Chapter 30 Chapter 30

Chapter 30 Chapter 30
“The next time I go to Genoa, maybe Nicolai will take me by the hand and show me how to really lead your men.” That was the spark that set off the powder keg. Vito jumped to his feet. His chair crashed backward onto the hardwood floor. The silver knife in his hand flashed in the light of the chandelier as he lunged across the table to slit Alessandro’s throat. “You filthy bastard—!” “VITO! SIT DOWN!” my father’s voice thundered through the room. The sheer authority of the Godfather made the very air in the room freeze. My mother flinched. Vito froze mid-motion, the blade just centimeters from Alessandro’s face. Alessandro didn’t even blink. He just looked at Vito with his icy, gray eyes, as if he were an annoying fly about to be squashed. My father slowly stood up. His posture was upright, rigid as iron, but in the dim light I saw the slight tremor in his hands, which he was trying so hard to hide. The disease was eating him up from the inside, but tonight he was still the master of this villa. He saw the blood on Alessandro’s temple, he saw Vito’s uncontrollable, toxic jealousy, and he knew that this alliance would end in ruins if the two men spent even one more minute in the same room. He turned his head and fixed me with his hard gaze. “Nicolai,” he said, and his voice was as cold and cutting as a verdict. “Take your husband. Pack your things. And go home. Now.” I felt my jaw clench. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted the file; I wanted answers. But as I smoothed out my jacket, I felt the heavy, familiar paper of the secret folder I’d hidden under my shirt in the study. It lay safely against my chest. That was enough for today. “As you wish, Father,” I replied in a voice so numb and empty that it almost made the room shiver. I stood up, smoothed out my black shirt, and looked down at Alessandro. “Come on, De Luca. Let’s go.” Alessandro gave a wry smile, wiped the last bit of wine from his lips with his napkin, and rose with a lascivious, elegant slowness. He buttoned his jacket and bowed his head politely to my mother. “It was a pleasure, Signora De Laurentiis. The cake was delicious.” As we turned and walked toward the large double doors, I risked one last glance over my shoulder. My father, Rafaele, was striding toward Vito with slow, relentless steps. He grabbed my cousin so tightly by the forearm that Vito’s muscles bulged, and yanked him roughly around. “You’re coming with me to the study now, Enforcer,” my father whispered with an eerie, dark harshness. “And you’re going to explain to me why you act like a dog in heat whenever your cousin’s husband enters the room.” Vito’s good eye fixed on me one last time across the room—full of pain, full of hatred, and a silent, desperate plea that I had to ignore. Then the heavy wooden door of the parlor closed behind us. We stepped out into the cool, rainy night air. Sebastian was already waiting by the SUV, the driver’s door open, his face carved from stone. When he saw me approaching in my black shirt and with that murderous aura, he gave me a barely perceptible nod. He kept his promise. Tomorrow, he would be my right-hand man at the De Luca house. I got into the back seat, leaned my head back against the leather, and closed my eyes. Alessandro slid in right next to me, closed the door, and at that very moment, the heat of his body surged through the car’s confined space once more. “That was an impressive exit, mio sposo,” he whispered into the darkness of the car as Sebastian revved the engine and we rolled down the long driveway. I felt his gaze on my profile. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the silver lighter, and lit a cigarette. The brief flash of the flame illuminated his face and the dangerous, hungry grin on his lips. “You blackmailed your father, you ripped your cousin’s heart out, and you’ve hidden a file under your shirt that I’m not supposed to know about. Tell me, Nicolai… is the honeymoon just really getting started now?” I opened my eyes, slowly turned my head toward him, and stared at the phantom in the dim light of the streetlamps. My hand slid under my jacket, brushed over the cold paper of the folder, and anchored me in my new, murderous resolve. “It won’t start until you’ve learned to sleep with your eyes open, De Luca,” I whispered, my voice as cold as ice.

Vito's POV

The heavy oak door to the study slammed shut behind us, and the dull click of the bolt sounded in my ears like the closing of a coffin. I yanked my forearm free from my uncle’s grip with a violent movement. My jacket had slipped out of place, my knuckles were burning, and the hot blood from my broken nose ran unchecked over my lips. I didn’t wipe it away. The physical pain was nothing compared to the murderous rage that was literally devouring my insides. “Have you completely lost your mind, Vito?!” Rafaele’s voice thundered through the room. He didn’t often shout, but when he did, the walls of this villa shook. He spun around, stepping so close to me that I could hear the unhealthy, feverish wheezing in his chest. His eyes glared at me with rage. “You’re pulling a knife? At the dinner table? In front of Alessandro De Luca?! One wrong cut, and the war with Viktor would have started before dessert!” “He provoked him!” I roared back, my voice nearly breaking with rage. I pointed a trembling finger at the closed door. “He’s humiliated this whole house! He groped Nicolai like some cheap trophy right in front of your eyes! Didn’t you see that, Uncle?! He’s marking his territory in our living room! And you… you’re forcing Nico to get in a car with that bastard and go back to his bed!” Rafaele paid no heed to my words. Instead, he strode with slow, relentless steps toward the small dark-wood bar. His movements were stiff, marked by a leaden exhaustion that he had so painstakingly concealed from the De Lucas family. He poured himself a generous swig of Old Forester whiskey, drained the glass in a single gulp, and slammed it down on the counter so hard that the crystal glass shattered. “I sent Nicolai away to save his life, you reckless idiot!” Rafaele whispered, and the coldness in his voice made the blood in my veins freeze. He slowly turned toward me. A dried spatter of my own blood from the beating I’d received before dinner still clung to his cheek. “Do you really think I don’t see what’s going on here? Do you think I didn’t hear the noises from upstairs?” I faltered, my jaw clenching. “Nicolai staged the Yvette thing to humiliate Alessandro,” my uncle continued coldly, stepping toward me again. “And Alessandro ripped his shirt off in the hallway in retaliation. They’re waging a secret war, Vito. Two predators in a damn cage. And if you interfere one more time, if you spew your uncontrolled, jealous rage at this table one more time… then Alessandro will eliminate you first. And I won’t be able to stop him.” “I’m not afraid of the Phantom!”,“ I growled, clenching my fists so tightly in my pockets that the scabbed wounds on my knuckles split open again. ”He’s holding Nico captive! He’s using that slave contract to make him obedient! He’s going to break him, Uncle! If he hasn’t already!” “Alessandro isn’t breaking him,” Rafaele replied quietly, and an eerie, almost proud gleam flashed in the old man’s eyes for a brief moment. He stepped right in front of me, grabbed me by the lapel of my jacket, and forced me to look him in the eyes. “Nicolai woke up in that office again this morning. He laid down conditions for me, Vito. He demanded Sebastian as his right-hand man. He demanded the files on the attack on Selena. My son is back in the game. He’s not going back to that house as a victim—he’s going back as an infiltrator.” The words hit me like a punch in the gut. Nicolai laid down conditions? He has the files?