Chapter 4 - The Consigliere’s Tears
“Stay here,” Alessandro ordered in a harsh whisper. He pulled a small, suppressed automatic pistol from his waistband, checked the chamber with a flick of his thumb, and tucked it back into his belt beneath his shirt.
He slipped out of the room, pulling the heavy door almost completely shut, leaving a narrow crack of light through which I could watch the hallway.
I pulled Emma close, pressing her head against my chest so she couldn't see the weapon, though her sharp eyes were already wide with alertness.
In the hallway outside, the footsteps stopped.
“Enzo,” a smooth, cultured voice said. It was Julian Vance. He sounded impeccably tailored, even in grief. “How is he? The report from the gate said he stopped breathing entirely for three minutes.”
“It’s bad, Mr. Vance,” Enzo replied, his voice flat, playing his part with chilling perfection. “Dr. Rossi is with him now, but his lungs are filling with fluid. He’s barely conscious.”
“My God,” Julian breathed. A theatrical sigh of absolute devastation. “After all we’ve built... to go like this? Open the door, Enzo. I need to see him. I need to say goodbye.”
“Doctor’s orders, sir. No visitors in the master suite until she stabilizes his oxygen levels.”
“Nonsense!” Julian’s voice sharpened, shedding its velvet wrapper for a sudden, razor-sharp edge of command. “I am his consigliere and his brother in everything but blood. Step aside, Enzo. That is an order.”
“The Boss gave strict instructions before he lost consciousness,” Enzo countered, his boots shifting on the floorboards as he blocked the doorway. “Nobody enters. Not even you, Julian.”
A heavy silence stretched across the hallway. I held my breath, terrified that Julian would draw his own weapon and force his way past.
Instead, Julian let out a low, ragged laugh—a sound that sent a cold shudder down my spine.
“Stubborn to the very end,” Julian murmured. “Even when his lungs are turning to water, he still doesn't trust anyone. Fine, Enzo. Let me wait in his private study downstairs. I want to be close when... when the end comes.”
“The study is locked,” Enzo said smoothly. “Forensic cleanup is still inside dealing with the broken glass from his tumbler.”
“Then I’ll wait in the library,” Julian snapped. “And Enzo? If he dies while I’m sitting downstairs, I want every single member of the household staff rounded up and interrogated. Someone let something contaminated into this house. A man like Alessandro Moretti doesn't just suffocate on his own medicine unless someone helped him along.”
The footsteps turned away, fading down the corridor toward the grand library.
Inside our basement room, I let out a long, shuddering breath.
Julian knew the inhaler was contaminated. He knew it because he had planted it. And his immediate instinct—before Alessandro’s body was even cold—was to shift the blame onto the household staff, ensuring that any stray investigations pointed downward, toward the expendable maids and cooks.
The door clicked open further, and Alessandro slipped back inside. His face was set like granite.
“He suspects nothing about you yet,” Alessandro whispered, leaning against the doorframe. “He thinks I’m dying upstairs, and he’s already preparing to take over the syndicate at tonight’s emergency commission meeting.”
“And what do we do?” I asked.
May you like
Alessandro pushed off the frame, his gray eyes burning with cold fire.
“We give him the funeral he’s planning for me,” Alessandro said. “And then, when he steps up to claim the throne in front of every major capo on the Eastern Seaboard... we pull the rug out from under him.”
