Victor Moretti violently dragged Adrian Moretti’s fine porcelain dinner plate across the banquet table, knocking a soft bread roll onto the polished floor

Elena moved past Victor without a second glance, her flat shoes making no sound as she approached the heavy oak doors of the VIP room. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but the quiet mutual affection and profound respect she held for Adrian fueled her courage. She reached out, grasped the polished brass handles, and pushed the doors open wide.

The bright, airy light of the main dining hall flooded into the dimly lit VIP room. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of aged whiskey. Sitting at a round poker table in the center of the room were three men.

At the head of the table sat Silvio Rossi, a rival boss from the northern faction, known for his ruthless tactics and long-standing desire to absorb Adrian’s territories. Silvio wore a sharp, grey suit, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he swirled a glass of amber liquid.

"Well, well," Silvio drawled, his American accent smooth and dripping with arrogance. "I told Victor it was too early to celebrate. You always were a hard man to put in the ground, Adrian."

Elena pushed the wheelchair fully into the room, coming to a halt just a few feet from the poker table. She stood tall behind Adrian, her elegant posture refusing to yield to the intimidation radiating from the men in the room.

Adrian did not look surprised. His sharply defined jaw tightened as he surveyed the traitors.

"Did you honestly believe a few bullets and my ambitious nephew were enough to take my city, Silvio?" Adrian asked, his measured voice cutting through the smoky air.

"It seemed like a sound investment at the time," Silvio chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Victor promised us a seamless transition. He said you were weak. He said the men were ready for new leadership. And looking at you now, confined to that chair with a maid fighting your battles... I’d say he wasn't entirely wrong."

"Is my physical state the only measure of my power?" Adrian inquired, his cold, observant eyes locking onto Silvio. "Do you think the loyalty of my men is as fragile as your promises?"

"Loyalty is bought, Adrian," Silvio sneered, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "And I have deeper pockets. Victor was just the key to unlock the door. Now that we're inside, your reign is over. You can surrender the club peacefully, or we can finish the job my shooters started three weeks ago."

Elena’s fingers tightened on the handles of the wheelchair. She could feel the immense danger they were in. There were no guards in this room, only Silvio and his two heavily armed enforcers.

"Are you absolutely certain you are the one holding the winning hand, Silvio?" Adrian asked quietly, his uninjured hand slowly reaching toward the inner pocket of his tailored suit.