Chapter 57 The Dance of Daggers
Alessia's father crossed the ballroom like a king in his castle, smiling at the crowd of guests watching.
"Alessia, my beautiful daughter," he said loudly, pulling her in for a hug that makes them look like a perfect father and daughter. His expensive cologne filled her nostrils. The same scent from the night her mother died. "And Liam, my new son. Welcome to our home."
Alessia forced a smile that will make an outsider thinks she's a dutiful daughter. "Thank you for inviting us, Papa."
"Of course! This is your home. It will always be your home." His gazed at the emerald necklace at her throat, and something satisfying crossed his face. "Come, I have people you must meet."
He took them into the ballroom, one hand on Alessia's back, introducing them to corrupt politicians, judges and business leaders.
"Senator Morrison, you remember my daughter Alessia? And this is her husband, Liam O'Sullivan."
The senator's smile was oily. "Congratulations on your marriage. A beautiful union of two great families."
"Indeed," Don Scarpetti agreed. "The future of our organizations, working together. As it should be."
While Liam played the polite, reserved and respectful son-in-law perfectly. But Alessia could feel the tension in his body, the way his eyes constantly scanned the room, marking exits, identifying threats.
They continued accepting congratulations, making small talk, while Alessia's internal clock ticked down.
8:47 PM.
Thirteen minutes until her father's ritual first scotch in the library, the security shift change and everything changed forever.
She caught sight of Valeria watching and calculating from the library entrance with her guards scattered among the crowd.
Waiting to see if she would deliver.
Near the service entrance, Alessia saw Siobhan, dressed as a caterer among the staff unnoticed. She caught Alessia's eye for just a second, gave the slightest nod.
In position.
Liam's men would be entering the tunnels now, moving to the basement and getting into place.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
But why did Alessia's skin prickle with warning?
Why had Maria shaken her head?
"Darling, you seem tense," her father said, appearing suddenly with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her, kept one for himself. "Drink, celebrate is a happy occasion."
Alessia took the glass but didn't drink. "Just overwhelmed, Papa. It's been a long time since I've been home."
"Too long." His voice dropped, sounding more intimate and dangerous. "You know, I was hurt when you ran. When you chose to side with your husband's family over your own blood."
"I didn't choose sides, Papa. I was trying to survive."
"Survival." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Yes, you've always been good at that. Just like your mother."
The mention of her mother made Alessia's hand griped the champagne glass.
"I miss her," Alessia said carefully. "Every day."
"As do I." Her father's eyes were unreadable. "She was beautiful, intelligentand maybe trong-willed." He paused.
The word hung in the air between them.
Alessia met his gaze steadily. "Yes. Perhaps."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other—father and daughter, killer and avenger, two people who understood exactly what the other was.
Then her father smiled and raised his glass.
"To family," he said loudly, drawing the attention of nearby guests. "To loyalty.and blood."
Alessia raised her glass but still didn't drink.
Neither did he.
8:53 PM.
Seven minutes.
"I should find Liam," Alessia said. "Make sure he's comfortable."
"Of course. But before you go—" Her father reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a small velvet box. "A gift for my daughter on this special occasion."
Alessia's stomach dropped.
She didn't want to take it or open it. Because gifts from her father always came with strings attached.
But refusing would raise suspicion.
She opened the box slowly.
Inside was a gold ring with a tracking device in the band looking almost invisible to notice.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Her father took her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger before she could object. "I had it specially made for you.to know where you are and protect you incase of danger.
"Thank you, Papa." She forced warmth into her voice. "It's lovely."
"Wear it always." It wasn't a request.
He kissed her forehead—a gesture that might have looked affectionate to observers but felt like a brand.
Then he moved to the crowd, leaving Alessia standing there with a tracker on her finger.
" He knows something," she realized with growing dread. "He's preparing for something."
She found Liam near the bar with a whiskey he hadn't touched.
"We have a problem," she said quietly, positioning herself close to him so no one could hear.
"What kind of problem?"
"My father just gave me this." She showed him the ring. "Tracker. And he's acting... off."
Liam's jaw clenched. "You think he knows about tonight?"
"I don't know. But something's wrong." She thought of Maria's warning, Valeria's smile and her father's strange toast. "Maybe we should call it off. Find another way—"
"There is no other way." Liam's voice was low but fierce. "Siobhan is already in position. My men are in the tunnels. Valeria is watching. If we back out now, we lose everything. The debt comes due. They take my sister and kill us all."
He was right. They were past the point of no return.
"Okay." Alessia took a breath, steadying herself. "We proceed as planned.
8:58 PM.
Two minutes until her father's library visit.
The crystal chandelier suddenly dimmed.
A spotlight shined on the small raised platform at the end of the ballroom where a microphone stood.
Don Salvatore Scarpetti stepped onto the platform, champagne glass in hand, his smile wide and terrible.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice booming through the sudden silence. "Thank you all for being here tonight. For celebrating this milestone with me and my family."
Polite applause.
Alessia's hand drifted toward her thigh, toward the weapon hidden there.
Something was very wrong.
"Sixty years," her father continued. "Sixty years on this earth. Forty of those building an empire. Creating something that will last long after I'm gone." He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the room. "But empires are fragile things. They require loyalty and trust.
Liam had moved closer to Alessia, his body tense.
"My father taught me that family is everything," Don Scarpetti went on. "That blood is the only bond that truly matters. That you protect your own, no matter the cost." His eyes found Alessia in the crowd. "Isn't that right, daughter?"
Alessia's throat was dry. "Yes, Papa."
"And yet—" His voice hardened. "—even family can betray. Even those we love most can become our enemies, plot against us and can destroy everything we've built."
The room had gone completely silent now.
Everyone watching and waiting.
"To family," Don Scarpetti raised his glass high. "To those present tonight, celebrating with open hearts." He paused, his smile turning cruel. "And to those we've lost. Those who chose betrayal over loyalty. Secrets over truth."
Alessia's hand closed around the pearl handle of her pistol through the silk of her dress.
Now, something inside her screamed. Do it now before whatever he's planned...
But her father's next words froze her in place.
"And to secrets," he said, his gazed on Alessia's face, "which always surface eventually."
He made a sharp gesture.
"Bring him in."
The ballroom doors burst open.
Four guards entered, dragging someone between them.
A bloodied, beaten and barely conscious.man.
They dragged him to the center of the room and threw him down onto the marble floor with a sickening thud.
Alessia's heart stopped.
Because she recognized him.
Dr. Emil Petrov.
The black-market surgeon who'd operated on Liam. Who'd saved his life when the hospitals were too dangerous, when going to any legitimate facility would have meant arrest.
The surgeon whose information was supposed to be secure, protected and untraceable.
"This man," Don Scarpetti announced, rounding the broken figure on the floor like a predator, "was found in a warehouse in Queens three days ago. Operating an illegal medical facility, treating criminals and asking no questions."
He kicked the surgeon casually, prompting a groan of pain.
"At first, we thought he was just another back-alley doctor. Selling his services to the highest bidder. Nothing interesting." Don Scarpetti's voice was casual, conversational. "But then we asked him about his recent patients. About who he'd treated. What procedures he'd performed."
Alessia couldn't breathe.
Couldn't move.
No. No, no, no—
"And he told us," her father continued, his eyes glittering with malice, "about a very interesting case. An Irish man with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Accompanied by a beautiful woman who paid in cash and asked for complete discretion."
Liam's hand found Alessia's, squeezing once.
Don't react. Don't give him anything.
"The man described," Don Scarpetti said, gesturing to Liam, "was my dear son-in-law. Liam O'Sullivan. Who, according to public records and police reports, was recovering from injuries sustained in an explosion at a dockside warehouse. An explosion that killed several people and was under active investigation."
He let that sink in.
"But here's what's interesting," he continued. "If Liam O'Sullivan was injured in that explosion and was being treated for those injuries at a legitimate hospital under police protection, why would he need a black-market surgeon? Why the secrecy? Why the cash payments?"
The room was deathly silent now.
Every eye on Alessia and Liam.
"Unless," Don Scarpetti said softly, dangerously, "the official story was a lie. Unless my daughter and her husband were hiding. Running. Plotting something they didn't want the authorities or their families to know about."
He turned to face them directly.
"So I'll ask you plainly, Alessia, my beloved daughter: What are you doing here tonight? Did you come to celebrate your father's birthday?" He smiled. "Or did you come to kill me?"
The question hung in the air.
Alessia felt the weight of every eye in the room.
Felt Valeria's predatory attention and Liam's hand tightening on hers.
Felt the pistol against her thigh, suddenly heavy as lead.
Somehow, her father knew.
And he'd just turned her assassination attempt into a public execution.
The only question now was: whose?