A Hitch In The Plan
Enzo balanced the silver tray on one hand like he was born for this job. It was his fourth round of drinks that night, and his back was killing him from pretending to be invisible.
“Last one,” he muttered under his breath as he bent toward a pale man with too many rings and not enough chin. “Champagne, sir?”
The man plucked a glass without looking at him. Enzo smiled like a good little servant, then turned and walked away, slipping between velvet-draped tables until he was in the shadow of a marble column.
He set the tray down on a sideboard.
“Showtime.”
His sharp eyes swept the room. There—two Golden Serpents, dressed the same as him, white shirts and black vests, carrying empty trays like good little waiters.
Enzo strolled casually toward them, weaving past laughing elites who’d kill him without hesitation if they knew who he really was.
He stopped in front of his men, his face a mask of calm professionalism. “Follow me,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “Keep a distance.”
They nodded.
Enzo didn’t wait.
He cut toward the staff exit, the one he’d been watching the attendants use after every winning bid. Two masked servants disappeared down a side hall carrying something encased in glass—the Fabergé egg. He trailed them silently, his steps light, his head slightly bowed like he belonged there.
They led him deeper into the West Wing, away from the chatter and the music. The air changed here. It was much colder and quieter, like stepping into the bones of the mansion.
He stopped at the corner of a long hallway and leaned slightly, peeking.
There it was.
A steel door built into the wall, the kind that said “nothing in here is legal.” Two La Rosa Nera soldiers flanked it, big men in deep red suits with black rose pins on their lapels. Submachine guns slung across their chests. Keycards clipped at their belts.
Enzo watched as the servants unloaded the auction items onto a cart. One by one, each glass case—crown, egg, dagger—was scanned in by the guards and wheeled inside.
Then came the case.
Even from here, Enzo recognized the glow of those rubies.
Rosalia Greco’s necklace.
His jaw tightened.
He stayed still, counting heartbeats. As soon as the staff left, the door shut with a hiss and a heavy click.
Now it was just the two guards.
Enzo slid back against the wall and turned to his men. They’d been shadowing him quietly, waiting for instructions.
He jerked his chin toward the guards. “I’m going to distract them,” he whispered. “You two wait until I’ve got their attention, then move in. Fast and quiet. No screw-ups.”
They nodded in unison.
Enzo flexed his fingers, cracked his neck, then smoothed down his vest.
“Time to play lost little waiter.”
He casually walked into the hallway, hands clasped in front of him.
“Stop.” One of the guards barked, his accent thick, his hand already drifting toward his weapon. “You’re not allowed to be in this wing. Turn around.”
Enzo stopped, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Hey, easy. I’m just looking for a bathroom.”
“This area is off-limits,” the second guard snapped.
“Yeah, no shit,” Enzo said with a sheepish grin. “But unless you want me pissing in this hallway, maybe you can point me in the right direction? Please?”
He stepped closer.
“Back up.” The first guard’s voice sharpened.
Enzo tilted his head, all fake politeness. “C’mon man, help a guy out.”
The guards exchanged a look. One sighed and gestured vaguely down the hall. “Second left. Now get—”
Enzo’s fist connected with his nose before the sentence finished.
The man’s head snapped back, blood spraying as he stumbled into the wall with a strangled cry.
The second guard’s hand went for his weapon but Enzo’s men were already on him, sprinting down the hall and slamming into him like linebackers. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
Enzo didn’t give the first guard a chance to recover. He kicked the gun from his hand, then straddled his chest, slamming his head into the floor. One, twice, three times until his blood stained the floor.
The man thrashed under him, his hands clawing at Enzo’s vest, but Enzo locked his fingers around his throat and squeezed tight until the man’s face went purple. His kicks weakened. His breathing slowed, then stopped.
Enzo exhaled, his heart beating fast from the adrenaline.
He rolled off the corpse and stood, wiping his hands on his vest like they were just dirty from kitchen work. He plucked the keycard from the guard’s belt.
Behind him, his men were breathing heavy but alive, standing over the crumpled body of the second soldier.
Enzo raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Not bad.”
One of them grinned nervously. “You didn’t have to strangle him.”
Enzo shrugged. “Better than listening to him scream.”
He walked to the steel door, swiped the card, and heard the satisfying beep and click as the lock disengaged.
Meanwhile, Adriano was doing what he hated the most.
Smiling at people he wanted to kill.
“Dominic Valente,” a man in a white dinner jacket purred, swirling his whiskey like it was a holy relic. “Three hundred million… quite the splash for someone we’ve never seen at a Veil function before.”
Adriano smirked. “What can I say? I’ve attended these things a few times already.”
An elegant older woman in diamonds leaned forward, her interest piqued. “And yet you managed to stay off everyone’s radar until tonight. Quite a feat. People usually have to bleed for their place at this table.”
Adriano’s smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes it’s easier to walk through the front door when everyone’s too busy watching the back.”
The table chuckled softly at that, but the woman’s gaze sharpened.
Alessandro stepped in smoothly, his voice light but with that subtle edge of authority that demanded attention. “Dominic prefers results over introductions. Networking bores him.”
“Oh? And what do you do, Mr…?” she tilted her head, inviting him to finish.
“Fortier. Elias Fortier,” Alessandro replied easily. “Logistics. I solve expensive problems for people with expensive tastes.”
Another man with a tattoos peeking out of his collar raised a brow. “And you two are… partners? Business or otherwise?”
Adriano let out a low laugh. “Does it matter? Either way, we make money together.”
The group laughed again, but the first man wasn’t done probing. “Still… this Veil runs on reputation, Mr. Valente. No one rises here without someone vouching for them. So tell us—who brought you in?”
Adriano leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine like he had all the time in the world. “Let’s just say… someone who isn’t in the habit of sharing their toys.”
The man frowned slightly at the cryptic answer, but Alessandro smoothly cut in before the silence turned awkward. “In any case, Dominic doesn’t make friends easily… but when he does, it tends to pay off for everyone involved.”
A few of the elites chuckled at that. The tension eased—just slightly.
Adriano gave a lazy, charming grin. “And isn’t that what this whole little family is about? Making sure we all walk out richer than we walked in?”
That got a louder laugh. They ate it up.
Adriano’s jaw ached from smiling. He couldn’t wait to be out of this circus.
Then his earpiece crackled.
“Hey boss,” Enzo’s voice came through, low and steady. “The necklace is in my possession. I’m moving out through the servers’ entrance as we speak.”
Adriano’s lips twitched into a rare, real smile. He glanced at Alessandro.
Alessandro smirked back.
“Mission accomplished, ragazzi!” Gabriele’s voice shouted through the comms. “Please get the hell out of there before anyone notices the necklace is gone.”
Adriano raised his glass in a mock toast to the guests. “Gentlemen, ladies—it’s been a pleasure, but business calls.”
“Oh, so soon?” one of them pouted.
“Duty never sleeps,” Alessandro said with a charming bow.
They turned to leave, cutting through the crowd toward the exit.
Then Adriano stopped all of a sudden.
Alessandro’s face scrunched into a frown from almost walking into him. “What?”
Adriano’s voice dropped, cold and sharp.
“Wait…,” he said, his brows slowly knitting together.
“Where’s Diamond?”