Chapter 10
Don Moretti’s face flushed a deeper, violent shade of crimson. The utter disrespect, delivered with such absolute, freezing calm, pushed the older Mafia boss past the point of rational negotiation.
"You think you can threaten me in front of my men?" Moretti snarled, taking a heavy step forward. "You are a young, arrogant boy playing king! Without my family backing you, the northern syndicates will tear your organization to pieces by the end of the month!"
"Let them try," Alessandro whispered, his sharp, intimidating eyes unblinking.
"Draw your weapons!" Moretti suddenly roared to his men, completely abandoning the fragile peace of the neutral ground.
The tension in the bright, cinematically lit parlor shattered instantly. The Moretti capos began to pull their concealed firearms from their suits.
Alessandro did not flinch. He did not reach for his own weapon. He simply raised his tattooed right hand.
Before a single Moretti soldier could level a gun, the heavy oak doors surrounding the parlor burst open. Dozens of Rizzano bodyguards, armed with suppressed automatic rifles, flooded the room, aiming directly at the rival family. Red laser sights painted the chests of every man loyal to Moretti.
The Moretti capos froze, their weapons halfway drawn, realizing they had walked into a flawlessly executed trap. They were entirely outgunned and outmaneuvered.
"I told you," Alessandro said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that echoed in the sudden silence. "There will be no firefight. In my house."
Don Moretti stared at the red dot resting perfectly over his heart. His arrogant bravado dissolved into absolute, paralyzing fear. He looked at Alessandro, realizing that the young Boss was not a boy playing king, but a ruthless tactician who had anticipated this exact reaction.
"You planned this," Moretti gasped, his breath hitching.
"I protect my own," Alessandro stated coldly. "Drop the weapons. Kick them across the floor."
Slowly, reluctantly, the Moretti soldiers let their guns fall to the marble floor, kicking them away.
"You have five minutes. To vacate my property," Alessandro commanded, turning his back on the defeated Don. "If I see a Moretti vehicle within city limits after sundown, I will authorize lethal force. Get out of my sight."
As the disgraced rival family was herded out of the estate by his armed guards, Alessandro stood near the massive windows of the parlor. The natural light was beginning to shift into the golden hues of late afternoon. He had protected his daughter, elevated a loyal servant, and dismantled his greatest political rival without firing a single shot.
But as he watched the Moretti vehicles speed away down the long, winding driveway, his encrypted phone vibrated heavily in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from an unknown number.
May you like
You won the battle, Rizzano. But the war begins tonight. Check the southern docks.
Alessandro’s jaw locked. The cold, sharp danger in his eyes flared to life once more. The broken wedding had not just severed an alliance; it had ignited a war that would consume the entire city. He pocketed the phone, his masculine frame radiating pure, lethal intent, ready to bring hell to anyone who dared to threaten his family again.
