Chapter 7 - Crimson VowsIt was Lucian's secondary contact—an elderly woman named Sophia, who had been Mara’s family consigliere decades ago. She held an encrypted tablet in her hands, her face grim.
"Lucian, Valeria," Sophia said urgently. "Victor has just moved up the timeline. He is signing the transfer of the Moretti bank accounts to Nikolai Volkov in twenty minutes inside the ballroom downstairs. If that contract is signed, the Russian Mob will own the entire east coast mafia."
"Not on my watch," Lucian hissed.
They descended into the lower levels of the hotel using the private executive elevator. The heavy bass of classical music pulsed through the walls as they approached the grand ballroom doors.
Two massive Russian guards stood at the entrance, assault rifles concealed beneath their heavy overcoats.
Lucian didn't wait for greetings. He stepped forward, grabbing the first guard by the chin and snapping his neck in one fluid motion, dragging his body into the utility closet before the second guard could react. Mara drew a small suppressed pocket pistol from her garter strap and put a bullet through the second guard's temple.
Lucian looked at her, a dark glint of pride in his eyes. "Beautifully done, Valeria."
"I told you," Mara whispered, setting her shoulders back. "I hate wasting time."
Lucian pulled back the heavy velvet curtains overlooking the VIP balcony of the ballroom. Below them, hundreds of wealthy crime bosses, crooked politicians, and syndicate captains drank champagne beneath crystal chandeliers.
At the center table sat Victor Moretti—a cruel, sharp-featured man in a white suit—sitting next to Nikolai Volkov, a hulking Russian monster covered in prison tattoos. A heavy leather binder containing the final syndicate transfer documents lay between them.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Victor's voice echoed through the ballroom microphone as he stood up, raising his champagne glass. "Tonight, we seal a new era for the Moretti family. My late brother was weak. His daughter is dead. And tonight, power returns to where it belongs!"
The crowd cheered. Victor lifted his pen to sign the document.
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"You're signing your own death warrant, Uncle!"
A sharp, clear voice rang out from the high balcony, echoing like thunder across the massive room.
