Chapter 3 - THE WAKE OF THE WOLF
Inside the grand ballroom, the party was reaching its crescendo. Laughter bounced off the forty-foot painted ceiling, and the four violinists near the grand staircase played a lively Vivaldi concerto.
Vivian Duca stood near the bar, holding a fresh glass of champagne. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. It’s been too long, she thought, her eyes darting toward the terrace doors. Even with a high tolerance, a full glass of that vintage should have stopped his heart within ten minutes. Why isn't anyone screaming? Why hasn't he collapsed?
She felt a warm hand brush against her lower back.
She jumped slightly, turning to find Luca Romano smiling down at her. He looked impossibly calm, holding his own champagne flute with effortless grace.
“You look tense, gorgeous,” Luca murmured, leaning close enough that his lips brushed her ear. “Where is our host?”
“He went out to the terrace with some brat,” Vivian whispered back, her teeth clenched. “He should be dead by now, Luca. I mixed the drops myself. It’s untraceable. It looks like a massive coronary.”
Luca’s smile didn't waver, but his dark eyes flicked toward the terrace doors. “Patience. Rome wasn't built in a day, and empires aren't dismantled in a single toast. If he’s taking longer, it’s because his heart is too stubborn. Relax. Smile. The guests are watching.”
Before Vivian could reply, the heavy oak doors at the front of the grand hall swung open with a loud bang.
Every head in the room turned.
The music ground to a grinding halt. The violinists lowered their bows. A heavy, suffocating silence swept over the three hundred guests as the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Walking through the front entrance was Alessandro Moretti.
He looked immaculate. His black suit was pressed to perfection, his dark hair combed straight back, the thin scar across his right eyebrow catching the chandelier light. There was no stagger in his step, no paleness in his skin, no sign of the poison that should have been tearing through his veins.
Behind him walked two of his most trusted enforcers, holding heavy submachine guns tucked discreetly beneath their long coats—a clear signal that peacetime was officially over.
Vivian gasped, her champagne glass slipping from her fingers. It shattered against the marble floor, the golden liquid splashing across her red silk shoes.
Luca’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. His face lost all its color, the easy charm vanishing instantly, replaced by the panicked realization of a cornered rat.
Alessandro walked slowly down the center aisle of the ballroom, every eye in the room glued to him. He didn't look at the politicians, the rival capos, or the terrified socialites. He walked straight toward the bar, his gray-blue eyes fixed entirely on two people.
Vivian and Luca.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Alessandro’s voice boomed across the silent hall, rich and steady as a church bell. “I apologize for the brief interruption. It seems my fiancée was concerned about my health this evening and insisted I take... alternative medication.”
He stopped right in front of them. The air between the three of them was so thick it felt like underwater pressure.
Vivian’s lower lip trembled. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “Alessandro... I—I don't know what you mean—”
“You gave me a very expensive glass of wine, Vivian,” Alessandro said smoothly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the crystal glass she had handed him earlier, setting it down gently on the mahogany bar top between them. “A bit heavy on the digitalis, if I’m being honest. Leaves a metallic aftertaste.”
A collective intake of breath rippled through the guests standing closest to the bar. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
Luca slammed his champagne glass down, his mask of loyalty completely shattered. He threw off all pretense, his hand instantly dropping toward the concealed pistol beneath his tuxedo jacket. “It’s over!” Luca snarled, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. “Kill him!”
Before Luca’s fingers could wrap around the grip of his gun, the two enforcers behind Alessandro raised their weapons with terrifying speed. Four red laser dots danced across Luca’s chest and forehead.
At the same time, six more men in black tactical gear poured in from the side service doors, securing the perimeter of the ballroom and cutting off all exits. The guests began screaming, scrambling toward the doors in absolute panic.
Luca froze, his hand hovering inches from his holster. Sweat beaded heavily on his forehead, tracing the pale scar down his left cheek.
“You’re a traitor, Luca,” Alessandro said softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, deadly register. “You took a bullet for me in Queens. I thought that made you a brother. Turns out, you just wanted to make sure you were close enough to slit my throat when the time was right.”
“You were a dinosaur, Alessandro!” Luca screamed, his voice cracking with desperation as he realized he had nowhere to run. “You run things with honor, with rules! The world has changed! With the Duca family and me at the head, we could have doubled our profits in six months! You’re standing in the way of our future!”
Alessandro didn't yell. He didn't blink. He simply reached out and grabbed Vivian by the throat, his fingers wrapping around her delicate neck with a grip of iron.
Vivian choked, clawing at his wrists, her face turning purple. “Alessandro... please... I’m sorry... forgive me—”
“Forgiveness is for priests, Vivian,” Alessandro whispered coldly, leaning close to her ear. “Tonight is for family business.”
He tossed her aside like a broken doll. She collapsed onto the shattered glass on the floor, weeping hysterically.
May you like
Alessandro turned his full, terrifying attention back to Luca.
“Take them both down to the basement vault,” Alessandro ordered his enforcers without breaking eye contact with his former best friend. “And call my shipping manager. Tell him we have two new cargo containers heading to the bottom of the Atlantic tonight.”
