Chapter 3 - The Consigliere's Shadow
I sat in the dark of my office, the chemist's report resting on my desk. Every word was a knife in my back. Marco. The man who had been my shadow, the man who had held my hand when I buried Isabella, the man who had whispered advice into my ear during the most brutal gang wars of the decade.
He wasn't just a traitor. He was an architect.
I realized then that Elena wasn't just a maid. She was a witness. She had known what was happening because she had watched it from the fringes of the village, and she had come here to stop the end of the line.
The door opened softly. It was Marco.
"Lorenzo," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. "The nurse tells me the boy is sleeping. A miracle, they say. Is it true?"
I kept my back to him, staring into the dark landscape of the estate. "A miracle, Marco. Or a return of ghosts."
He stepped into the room, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and expensive tobacco—filling the air. "It’s a good day, then. Perhaps we should celebrate. There are matters at the docks that need your signature."
"The docks," I echoed. "Do you remember when we bought those docks, Marco? You told me it would be the heart of our operations."
"It has been, Lorenzo. For fifteen years."
"For fifteen years," I turned, looking him in the eye. He didn't blink. He was the most dangerous man I knew, and he was completely at ease. "Why did you do it, Marco? Was it the Morettis? Did they offer you a bigger share?"
Marco stopped. A flicker of something—disappointment, maybe, or regret—crossed his face. "The Morettis are children, Lorenzo. You know that. I didn't do this for them."
"Then why?"
"Because you were becoming soft," he said, his voice cold and analytical. "You lost your edge when Isabella died. You were mourning a ghost, and you were letting the family rot from the inside. A Rossi leader must be a monster. A leader with a crying baby in the nursery is a liability."
"So you decided to kill my son?"
"I decided to prune the tree," he corrected. "To save the branch."
I felt the weight of my pistol, but I didn't pull it. I wanted to hear it all. I wanted to know how deep the rot went.
"Who else is with you?"
"The guards, the household staff, the lieutenants in the city—everyone who recognizes that power requires a leader who isn't drowning in grief. You are finished, Lorenzo. The nursery is now your prison. I have men stationed at every exit. You aren't going to kill me, and you aren't going to save your son."
He signaled to the door. Two of my most loyal guards—men who had been with me for years—stepped in, their rifles leveled at my chest.
"You see, Lorenzo," Marco said, walking toward the door. "You were a king. But you forgot that a king is only as good as the men he pays. And I pay better."
May you like
I watched him walk out, his shadow trailing across the floor. I was alone, surrounded by men who had been my brothers-in-arms, now my executioners.
But I wasn't afraid. I was the head of the Rossi family. And I had learned long ago that the best way to handle a snake was to let it think it had already won.
