87 Great Odds 1

87 Great Odds 1
The grand hall we entered was vast, its high ceilings and polished floors giving it a cold, impersonal atmosphere. About twenty people were scattered across the space. Among them, I immediately recognized six as heads of second-grade Mafia families. The rest were unfamiliar faces, their expressions ranging from guarded to outright hostile. As my eyes scanned the room, they locked onto two figures I knew all too well—my sons.

Randy stood tall and firm, his face set with an unyielding hardness. Marco, by contrast, looked conflicted, his brows drawn together in an expression of uncertainty. Marco had always been the gentler of the two, the one with a softer heart, while Randy had a knack for pulling him into trouble. My sons approached us, and to my surprise, they embraced their mother warmly.

Marco’s face lit up as he smiled, a rare moment of lightness in the heavy atmosphere. “I’m glad you two are together now,” he said sincerely, his voice carrying a trace of the boy I used to know. Randy shot me a quick, tight smile—more of an acknowledgment than a gesture of affection.

They both wore identical outfits: white T-shirts and blue jeans. The shirts bore the words Nuovo Ordine Clan Foreveremblazoned across the front. The sight of it stirred a pang of anger in me. The words felt like a mockery, a declaration I wanted to tear off them right there. But I managed to smile back at them, keeping my emotions tightly in check as they stepped back to rejoin the others.

I took a moment to survey the room again, noting that the only people armed were the guards outside. Inside, there was an odd sense of vulnerability. If everyone here exercised wisdom, there would be no bloodshed tonight. The fact that Johannes had agreed to this more “peaceful” approach told me he believed Karolyn—or perhaps, he felt the weight of Luca’s shadow looming nearby. Either way, it was clear my confrontation with Luca had played a role in shaping tonight’s events.

One detail caught my eye: a flag hanging prominently on one wall. It was similar to one I’d seen in Celio, bearing the name Liano Greco Pack. The sight of it stirred my curiosity, and I turned to Karolyn for an explanation.

“Who’s Liano Greco?” I asked.

She smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth curling in a way that suggested she found the question amusing. “The NuovoOrdine Clan sees itself as a pack,” she explained, her tone light, almost dismissive. “Liano Greco Wallace was my grandfather. This is supposed to be his pack.”

The way she said it, with a hint of humor, made the idea seem absurd, and perhaps it was. Kappas weren’t supposed to form packs—it was an idea that defied tradition. But as I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but marvel at how Johannes had managed to pull this off. Whatever his methods, they were as cunning as Karolyn had warned me they would be.

We were offered seats and cups of tea while we waited for Johannes to make his appearance. The air in the room was thick with tension, each person radiating their own brand of unease. As I sipped the tea, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would be pivotal, a moment that would either end in salvation or ruin.

Johannes finally arrived, striding into the hall with Diego Gallo trailing behind him like a shadow. The sight of Gallo—a delta—acting as the guard for a kappa felt like a strange reversal of roles. It was yet another reminder of how much had changed recently, how quickly power dynamics had shifted. Anything, it seemed, was possible in this chaotic new order.

As Johannes came closer, I studied him carefully. He bore a striking resemblance to Karolyn’s father. She had mentioned the eleven-year age gap between them, and now that I saw him in person, the familial resemblance was undeniable. But where her father had been a man of reason, Johannes carried an air of cold ruthlessness. His eyes were hard and unyielding, the kind of gaze that only years of clandestine killings and calculated betrayals could create. He radiated authority, but it was the kind of authority born from fear, not respect.

He walked past me without so much as a glance, his posture rigid, his movements deliberate. He went to sit on an imposing tall chair at the end of the room, its design almost throne-like. I bit back a smirk. Of course, this man wouldn’t just see himself as a leader—he saw himself as a king. The arrogance of it was almost laughable, but it wasn’t funny. His delusions ran deep, and I knew no amount of reasoning would pierce that wall. Rehabilitation was a futile dream; Johannes was far too gone.

“So, you’ve finally come to your senses,” Johannes said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who believed he was in complete control. He stared at me, and I stared right back, refusing to look away. He wanted to dominate me, to assert his authority, but I wasn’t about to let him. A bloody kappa wouldn’t get the upper hand here.

“Alphas,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head like the concept of anyone challenging him was amusing. “I must say, Theodore Alessandro, you were the last person I expected to join our cause. I suppose your son backed you into a corner.”

His words drew a ripple of laughter from some of the people in the room, and I clenched my jaw to keep my composure. Johannes leaned forward slightly, his expression smug. “Not to worry, we’ll handle that problem for you. He’s been trying to track me down for weeks now.”

As he spoke, it became clear to me that Johannes had one fatal flaw: he talked too much. He wasn’t fit to lead. Leaders understood the value of silence, of measured words, but this man let his arrogance spill out unchecked. He was more suited for theatrics than strategy.

“Can we get right to it?” I asked bluntly, cutting through his monologue. His laughter echoed again, this time sharper, like he couldn’t believe my audacity.

Before he could respond, the sharp crack of gunfire rang out, shattering the tension in the room. Chaos erupted instantly. People scrambled, chairs screeched against the floor, and a thick wave of panic swept over the hall. I reacted on instinct, pulling Karolyn close to me and shielding her with my body.

“What’s going on? Why are there shots?” Johannes barked, his voice high with alarm. He turned to Gallo, who immediately tried to link with the guards outside. Karolyn and I remained near the far wall, keeping as far from the main door as possible—the obvious epicenter of the action.

“Did you set me up?” I asked Johannes sharply, my voice carrying just enough accusation to deflect suspicion away from us. He turned to me, his face twisted in confusion, clearly trying to process the sudden turn of events.

That’s when it clicked for me. It wasn’t Johannes pulling the strings. It was Diego Gallo.

I caught the flicker of understanding in Gallo’s expression—a widening of the eyes, a momentary flash of horror. He realized he was caught in a trap, but there was no time for him to act. Everything unfolded at lightning speed. One moment, the men inside were fumbling to figure out what was happening; the next, the door burst open, and wolves flooded into the room.

At the head of the pack was Luca, his presence commanding, his face as cold and sharp as steel. The policy banning weapons inside the building had stripped the guards of their guns, leaving them defenseless against the pending onslaught. 

Johannes and his men didn’t stand a chance. It was clear from the moment Luca entered that this fight would be over swiftly. His men were prepared, relentless, and efficient. For all of Johannes’s bravado, his arrogance had left him vulnerable. The supposed “king” had been outplayed, and there was no room for redemption.

As chaos engulfed the room, people realizing the danger they were in, I held Karolyn close, my mind racing. This wasn’t just about survival—it was about ending this once and for all. Luca and his pack were making it clear: the days of Johannes and his false reign were numbered.