Defying The Don
The word “No” lingered in the air like a gunshot in a cathedral.
A heavy and defeaning silence gripped the line.
Then, suddenly—A low chuckle came from the other side. Followed by full-on laughter. Cold and mocking.
Adriano frowned, confused. He’d expected shouting. Threats. Rage. But not this.
"Adriano..." Don Raffaele said in Italian, still chuckling, "Quando sei diventato così divertente?" (Adriano... When did you become so funny?)
Then, switching to English, his voice hardened. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, ragazzo. I’m not giving you a fucking choice. I want you back home. That’s an order!”
Adriano gritted his teeth. His fingers curled tightly around the phone.
“No,” he said again, firmer.
A pause. “What?”
“I wasn’t joking before, and I’m not joking now,” Adriano growled, louder this time, his tone sharp and unwavering. “I—SAID—NO!”
The silence that followed was thick with disbelief.
“You insolent little figlio di puttana!” Don Raffaele barked. “You dare disrespect me? ME?! After everything I’ve done for you—after all the times I saved your worthless ass!”
Adriano stayed still, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with quiet fury.
“I gave you life, and I can take it back! You want to play king of the fucking sandbox? You want to pretend you’re in charge now? Fine! But know this—I will come over there and drag your ass back to Italy if I have to!”
“Fine!” Adriano snapped. “Do your worst. But I’m not coming back to Italy.”
Alessandro’s smug grin faded almost instantly. Diamond’s eyes widened as she looked at Adriano. Luca, Serena, and Marco exchanged loaded glances.
The phone erupted—Don Raffaele screaming now, his fury spilling out in a torrent of Italian and English obscenities. “You fucking ungrateful bitch! I should have killed you the moment—”
Adriano calmly pulled the phone from his ear and tossed it at Alessandro who caught it before it could fall.
Slowly. Steadily. Like a storm rising.
Adriano took a look at Alessandro's men before his gaze locked on Alessandro himself, cold and fearless. “Gentlemen, this was nice. But your stay is overdue. Kindly get the fuck out of my establishment… or I’ll make you.”
Alessandro leaned back, smug again, crossing his legs leisurely. “I’m not moving an inch unless you follow Dad’s orders.”
Adriano’s voice dropped into something lethal. “I am not doing whatever the old man says. Not anymore. So GET—THE FUCK—OUT!”
Alessandro plopped his boots on the glass table. “No.”
Adriano’s eyes darkened, lips curling slightly. “This is the last time I’m saying it. Leave… or I’ll have my men drag you out—and it’ll be in a body bag.”
Alessandro stood abruptly, the table shaking under his motion. He stepped in close—nose to nose with Adriano. His breath was warm and reeking of cigar smoke.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
And then—Alessandro swung.
But Adriano was faster. He caught his brother’s fist mid-air, gripping it tight like a vice.
Instantly, chaos erupted.
From the corners of the VIP lounge and the upper staircases, Adriano’s men pulled their weapons. Pistols cocked. Safeties off. Trained and ready.
Alessandro’s men followed suit, immediately drawing their guns in retaliation.
The club froze. Patrons ducked behind couches. Women screamed. The air turned electric with fear and tension.
But Adriano didn’t flinch. Neither did Alessandro. Their eyes locked. Alpha to Alpha. Predator to Predator.
Then slowly, Alessandro lowered his arm.
“Stand down,” he ordered his men.
They obeyed.
Adriano raised one hand, and his soldiers slowly dropped their weapons too, though some kept a finger near the trigger.
Alessandro dusted his shoulder, then gave a wry grin. He gently patted Adriano’s cheek twice. “You know what? I’m actually proud of you, fratellino. You’ve finally grown some balls.”
He stepped back.
“But let’s see how long this little rebellion lasts when you choose to go against your family.”
He turned, just before exiting, and met Diamond’s eyes. His voice dipped. Cold. Deliberate.
“And you.” He pointed at her. “We still have unfinished business.”
Then he was gone. His men followed in silence.
Adriano stood still for a moment, staring at where Alessandro had stood, then released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He turned around.
Diamond was still watching him. Their eyes met.
She gave him a small, proud smile.
Adriano’s lips tugged up in response.
Luca was the first to speak. “You really told the Don to go fuck himself.” He whistled. “That’s a new kind of crazy—even for you.”
“Yeah,” Serena muttered. “You just made yourself enemy number one.”
Marco chuckled, shaking his head. “We’re all probably going on his hit list now. You better put hazard pay on our next envelopes, boss.”
Adriano laughed, running a hand through his hair. “When that day comes, I’ll handle it.”
Then, without missing a beat, he turned to the shaken VIP guests still clutching their drinks under tables and behind booths.
“Apologies for the disturbance, my friends. I promise it won't happen again.” He spread his arms wide with a smile. “Your drinks are on the house tonight. Anything broken will be replaced. And if you tell this story tomorrow, make sure you say I won the standoff.”
The laughter slowly returned to the club. Murmurs, nervous chuckles, cautious clinks of glass. But the show resumed.
—
Alessandro climbed into the back seat of his blacked-out Porsche. The doors shut with a thud. The convoy pulled out from House of Lust and slid into the city night.
He leaned his elbow against the door, rubbing his temple with his fingers.
"Why do you always have to make things so fucking difficult, you idiot," he muttered under his breath.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen and groaned. “What is it now?”
Caller ID: Padré
He swiped to answer.
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
Don Raffaele’s voice exploded through the speaker. “He dares defy me?! That little shit! I should’ve strangled him in his crib when I had the chance—!”
“Dad,” Alessandro interrupted, voice tight. “He’s not going to listen.”
“He will. He will listen.” Don Raffaele spat the words like venom. “And if he doesn’t—you will make him listen. I want you to teach him a fucking lesson.”
Alessandro was quiet for a second. “What about Italy? You said—”
“Just do what I told you,” Don Raffaele snapped. “I’ll have that handled.”