Chapter 5 - The Rival's UltimatumThe smoke cleared to reveal a heavily armed squad of masked mercenaries sweeping down the grand staircase and flooding the west wing. Emblazoned on their tactical vests was a crest I hadn't seen in five years: the silver serpent of the Moretti family, our fiercest rivals in the Mediterranean underworld.
At the front of the squad walked Viktor Moretti, a man I had supposedly neutralized in Rome six months ago. He looked older, a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, but his grin was as venomous as ever.
“Well, well, well. Look what the rain dragged in,” Viktor mocked, clapping his hands slowly as he took in the ruined hallway, my mother covered in soot, and me holding a weapon. “Dante Rossi. Rumors of your death in Eastern Europe were greatly exaggerated, but it seems you walked right into a slaughterhouse anyway.”
My mother immediately pivoted, her survival instinct kicking in as she lowered her weapon and turned to Viktor.
“Moretti. You’re late. The terms of our agreement stated—"
Bang.
The gunshot echoed deafeningly through the narrow hall.
My mother stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened in utter disbelief as a red blossom spread across the chest of her elegant white suit. She staggered backward, clutching her chest, before collapsing hard onto the blood-stained concrete.
“Mother!” I shouted out of sheer instinct, rushing forward, but Viktor’s men quickly leveled their rifles at me, forcing me back.
Viktor casually lowered his smoking pistol, stepping over my mother’s lifeless body with a look of supreme disgust.
“Did you really think a cunning old fox like her wouldn't sell out her own blood to save her empire, Dante?” Viktor sneered, shaking his head. “We had a deal months ago. She gives me control of the shipping ports, and I help her eliminate the ‘outsider’ carrying your illegitimate heir. Only problem was... she tried to double-cross me at the last second.”
The pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity. My mother hadn't just imprisoned Grace on a whim; she had partnered with our worst enemy to wipe out my bloodline to secure absolute control.
“Where is my wife, Moretti?” I snarled, my voice dropping to a deadly, lethal register.
Viktor grinned, gesturing to two of his men who stepped out from the shadows dragging a struggling, bound figure.
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It wasn't Marcus. It was the butler, beaten and bloody, with a heavy iron key dangling from his fingers.
And right behind them, held firmly by another gunman with a knife pressed against her trembling throat, was Grace.
