Chapter 3 - The Bloodline CleansingRossini’s eyes flicked upward for a fatal microsecond.
Before his brain could register the distraction, I threw my body to the right, sweeping my leg across the polished floor in a brutal low kick that smashed into Rossini’s lead kneecap.
CRACK.
Rossini let out a muffled scream as his knee buckled backward. His suppressed pistol discharged harmlessly into the ceiling, showering us with plaster dust.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. I slammed my elbow upward into his jaw, shattering his teeth, and stripped the weapon from his grip in one fluid motion. I drove the butt of the heavy pistol down against his temple. Rossini crumpled to the marble floor, unconscious and bleeding.
Valentina gasped, dropping her leather bag, reaching frantically into her coat for her own small revolver.
I pointed Rossini’s gun straight at her heart.
"Don't," I ordered.
Valentina froze. Her hand stayed inside her pocket, her breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches. The moonlight caught the sudden sweat glistening on her forehead.
"Dante..." she stammered, her voice suddenly shifting back to that manipulative, helpless tone she had used for years. "Dante, please... I'm your sister. Your own blood!"
"You stopped being my sister the moment you put poison in my wife's tea," I said, my finger resting heavy against the trigger.
Up in the balcony, the door clicked open. Franco and Luca rushed in, weapons drawn, followed by Marcus, my head of security. They took in the scene—Rossini bleeding on the floor, Valentina held at gunpoint, and the hollow piano leg gaping open.
"Boss!" Franco called out. "We cleared the outer gate. Rossini brought four Vasquez hitmen with him. They've been eliminated."
"Good," I said, never taking my eyes off Valentina. "Marcus, take her revolver."
Marcus stepped forward, pulled the gun from Valentina's coat, and roughly pinned her arms behind her back.
"What do we do with her, Don Dante?" Marcus asked, his face dark with fury. Every man in the villa loved Chiara; knowing Valentina was behind her death made their loyalty to my sister vanish in an instant.
Valentina looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. "You can't kill me, Dante! The Capos from Naples... they won't accept a Don who executes his own sister without a trial! It will cause a civil war in the syndicate!"
She was right about one thing. The old mafia codes were strict. Executing family without proof presented to the council of Capos would look like a tyrannical purge, fracturing our alliances across Italy.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the encrypted USB flash drive I had taken from the piano leg, and tossed it to Marcus.
"This contains the offshore accounts showing Valentina’s financial collusion with the Vasquez cartel," I told Marcus. "Along with the records of the shipping routes she sold them. Lock her in the basement holding cell. When the Capos arrive at sunrise, we won't hold an execution. We will hold a tribunal."
Valentina’s face drained of all color. A tribunal meant absolute disgrace—the stripping of her name, her assets, and an official sentence of execution sanctioned by every crime family in the country.
"No! Dante, please!" she screamed as Franco and Marcus dragged her backward out of the ballroom. "Dante! I’m your blood! You can't do this to me!"
Her screams faded down the cold stone hallway until the double doors swung shut, leaving the ballroom in silence once more.
I stood alone near the piano. The night air blew through the shattered terrace glass, smelling of rain and fresh earth.
I turned toward the stairs. Sitting on the third step, wrapped in a oversized wool blanket, was little Mia. She was clutching her cloth doll tightly, her dark eyes looking down at me.
I walked over to the stairs, setting the gun down on a side table, and sat beside her on the cold step.
"Did I scare you, Mia?" I asked gently.
Mia shook her head. She reached out with her little hand and patted my arm. "The bad lady is gone now?"
"Yes," I said. "She's gone. She won't ever hurt anyone in this house again."
Mia looked toward the piano. "Did you find what the lady left for you?"
I pulled the yellowed paper from my pocket, showing her Chiara’s handwriting. "I found it. She wrote a love letter to me. A very important one."
Mia smiled, leaning her head against my shoulder. "My mommy says when people love you, they leave quiet things behind so you don't forget them."
May you like
I looked at the four-year-old child of my maid—the girl who had unraveled an eight-year-old web of treason simply by listening to a click beneath an old piano.
"Your mommy is a very wise woman," I murmured, wrapping my arm around Mia to keep her warm against the chill night draft. "And tomorrow, everything in this house changes."
