Chapter 9
The bright cinematic light of the study seemed to cool as the reality of the situation settled over the room. The breaking of the engagement was not merely a domestic dispute; it was a devastating insult to a rival family, an act that traditionally demanded blood.
Alessandro gently lifted Livia off his lap and set her safely back on the leather sofa. He stood up, smoothing the unbuttoned collar of his dark shirt. The thick, wavy hair falling over his forehead framed a face that had completely detached from the tender father of a moment ago. He was now solely the Mafia Boss, calculating the survival of his empire.
"Rosalie," Alessandro said, his voice a low, lethal hum. "Lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone except me or Dante. If you hear gunfire, take her into the panic room behind the bookshelves."
"Yes, sir," Rosalie said, her rosy cheeks draining of color, but she moved swiftly to stand protectively in front of Livia.
Alessandro nodded to his underboss, and the two men exited the study, the heavy doors locking securely behind them. They walked down the long, immaculate corridor toward the east wing of the estate.
"How many men does Moretti have inside the house?" Alessandro asked, his words slow and measured.
"About twenty," Dante replied, matching his boss's long strides. "They checked most of their heavy hardware at the door, per protocol, but they are carrying concealed sidearms. We have them outnumbered three to one, but if a firefight breaks out in the estate, there will be massive civilian casualties among the other guests."
"There will be no firefight," Alessandro stated coldly. "We do not destroy our own house."
They reached the double doors leading into the east wing parlor. The air inside was thick with tension. Don Moretti, a heavyset man in his sixties with a furious, red face, stood surrounded by his loyal capos. When Alessandro entered the room, every Moretti soldier rested a hand on their concealed weapons.
"Alessandro!" Don Moretti roared, his American accent booming across the room. "What is the meaning of this disrespect? My daughter is thrown out of your gates like a common thief on her wedding day? You humiliate my blood in front of the entire Commission?"
Alessandro stopped a few feet away from the furious Don. He stood perfectly still, his hands relaxed at his sides, exposing the intricate tattoos on his forearms. His cold, intimidating eyes locked onto the older man.
"Your daughter. Is a rabid dog," Alessandro said quietly. His volume was so low that the men in the room had to strain to hear him, making the insult all the more devastating. "She attacked my child. In my own house."
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"She was disciplining a brat!" Moretti shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "You break a historic alliance over a haircut? You are a fool, Rizzano! You need my ports! You need my supply lines!"
"I need nothing. From a man who cannot control his own household," Alessandro replied smoothly, the controlled pauses in his speech acting like drops of ice water. "The alliance is terminated. The ports will be renegotiated under my terms. And if you or your men raise a single weapon in this room, none of you will leave this estate alive."
