Chapter 53 The First Move

Chapter 53 The First Move

Nikolai:

The call ended, but her voice refused to leave my head.

“I’m prepared for war.”

The words stayed in my mind even after the call ended. I sat at my desk, looking at the phone in my hand, and wondered how things had gone wrong so fast.

A few months ago she was a stranger in an underground pit. Then she became my prisoner. Then my La Prescelta. Then the woman I loved.

And now she was my enemy.

I poured a glass of whiskey and leaned back in my chair. The liquid moved slowly, but I didn’t take a sip. For once, alcohol couldn’t silence the noise in my head.

All I could think about was Elena in the underground pit, tears hidden behind those cold eyes as she stabbed me in the stomach. She hadn’t even hesitated. That memory should have filled me with anger, but instead, it only hurt.

Then a knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

Matthew stepped inside, with his eyes immediately moving to the untouched whiskey in my hand. That alone was enough to tell him something was wrong.

“You look terrible.”

“I feel worse.”

Matthew pulled out a chair and sat opposite me. Neither of us spoke for a few moments. Then finally, I set the glass down.

“Prepare the organisation.”

Those words changed the atmosphere instantly. Matthew’s expression hardened. He knew exactly what those words meant.

It didn’t mean increased security, nor retaliation. No, it meant war.

“You’ve made a decision?”

“She made it for me.”

He sighed heavily. “Playing into her game could, and would lead to damages beyond repair.”

“She started it. But it ends with me.”

Then Matthew nodded once.

“I’ll notify the capos.”

By nightfall, New York began moving. Weapons were relocated, warehouses were fortified, safe-houses reopened. Trusted soldiers were recalled from neighbouring territories, money routes were redirected, and information networks expanded.

The city didn’t know it yet, but beneath its streets and behind its glass towers, a monster was waking. And I was the one pulling it from sleep.

Hours later, another knock interrupted the quiet. I already knew who it was. Francesca entered without waiting for permission.

She had always done that. The difference was that once, I used to enjoy it. Now it simply irritated me.

She walked directly toward the bar and poured herself a drink.

“I hear we’re preparing for war.”

The news travelled fast.

“It appears so.”

She studied me carefully.

“You look miserable.”

I laughed humourlessly.

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Francesca walked around my desk and perched on the edge. For a moment she looked almost like the woman I had once planned to marry. Almost.

Then she opened her mouth. “You don’t have to do this.”

I looked at her.

“She declared war.”

“No.” Francesca shook her head. “She declared pain.”

The words hung heavy in the room, and I hated how true they were. She was right, Elena wasn’t behaving like a Don. She was acting like a daughter who had just lost her father. The trouble was that grief could make people dangerous.

I looked away.

“Whatever it is, it ends now, Francesca. So with no due respect, stay out of this.”

She sighed softly. Then she laughed, teasing me.

“So what? You’re gonna kill her?”

I didn’t answer. And that was answer enough.

Eventually she stood.

“Falling in love with that girl made you soft, and weak. And because of that, you’d destroy yourself in trying to destroy her.”

Then she left.

The study felt very quiet after she left, almost like the room noticed she was gone. The hours passed slowly, and each one felt like the last. Meetings came and went, reports kept piling up on my desk, and the same names kept coming up again and again. People kept talking about targets, but none of it felt important enough to take my mind off her absence.

By midnight I was exhausted. That was when a guard alongside Matthew knocked.

“Don.”

“What is it?”

The man entered carrying a small package.

“No return address.”

I frowned.

“Checked?”

“Twice.”

I took the package from him. The box was plain, nothing remarkable about it. But the moment I opened it, my chest tightened.

Inside was a silver chain. I knew it instantly. The chain from the modified dress Jasmine had worn during her first dinner with the capos. The dress she’d altered because she refused to let me control how she looked. The same dress she’d worn while descending those stairs and stunning every man in the room.

My fingers tightened around the chain. There was a folded note beneath it. I opened it.

Five words. That’s all.

“You’re fighting the wrong enemy.”

The room went silent.

Matthew read it over my shoulder.

“What the hell does that mean?”

I didn’t answer. Because suddenly memories were colliding together in ways I didn’t like.

Lucien Vorn murdered. Elena was convinced I had done it. My mother murdered years ago. My father left in a coma. Elena hidden from the world under a false identity. Dante desperately trying to get her out of New York.

There were too many pieces. Too many things that didn’t fit.

Matthew folded his arms.

“You think it’s a trap?”

“Maybe.”

“Or?”

I stared down at the chain. I remembered her descending the staircase. Remembered her sitting beside me at the capo dinner. Remembered her standing in the garden arguing with me. Remembered her wrapping my wounded arm. Remembered her whispering that she loved me.

None of it felt fake. None of it.

“Trace the package,” I finally said.

“We’re already trying.”

“And the note.”

Matthew nodded. Then he hesitated.

“What are you thinking?”

I looked away when I came to a realisation. “I don’t think this message is from Elena… I think it’s from Dante.”

Matthew laughed at first. Then he went serious.

“And why would Dante tell you that you’re fighting the wrong enemy?”

“He probably knows something that we don’t. That Jasmine probably doesn’t as well.” 

Then I looked at Matthew. “And I’m gonna find out who the real enemy here is.”