Chapter 67
The air in the restaurant felt like frozen glass, ready to shatter at the smallest crack.
Over twenty guns gleamed with a cold, hard shine under the dim yellow light, their barrels pointed at each other, every finger pressed tight against a trigger.
Costa's face was ashen as he repeated himself, "Put the guns down! This is what we agreed on!"
But no one listened.
In this moment of power vacuum, everyone was waiting for the first shot to be fired.
Until Vitale slowly raised his right hand.
No words, no orders, just a simple gesture.
Thumb and index finger pinched together, the other three fingers extended.
It was the highest command of the Luca family.
Ceasefire.
Miraculously, one by one, the guns were lowered.
The sound of metal scraping against metal pierced the silence, but eventually, everyone put away their weapons and sat back down.
Victor let out a whistle, breaking the tension, "Damn, looks like everyone's still willing to listen to someone with real power."
Costa forced an ugly smile, "Yeah, that's why I wanted to work with you."
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a napkin, "I'll hand over all the money and pay whatever price I owe. But I think we should deal with our common enemy first."
Vitale sat back down, looking as relaxed as if he were in his own living room.
He even took a fresh glass of whiskey from a waiter's tray.
It was the first time he'd touched alcohol tonight.
"Speak," he said, "Where's the traitor you found?"
"It's not just one person," Costa leaned forward, "It's a whole network of traitors, mostly no-name punks bought off to impersonate our guys."
He pulled a stack of photos from his suit pocket and tossed them onto the table, "They've been selling cheap drugs, watered-down booze, even fake weapons, and pinning the blame on us to stir up trouble."
The photos slid across the polished tabletop.
Vitale glanced at them—mostly blurry images of street fights, nothing special.
Until Costa said his next line.
"By the way, Vitale, you've heard of The Reaper, right? After all, your father was taken by The Reaper."
Time seemed to freeze.
Victor whipped his head toward Vitale.
Vitale sat rigid, his whiskey glass suspended mid-air, the amber liquid trembling slightly under the light.
For the first time, a crack appeared on his usually calm, almost cold face.
His jaw tightened, and a dark storm brewed in his blue eyes.
Costa clearly enjoyed Vitale's reaction, a smug smirk curling on his lips, "I like seeing this side of you. Finally, some humanity. I thought you'd forgotten what that feels like. Good to know you haven't."
"Where are they?" Vitale's voice was low, but each word felt like it was carved from ice, carrying a biting chill.
"You'll have to ask Simon," Costa gestured to his son to step forward, "My boy's sharp. Always full of surprises. His undercover guy found out that The Reaper was hired by the Valeria Mafia to handle problem people. You know how those guys are—they'll do anything."
Vitale didn't want to hear any more nonsense.
He shot to his feet, moving so fast it was hard to follow.
In one stride, he stepped onto the long table, his expensive leather shoes crunching over the photos. Before Costa could react, Vitale grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up.
"Where are they?" His roar shook the crystal chandelier overhead.
Instantly, Simon and Costa's bodyguards drew their guns, cold barrels pressed against Vitale's temple.
At the same time, Victor and Vitale's guards raised their weapons, aiming at Costa and Simon.
The table turned into a standoff battlefield once again.
But Costa didn't panic.
Held by the collar, his face red from the strain, he still managed to choke out, "I'm happy to help, but you've got to do something for me first."
"Vitale!" Victor raised his voice, "Calm down! We can only negotiate if you stay cool!"
Vitale's chest heaved, his blue eyes locked on Costa.
After a few seconds, he let go. Costa stumbled back, caught by Simon.
Both sides stepped back, guns still pointed at each other, but at least not pressed against anyone's head anymore.
Vitale returned to his seat, pulling a cigar box from his pocket with eerily slow movements.
He clipped the cigar, lit it, and took a deep drag, smoke curling upward in the light.
"You're sure you've got The Reaper's people?" Vitale's voice was calm again, but that calmness was scarier than his earlier outburst.
Costa adjusted his collar and nodded, "Would I dare sit here and negotiate with you otherwise? Your guys have been hunting me down. I barely got away."
He gave a bitter smile, "If your father were still around, he wouldn't disrespect me like this."
"Too bad I'm not my father," Vitale said, blowing out a smoke ring, a cold smirk on his lips, "I'm a worse devil than he ever was. Now answer me—is this person the real killer behind Liliana's death? And my father's?"
"Yes," Costa met his gaze, "I'm certain."
Vitale smoked his cigar in silence, the smoke swirling like a ghost in the dim light.
Everyone waited for his reaction.
"What do you want from me?" he finally asked.
"Help me take back Valeria's territory," Costa's voice turned grim, "They killed my wife. I want revenge."
He glanced at Simon, "Good thing I got Simon back, or my rage would've burned half of Seraphim to ashes."
Simon handed over another folder.
Costa tossed it onto the table. As the photos slid out, a few suppressed gasps echoed in the restaurant.
The images were brutal.
Severed limbs, gouged eyes, skinned bodies, human organs neatly displayed on trays like items for sale.
The background was clearly some kind of underground operating room, stainless steel tools gleaming coldly.
"Human trafficking," Costa's voice sounded like a rusty saw, "They do it all—kidneys, hearts, corneas, even selling young girls overseas. These were taken by Simon's people."
Victor's face paled, and he turned away, unable to look.
But Vitale flipped through the photos one by one, his expression as calm as if he were reading a financial report.
Until he saw one of them.
The photo showed a young girl's body lying on a cold dissection table.
Her chest cavity was opened, the space where her heart should have been completely empty.
Even though her face was blurred out, Vitale recognized that chestnut curly hair.
It was just like Liliana's.
His hand started to tremble.
Cigar ash fell onto the photo, covering the girl's hollow chest.
Victor gripped his shoulder, "Vitale."
"I need all the information," Vitale's voice was unnervingly steady. "Every contact for your undercover guys, every Valeria Mafia hideout, every pattern of The Reaper's movements. Everything."
Costa nodded, "You'll get it all. But I want total destruction, Vitale. Not just a hit—I want them uprooted. Those animals don't deserve to live in this world."
Vitale stubbed his cigar into the ashtray, the ember hissing faintly as it died.
He looked up at Costa, hellfire burning in his blue eyes.
"Does Yuri Corleone know about this?" he asked.
That name made Costa's expression freeze.
Yuri.
The godfather of the Valeria Mafia, known for his cruelty and cunning, controlled Lumaria's darkest human organ smuggling network.
More importantly, he was Rhett's sworn enemy in life and the prime suspect in Liliana's murder.