Chapter 3 - The Darkest Night in Palermo
Hook: When the lights go out in a mafia Don's house, it’s not a power failure—it’s an execution.
The silence that followed the blackout was immediate and terrifying.
"Stay on the floor behind the bed. Do not move," Alessandro commanded Elena in a harsh whisper.
Before she could even answer, he pulled his customized Beretta from his waistband, clicking the safety off with practiced ease. The backup generators should have kicked in within three seconds. Four seconds passed. Five.
Nothing.
The security grid had been completely bypassed from the inside.
Alessandro stepped out into the hallway, his vision adjusting to the moonlight filtering through the high arched windows. The mansion was dead silent, but it was the silence of a predator waiting to strike. He tapped his earpiece. "Matteo. Report."
Only static answered him. The comms were jammed.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed from the grand staircase. The sound of a suppressed weapon.
Alessandro moved like a shadow, flattening his back against the marble pillars as he advanced toward the main hall. Down below, he saw the silhouettes of five men moving in tactical formation. They weren't wearing the suits of his loyal guards; they were wearing black military gear, carrying short-barreled assault rifles.
And leading them down the hallway, completely calm in her silk robe, was Bianca.
"Find the maid and the child first," Bianca ordered her men, her voice entirely devoid of the sweet tone she usually used. "If Alessandro gets to them, he’ll extract the truth. Once they are taken care of, clear the path to his study. The Russian syndicate wants his head on a platter before the morning docks open."
"And what about the underboss, Matteo?" one of the mercs whispered.
"I already took care of Matteo," Bianca replied coldly. "He drank his favorite scotch twenty minutes ago. By now, his lungs have collapsed."
Listening from the shadows above, Alessandro’s blood boiled. Matteo was like a brother to him. The betrayal sliced deeper than any blade ever could. He had brought this woman into his home, shared his bed with her, and almost given her his empire—all while she was plotting to hand Palermo over to the Bratva.
Alessandro reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flashbang grenade—a precaution he always kept on him. He pulled the pin, counted to two, and dropped it directly into the center of the mercenary group below.
BANG!
A blinding white flash illuminated the grand hall, followed by a concussive blast that sent the mercenaries staggering, clutching their ears and eyes.
Alessandro didn't waste a heartbeat. He leaped over the balustrade, firing with lethal precision. Three shots, three bodies hit the floor before the remaining men could even register where the attack was coming from.
The remaining two mercenaries opened fire blindly, their bullets tearing through the priceless oil paintings and shattering the ancient mirrors lining the walls. Alessandro rolled behind a heavy mahogany dining table, returning fire and dropping a fourth mercenary with a clean shot through the neck.
But when the smoke cleared, the fifth mercenary was gone.
And so was Bianca.
Alessandro rushed back toward the secure residential wing, his heart pounding against his ribs. He broke through the door of Elena’s room.
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The window was shattered. The curtains were fluttering in the cold night breeze.
Elena and Clara were gone.
