Chapter 3 - THE DEVIL’S DANCE
The silence in the grand hallway was suffocating. Outside, rain beat violently against the structural glass, but inside, the temperature plummeted to absolute zero.
I looked down at Nico, who was sleeping peacefully against my breast. The thought of another woman—a mob chief’s ruthless daughter—touching my child, raising him in a house built on blood and betrayal, ignited a cold, lethal fire inside my veins.
“Open the gate,” I ordered the security commander standing beside me.
“Ma’am, with all due respect—”
“Open it,” I repeated, my tone leaving no room for debate.
The heavy iron gates hummed open, and Marco Vitale stepped inside, dripping wet, his expensive suit soaked through. He stepped into the foyer, his eyes instantly tracking to the small bundle wrapped in blue wool in my arms.
For a second, the hardened enforcer looked almost human. A flicker of genuine sorrow crossed his weathered face.
“He looks like him,” Marco murmured softly. “The same dark hair. The same jaw.”
“Don’t insult my son,” I said coldly, walking to the leather sofa in the center of the room and sitting down. “Why are you here, Marco? You’ve been Lucian’s shadow since you were teenagers. You helped him execute the Marcone family. You helped him build his empire. Why betray him now?”
Marco sat across from me, crossing his long legs. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Because there is a difference between a Capo and a madman, Serena,” Marco said quietly. “Lucian used to be a strategist. Every move he made had a purpose. But ever since you walked out of that hospital room, ever since you put that divorce paper in his hands, he hasn't been sleeping. He hasn't been eating. He’s burning down everything we built just to prove he can’t be beaten.”
“He’s losing control,” I concluded.
“He’s already lost it,” Marco corrected. “ Don Carmine Romano isn't just sending mercenaries; he’s sending assassins. They’re arriving on cargo ships at midnight tomorrow. They don't care about New York law. They don't care about federal marshals. Their instructions are simple: eliminate your security team, erase your sister, and bring Nico to Sicily.”
Elena, standing near the staircase with her gun held low, gasped softly. “He wouldn't kill us. He’s Lucian.”
“Lucian won't do it,” Marco turned to look at her. “Bianca’s men will. And Lucian will look the other way, telling himself it was necessary to save his empire.”
I squeezed Nico a little tighter, my mind working at hyper-speed. Fear was a luxury I couldn't afford. In the mob, when a beast comes for your throat, you don't build a higher wall—you set a trap.
“What do you want, Marco?” I asked, leaning back against the cushion. “You didn't risk your life betraying Lucian just to give me a friendly warning.”
A slow, dark smile crept across Marco’s face. “I want what every second-in-command wants when the King goes insane. I want the crown.”
“And you need me to hand it to you.”
“You have forty million dollars of the family’s liquid cash,” Marco pointed out. “You have the federal prosecutor in your back pocket through your lawyer. And most importantly, you have the heir. The syndicate will never accept me as the new Don if Lucian’s son is still in play as a rival claim. But if you back me... if you declare me as Nico’s legal guardian and executor of the Moretti estate until he comes of age...”
“I give you the empire,” I finished his sentence. “And what do I get in return?”
“Lucian’s head on a silver platter,” Marco said without a single second of hesitation. “And absolute safety for you and your son for the rest of your lives.”
I stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. Marco Vitale was ambitious, cold, and calculated. But unlike Lucian, Marco was predictable. He was driven by profit, not pride. He wouldn't burn down the world just because his ego was bruised.
“I have three conditions,” I said, my voice echoing with absolute authority.
“Name them.”
“First, Bianca Romano never leaves New York alive,” I said, my eyes cold as ice. “She dared to come into my city to claim my son. She pays the price.”
Marco nodded once. “Done.”
“Second, you don't touch Lucian yourself,” I continued. “When he falls, I want to be the one holding the blade. I want him to look into my eyes and realize that the woman he abandoned was the one who ended his reign.”
“And the third?” Marco asked, his interest piqued.
I stood up from the couch, cradling Nico in one arm while pointing a single finger at Marco’s chest.
“The third condition is that you hand over the access codes to the Moretti arms vault in Brooklyn tonight. If we are going to war with Sicilian mercenaries tomorrow at midnight, I am not going to sit here like a helpless damsel in distress. I am going to arm my own soldiers.”
Marco stared at me for three agonizing seconds. Then, slowly, he threw his head back and laughed—a rich, booming laugh that rattled the glass chandeliers above.
“My God, Serena,” Marco breathed, looking at me with genuine terrifying respect. “Lucian thought he was marrying a quiet butterfly. He never realized he was sleeping next to a viper.”
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He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a black encrypted flash drive, and tossed it onto the glass coffee table.
“The vault codes, the dock schedules, and the location of Bianca’s safehouse,” Marco said, standing up. “The game begins tomorrow at midnight, Mrs. Moretti. Make sure you don't miss.”
