior guard posts.
It originated precisely from the west wing of the estate, specifically from the master dressing room occupied exclusively by Lady Caterina. "
A collective, horrified gasp ripples through the assembled Capos, the men shifting away from our side of the table as if my wife suddenly manifested a highly contagious disease.
Caterina freezes, the color draining from her face as the walls of her deceptive maze crash down around her, leaving her completely exposed to the syndicate's unforgiving justice.
Niccolò turns his terrifying, homicidal gaze toward us, the silence in the war room stretching into an agonizing, suffocating eternity as the Consigliere's damning evidence sits right there in plain sight.