Chapter 8
The standoff in the VIP room stretched into a suffocating, agonizing eternity. The air grew thick, heavy with the metallic scent of impending violence. Silvio stood frozen, the barrel of Adrian’s suppressed pistol aimed directly at his heart. The two enforcers remained paralyzed, caught between their loyalty to their boss and the undeniable reality that any sudden movement would result in Silvio's immediate death.
"You're a dead man, Moretti," Silvio whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and terror. "Even if you kill me, Victor has already handed over the shipping manifests. We own your supply lines."
"Do you truly believe I would allow a traitor like Victor access to my genuine ledgers?" Adrian asked, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "Did you think the documents he provided you were anything more than a carefully constructed fiction?"
Silvio’s eyes widened, the horrifying realization dawning on him. He had funded an ambush, risked a war, and exposed himself, all for forged documents.
"You set this up," Silvio breathed, his face turning pale under the dim lighting.
"Is a king not expected to test the loyalty of his court?" Adrian asked. He kept his aim steady, his uninjured hand unwavering. "I knew there was a rat. I simply needed to sit in this chair long enough for him to believe I was weak, so he would lead me to the snake."
Adrian tilted his head slightly, listening to the shuffling of feet in the hallway behind him. "Carlo," Adrian called out. "Will you bring my nephew into the room?"
The heavy oak doors opened wider. Carlo and another capo dragged Victor into the VIP room. The acting manager was no longer arrogant; he was a broken, weeping mess. The tailored suit he wore was rumpled, the spot where his brass badge used to be a glaring tear in the fabric. They threw him onto the floor at Adrian’s feet.
"Uncle, please!" Victor sobbed, scrambling to his knees and grasping at the wheels of Adrian's chair. "They made me do it! Silvio threatened me! I didn't want to betray you!"
"Does a man who is threatened slap his own blood in front of the commission?" Adrian asked, looking down at his nephew with absolute, chilling disgust.
Victor recoiled, remembering the slap, remembering the beautiful housemaid who had struck him down. He looked back at Elena, who was standing quietly in the shadows, her face an unreadable mask of elegant restraint.
"I'm sorry!" Victor begged, pressing his forehead against the floor. "I was greedy! I was stupid! Please, don't kill me!"
"Do you think your apologies hold any weight in this room, Victor?" Adrian asked softly. He didn't look at his nephew. His cold, observant eyes remained locked on Silvio.
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"What are you going to do, Adrian?" Silvio asked, his voice tight. "You can't kill us all without starting a war."
"Who said anything about killing you, Silvio?" Adrian asked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a terrifying, humorless smile. "Would it not be much more effective to send you back to your family in disgrace, empty-handed, knowing you were outmaneuvered by a man in a wheelchair?"
