Chapter 94 NIGHT OF OPEN SECRETS
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AUTHOR’S POV
The scent of blood, sweat, and expensive whiskey lingered, mixing with the heavy bass of the music that still vibrated faintly in the background.
The moment had stretched so thin it felt like time itself had paused.
Elena’s lifeless body laid on the floor, her once-beautiful face frozen in shock, blood seeping from the bullet wound on her forehead, staining the cold marble beneath her.
But no one in the room seemed to mourn her.
Charles had his gun raised, his hand steady, his face void of emotion.
Leonardo stood unfazed, his lips curling into an amused smirk, his sharp eyes flicking between Charles and Luciano.
Adeline stood rooted in place, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
She had expected bloodshed tonight, but not like this—not this soon, this mercilessly.
And then came the revelation.
Leonardo’s voice, mocking and unbothered.
“Will you kill your own brother for someone else?”
A cold shiver raced down Adeline’s spine.
Her breath hitched.
Her mind stalled.
Did he just—?
She turned her wide eyes toward Luciano, expecting to see shock, denial—anything.
But he didn’t react.
Luciano’s expression was unreadable, his grip tightening around his gun, the barrel still pointed at Leonardo’s head.
Charles, however, did react.
He took a sharp step forward, his gun locked onto Leonardo with an unwavering intensity. His dark eyes were burning.
“If he can’t,” Charles said, voice as cold as steel, “I will.”
Adeline barely had time to process the words before Charles pulled the trigger.
Or at least, he tried to.
Because Luciano stopped him.
The moment Charles’s finger pressed against the trigger, Luciano’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist, forcing the aim away.
A split second of resistance.
A flicker of fury in Charles’s eyes.
And then—BANG!
The bullet fired, but it missed.
Instead of tearing through Leonardo’s skull, it embedded itself into the wall behind him, leaving a jagged, smoking hole.
Silence.
Charles’s breath came in slow, controlled exhales.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck were visible.
He turned his glare onto Luciano.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Adeline watched, her pulse hammering against her throat, her mind reeling.
Why? Why had Luciano stopped him?
Why did he let Elena die so easily, but stopped Charles from killing Leonardo?
Her lips parted to question him, but before she could, Luciano spoke.
His voice was low. Dangerous.
“He can’t die this peacefully.”
Leonardo chuckled darkly.
He straightened his shirt, rolling his shoulders as if this was all nothing but a mere inconvenience.
Adeline felt sick.
The audacity. The arrogance.
Did he even feel a sliver of fear?
Luciano, however, didn’t waver. His gaze remained locked on Leonardo’s, cold and sharp like a blade dipped in venom.
“He needs to feel every pain.”
Every syllable was laced with a promise.
Leonardo scoffed, brushing imaginary dust off his suit before tilting his head.
“And here I thought you weren’t sentimental, Luciano.”
Luciano’s expression didn’t shift, but the air around him grew thick with menace.
Charles, still gripping his gun, narrowed his eyes.
“He killed Ricardo. He killed Adeline’s father. He separated us ”
Luciano’s jaw ticked.
Adeline watched as his fingers tightened around his gun, knuckles turning white.
Something deep, something buried, flickered in his eyes.
Leonardo noticed it too, because his smirk widened.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
Luciano didn’t answer.
Adeline felt the tension building like a storm about to break.
Leonardo chuckled again.
“What’s wrong? Struggling with the truth?” He stepped forward, and Adeline’s muscles coiled, but Luciano didn’t move.
Leonardo smirked, voice dropping into a taunting whisper.
“Or is it because… you weren’t supposed to survive either?”
The room plunged into suffocating silence.
Adeline’s breath caught.
Charles’s grip on his gun tightened.
And Luciano?
Luciano stilled completely.
For the first time tonight, his control—his deadly, unwavering control—wavered.
Leonardo’s smirk did not fade.
“Surprised?” He cocked his head.
“Did you think your beloved brother only wanted Ricardo out of the way? No, Luciano. He wanted to erase you too.”
Luciano’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes—his stormy, ruthless eyes—burned with something lethal.
Leonardo sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.
“But you’re just too damn resilient, aren’t you?”
Adeline saw it then.
The shift.
The storm inside Luciano finally snapping.
His patience, his restraint—shattered.
In the blink of an eye, he moved.
Faster than anyone could react.
One moment, Leonardo stood with that smug smirk.
The next—
Luciano’s fist slammed into his face.
The sickening crunch of bone echoed as Leonardo’s head snapped back, his body crashing into a table, shattering glass and bottles upon impact.
Adeline barely had time to blink.
Leonardo groaned, trying to push himself up, but Luciano was already on him.
Another punch.
And another.
And another.
The ruthless sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room.
Leonardo coughed, blood splattering from his lips.
And yet—he laughed.
Bloodied, bruised, and yet still laughing.
“That’s it,” he wheezed, smirking through the pain.
“That’s what I wanted to see.”
Luciano grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up, teeth clenched.
His voice was a low, vicious growl.
“You won’t die tonight, Leonardo.”
Leonardo grinned through crimson-stained teeth. “Is that so?”
Luciano’s next words sent a shiver down Adeline’s spine.
“No.” His eyes darkened.
“I’ll make you beg for death first.”
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The night sky stretched above them, but the chaos on the ground was far from calm. Torches flickered, casting eerie shadows across the vast grounds of Luciano’s mansion, where every soul present stood in uneasy silence.
Luciano’s men—ruthless, disciplined, and unwavering in their loyalty—stood with their heads hung low, hands clasped in front of them, waiting for their leader to speak.
The gathered family members and allies were a mix of shock, confusion, and barely contained dread.
At the center of it all, Leonardo laid bleeding on the cold ground, his body broken, his face battered.
His once-proud demeanor had crumbled, and though he tried to smirk, to play it off as if he still held power, he failed.
Luciano stood tall and unyielding, his presence commanding. Beside him, Charles had his hands in his pockets, his stance casual but his gaze deadly sharp.
But what truly unsettled the onlookers was Adeline.
She was standing with Eva and Vladimir, the latter’s arm wrapped protectively around her.
She leaned into him slightly, her body exhausted yet still carrying an air of unshaken determination.
And then there was Bianca.
She stood still, her posture rigid, but Adeline could see it—the slight tremble in her hands, the way her jaw clenched, the way her eyes darted from Leonardo to Luciano as if calculating her escape.
She knew.
She knew what was coming.
And there was no way out.
“Luciano,”
Alessandra, his mother, finally stepped forward, her voice sharp and demanding.
“What is happening? Why is Leonardo—your own brother—on the ground like this?”
A choked sob broke through the crowd.
It was Rose.
She stared at her father’s battered form, tears streaming down her face, but she did not move.
Because Luciano had given an order.
And disobeying him was the same as welcoming death.
Adeline’s gaze flickered to Bianca.
The woman’s body was rigid, but her eyes—they were wild with panic.
Vladimir noticed too, and his grip on Adeline’s waist tightened, his breathing heavy.
Adeline knew he was barely holding himself back, barely stopping himself from lunging forward and tearing Bianca apart.
Because Bianca…
She wasn’t just a woman who betrayed Luciano’s empire.
She was Vladimir’s mother.
And she had betrayed him, too.
“Will you explain?”
Alessandra’s voice rang through the courtyard again, louder, sharper—a mother’s demand for answers.
Before Luciano could respond, Charles smirked.
“Bianca,” he drawled,
“would you mind explaining?”
The color drained from Bianca’s face.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her mind scrambling for a way out.
But there was none.
Because Luciano had already made his decision.
“Speak,” Luciano commanded, his voice calm but terrifying.
Bianca took a sharp breath, but before she could utter a single word, Luciano spoke.
His voice was cold, sharp—merciless.
“She won’t need to explain. I’ll do it for her.”
And then the truth unraveled.
Luciano explained, in excruciating detail, how Bianca, Leonardo, and Elena had conspired together, murdered Ricardo for power and wealth. How they had built their empire on blood and betrayal.
But then he went further.
His next words sent shockwaves through the crowd.
“Bianca and Leonardo weren’t just partners in crime,” Luciano said, his voice dripping with disgust.
“They were lovers.”
A stunned silence fell over the courtyard.
And then—gasps.
Alessandra staggered back, clutching Isabella’s arm for support.
Angelina—Leonardo’s wife—froze. Her entire body stiffened as if she had been stabbed.
Braxton, her son, was quick to hold her up before she collapsed completely, but her eyes remained wide in horror, disbelief washing over her like a tidal wave.
Leonardo—her husband, the father of her children—had betrayed her in the worst way possible.
But Luciano wasn’t done.
“And yet,” he continued,
“even while she betrayed her family, even while she plotted against us all—Leonardo wasn’t even loyal to her.”
Bianca flinched.
But Luciano smirked cruelly.
“He was sleeping with Elena, too.”
A shudder ran through the gathered crowd.
Everyone was in absolute shock.
Angelina broke.
A ragged sob escaped her lips, her body collapsing against Braxton’s as her son held her close.
Rose, still standing frozen, shook her head in disbelief.
Adeline could see it in her eyes—the moment her father fell from the pedestal she had once placed him on.
Bianca clenched her fists.
She looked at Leonardo, her expression twisted with rage, betrayal, and bitter humiliation.
But Luciano wasn’t done yet.
“Tonight,” he declared, his voice ringing through the air,
“everyone here will see exactly what happens when you betray me.”
Silence fell.
The weight of those words settled like a noose around every neck.
Adeline’s breath hitched.
She knew.
Luciano had already decided Leonardo’s fate.
And he wasn’t going to make it quick.
Leonardo—bleeding, broken, humiliated—finally raised his head.
His lips curled into a bloodied smirk.
“Do it, then,” he rasped.
“Show them.”
Luciano tilted his head, eyes glinting like a predator playing with its prey.
“Oh, I will.”
And then—he raised his gun.