Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Alliance
The ride back to the mansion was frantic and silent. Delia sat in the back of the limousine, her eyes fixed on the leather notebook resting on the seat between her and Rafael. Her hands were clenched so tightly into her lap that her knuckles were white. The truth she had spent six years searching for—the truth her mother had died trying to protect—was finally within arm’s reach, but it felt heavier and more terrifying than she could have ever imagined.
"You knew," Delia whispered, her voice trembling as she looked up at the mafia boss. "You knew about Danny before we even went to that meeting."
"I suspected it when you mentioned Gloucester and the name Vance last night," Rafael said, looking out the window at the passing city lights. "But I needed the physical proof from my father’s old vault to confirm the connection. Silvio Rossi used my father's reputation as a shield to murder your brother and steal from our syndicate. He thought Victor’s death meant his secrets were buried forever."
He turned to look at her, his expression softening just a fraction, a rare display of genuine humanity in a man raised by monsters. "I am sorry for what happened to your family, Delia. Danny didn't deserve that ending."
"What are you going to do to them?" she asked, her voice steadying.
"In our world, an unsanctioned murder of a courier is a declaration of war," Rafael said coldly. "By tomorrow morning, the Rossi family will be stripped of their shipping contracts, their assets will be seized by our council, and Silvio will face judgment. Bianca will be lucky if she spends the rest of her life in exile."
When the limousine pulled up to the grand gates of the mansion, the sun was setting, casting a bloody orange glow across the white stone facade. But as they stepped into the grand hall, the air felt instantly wrong. The house was entirely too dark, the crystal chandeliers unlit, and the heavy scent of copper and old dust hanging in the air.
"Salvatore?" Rafael called out, his hand instantly moving inside his jacket to grip his weapon. His soldiers fanned out across the marble floor, their boots stepping quietly.
A low, choked groan echoed from the dining room.
Rafael lunged forward, pushing the heavy double doors open, with Delia following closely behind despite the screaming alarms in her mind.
The dining room was a scene of pure horror. Salvatore Greco lay slumped against the edge of the long mahogany table, his white butler’s shirt soaked in deep crimson. He had been brutally stabbed multiple times, his breathing shallow and rattling as his life drained onto the floor.
Delia dropped to her knees beside the old man, tears instantly flooding her eyes as she pressed her hands against his chest to stop the bleeding. "Salvatore! Oh my god, Salvatore, hold on!"
The elderly butler looked up at her with fading, glassy eyes, his blood-stained fingers reaching up to grip her collar. "Bianca..." he gasped, a thick bubble of blood popping on his lips. "She came back... with her father’s executioners... looking for the ledger... They took... they took the files, Rafael... The trap is... is already set..."
With one final, shuddering breath, the old man’s eyes rolled back, his hand slipping from Delia’s collar and falling heavily onto the marble floor.
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Rafael stood over them, his jaw clenched so hard the scar on his face turned a stark, furious white. He looked at the empty safe hidden behind the wall portrait—the vault had been completely blown open, its contents cleared out.
"They didn't come for an apology today, Delia," Rafael said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated executioner’s rage. "They used the meeting at the warehouse as a distraction to eliminate my security and steal the leverage ledger. They aren't going to bow to the council. They're going to try to kill us tonight."
