Chapter 7 - Blood on the Ballroom FloorChaos erupted instantly.
Screams echoed through the grand ballroom as high-society guests scrambled toward the exits, dropping champagne glasses, designer handbags, and expensive jewelry in their frantic escape.
Viktor Vance’s face went purple with blind rage. He dropped his glass, shattering it across the marble floor, and reached inside his tuxedo jacket for his Sig Sauer pistol.
“Kill him!” Vance roared to his bodyguards.
Four massive Russian enforcers drew their weapons and charged toward Alessandro.
They didn't even make it three steps.
From the shadows near the ballroom doors, Matteo Ricci and six elite Duca enforcers opened fire with suppressed submachine guns. The Russian guards dropped before they could clear their holsters, tumbling lifelessly onto the red velvet carpet.
Vance raised his pistol, aiming directly at Alessandro’s chest.
“You arrogant bastard!” Vance yelled over the screaming crowd, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Alessandro didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He simply stepped to the left as Matteo’s gun barked once.
A bullet pierced straight through Vance’s right shoulder, spinning him around and sending his pistol clattering across the floor. Vance collapsed onto his knees, clutching his bleeding arm, groaning in agony as blood seeped through his white dress shirt.
Alessandro walked forward slowly, his leather shoes clicking against the blood-stained marble. He stood over the kneeling Russian boss, looking down as if examining a bug on the pavement.
“You thought you could destroy my family, Viktor,” Alessandro said softly, his voice cutting through the panic of the empty room.
“You’re dead,” Vance wheezed, spitting blood onto the carpet. “The Bratva will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. Every port you own will burn!”
“Let them try,” Alessandro replied coldly. He crouched down, grabbing Vance by his bloody lapels, pulling him up close. “My shipping lanes are secured. Your Cayman accounts have been frozen and emptied into my personal holdings. And your best assassin is currently singing opera to my enforcers in a concrete box.”
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Alessandro shoved Vance backward, sending him crashing hard onto the floor.
“Matteo, clean up this mess. Ship Vance to the abandoned grain silos on the south docks. I want to have a long, detailed conversation with him about his retirement plans.”
