Chapter 2
The bright, cinematic lighting of the VIP lounge offered no shadows to hide the brutal reality unfolding near the glass console. As Nerina closed the distance, her expressive eyes brimmed with heavy, unshed tears. She looked at Amadeo's right hand, observing the angry red marks blooming across his tattooed knuckles where the heavy briefcase lid had struck him.
She immediately approached him, her lips trembling violently. She didn't look at the furious cousin or the towering bodyguards. She focused entirely on the mafia boss. She reached out, hovering her delicate hands just inches from his injured fingers, desperate to offer comfort but terrified of causing him further pain or crossing the rigid boundaries of their stations.
Amadeo’s breathing was ragged. He slowly turned his head, pulling his intense gaze away from the crew-change notice still trapped inside the closed briefcase. He looked down at the housemaid standing beside him. The sheer bravery of her act—defying a senior capo in a room full of dangerous men just to check on his injury—was staggering.
He met her worried, tearful eyes, finding a sudden, fierce sanctuary in their depths. The cold, unyielding armor he wore as the mafia boss softened for a fraction of a second. He knew the significance of the paper he had just read. A last-minute crew change on a private flight was a classic assassination protocol. The plane was meant to go down over the Atlantic, and Cyril was meant to take the throne.
Amadeo did not raise his voice. His deep, measured American accent sliced through the ringing silence of the room, carrying a lethal, apocalyptic calm that resonated in the bones of every person present.
"Nerina… who changed my flight crew?" Amadeo asked, his voice low and incredibly controlled.
The question dropped like a guillotine blade. Every single nearby guest, capo, and relative turned toward him. The implication was horrific. The boss was publicly inquiring about a conspiracy, and he was asking a housemaid for the truth.
Nerina stood frozen for a microscopic second. She felt the crushing weight of fifty pairs of eyes suddenly locked onto her. She looked at the two massive bodyguards flanking Cyril, knowing that speaking the truth would instantly strip away whatever meager protection her uniform afforded her. But as she looked back into Amadeo's dark, unwavering eyes, she found the courage she needed.
Nerina met his eyes, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over her fair, rosy cheeks. Her voice shook with terror, but the words were clear and devastating.
"I heard him send your pilot home," Nerina whispered, her entire body shaking.
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Cyril’s triumphant smile disappeared instantly. The color completely drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, terrified pale. The meticulously planned coup had just been exposed by a servant in front of the entire syndicate.
Panic and pure, unadulterated rage flooded Cyril's veins. He realized his political maneuver had failed and his life was now forfeit. In a desperate, feral act of violence, Cyril snatched the closed leather briefcase from the console and raised it high above his head, aiming directly toward Amadeo’s skull.
