Chapter 26

Chapter 26
Chapter 26 – Mafia’s Hidden Heir

Santino Romano

The grand hall of Dimitri’s opulent estate is buzzing with wealth, power, and underlying tension. Crystal chandeliers spill golden light over marble floors, illuminating the sharp suits, glittering gowns, and masked motives.

I remain near the edge of the ballroom, observing with practiced disinterest as the elite of Italy’s underworld mingle. The scent of cigars mixes with fine perfume, and laughter disguises intentions that are anything but innocent.

Dimitri—a name that carried weight even when I was away—is now an ally of convenience. He’s playing host tonight, smooth and sociable. But beneath the tailored suit and toothy grin lies a man infamous for smuggling narcotics through Mediterranean shipping routes. I know the type. I’ve dealt with worse.

Three years away, and the criminal landscape has shifted. But I didn’t return to play catch-up—I came back to dominate.

My men are stationed discreetly throughout the estate, and Dimitri’s own security shadows the edges of the room. If tonight turns sour, I won’t be caught off guard. Not again.

Dimitri approaches, flashing the kind of smile meant to disarm. “Santino, at last. It’s good to meet face-to-face.” He offers his hand.

I pause just long enough to remind him who has the power, then clasp it briefly. “Dimitri. The pleasure’s mine. It’s a lovely affair.” My glass is nearly empty, but I don’t drink to relax. Not anymore. “Wine? Or would you prefer something stronger?”

His wrinkled skin stretches beneath the soft lighting. An axe tattoo peeks above his collar. Age hasn’t softened him—only polished the blade.

“Let’s skip the drinks,” he chuckles, waving a manicured hand. “I wanted you to meet my eldest—Rosanna.”

She steps forward, red hair cascading in soft waves over a crimson dress that clings to her every curve. Her emerald eyes flick over me like I’m a puzzle she’s dying to solve.

I take her hand and kiss it briefly. “Rosanna, the pleasure is mine.”

Her smile is sharp. “I’ve heard plenty about you, Signor Romano.”

“I hope most of it’s true.” I release her hand and look to Dimitri. “Shall we get to business?”

Dimitri laughs, gesturing for Rosanna to excuse herself. Her hips sway as she disappears into the crowd. I exhale quietly. She’s dangerous. And I don’t need distractions.

“Come,” he says, steering me toward a quieter corner. Before we reach it, a stout man with too much cologne intercepts him.

“Dimitri! Been hunting you down all night!” The stranger engulfs him in a bear hug.

Dimitri grins. “Alexandro! It’s been too long.”

“Give me a minute, Santino,” he says before vanishing into the crowd.

I remain where I am, swirling the remnants of red wine in my glass as I survey the room with a cold, detached gaze.

That’s when Ryker leans in behind me.

“The shipment,” he whispers, barely audible over the ambient music, “it was hit. Taken by an unknown crew.”

My glass shatters in my grip.

Eyes turn. Conversations falter.

I don’t flinch.

I set the broken stem aside and mutter, “Walk.”

We slip away into a shadowed corridor. The laughter and violin strings fade behind us.

Once we’re alone, I pivot sharply. “What do you mean hit? Who was behind it?”

“We don’t know. It’s the third attack this month.”

My jaw clenches. “Third?”

Ryker hesitates. “I didn’t want to worry you… I thought we’d recover the shipments quietly. But this one—this was coordinated.”

“You’ve known our product’s been disappearing and didn’t think I deserved to know?” My tone drops to lethal.

Ryker pales, inching back.

I grip his collar and slam him into the wall. “We’re bleeding, and you kept it from me?”

Before I can do more damage, two guests stroll around the corner, chatting and laughing—clueless.

I school my features into a pleasant smile and release Ryker. He gasps for air, still trembling.

“We’ll finish this later,” I say under my breath. “And if I don’t get names soon… I’ll start breaking fingers until someone remembers.”

Once the guests pass, I step away, straightening my jacket as if nothing happened. Ryker stays behind, shaken.

I move through the ballroom like a ghost, ignoring the false grins and forced toasts. My men flank me silently. As we exit through the front, Dimitri’s voice trails after me.

“Santino! Wait. What’s happening?”

One of my guards steps in his path. “I’m afraid this doesn’t concern you, Don Dimitri.”

But I raise a hand. “Let him through.”

Dimitri joins me at the car, tension in his face. The driver closes the door behind him as he settles into the seat.

“Trouble?” he asks, placing his hands calmly on his knees.

“Nothing I can’t fix.”

He studies me carefully.

“We haven’t discussed terms yet,” I say, voice low.

He raises a brow. “You want my supply?”

“I want the best. Yours is top-tier—unlike the diluted garbage the Lo Russo family’s pushing. I want your next shipment.”

“That’ll be expensive,” he replies, lips curling.

“I didn’t return to Italy to cut corners. I need a full ton.”

He blinks. “That’s not a small order. Are you rebuilding… or declaring war?”

“Both.”

He leans back, calculating. “The product comes from my Bolivian contacts. It’s clean. Powerful. But a ton… that’ll take time.”

“You’re resourceful. You’ll manage.”

He chuckles under his breath. “You’re more like Don Antonio than I expected.”

“Let’s hope that works in your favor.”

We shake—his palm rough, mine steady.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, climbing out of the vehicle.

I don’t watch him leave. As the car pulls away from the estate, I signal for my men to follow. One car tails Dimitri’s.

I trust no one—not anymore.

We drive straight to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Palermo. Our makeshift HQ. The place is surrounded—cars in a loose semicircle, headlights casting hard light over cracked concrete.

I step into the center, cigar between my lips, smoke curling into the humid night air.

Ryker joins me again. His face still hasn’t regained color.

I speak without looking at him. “Who’s behind it?”

Silence answers me.

Not a single soul speaks.

I inhale deep. The embers of my cigar burn hot.

They want me to ask again. I won’t.

They’ll talk when they realize silence is more painful than truth.