Chapter 57 Smoke Without Fire
Alessandro
The rumor moved faster than truth ever did.
That was how Alessandro knew it was working.
By noon, three different channels had whispered the same thing in three different ways:
De Luca secured something big.
De Luca is back in the game.
De Luca is bleeding money but buying power.
None of it was technically false.
None of it was technically true.
Alessandro stood in the war room, jacket on, tie loosened, watching the ripple effect on the screens. Phones rang. Messages came in. People who had gone silent days ago suddenly remembered how to greet him again.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
With just enough respect to be seen trying.
“Zurich called back,” Rafael said. “They want to ‘revisit the conversation.’”
Alessandro didn’t smile.
“Good,” he said. “Tell them we’re busy.”
Rafael blinked. “Busy doing what?”
Alessandro finally looked at him.
“Existing,” he said calmly.
That was the point.
The rumor wasn’t about profit.
It was about presence.
Marco had tried to make him disappear from the board — socially, financially, strategically.
So Alessandro had done the only thing that mattered.
He reminded the city he was still dangerous.
He hadn’t announced a deal.
He hadn’t confirmed anything.
He had let people assume.
And assumption was the oldest currency in their world.
A man who was assumed powerful didn’t need to prove it.
He just needed to survive long enough for others to panic.
“Any confirmation requests?” Alessandro asked.
“Plenty,” Rafael replied. “No one’s bold enough to ask directly.”
“Good,” Alessandro said. “Then we keep it that way.”
Because if Marco believed Alessandro had won even a small job—especially one Marco had failed to secure—
Marco would burn.
And burned men made mistakes.
Marco
Marco heard the rumor at a private lunch he hadn’t planned to attend.
He noticed it in the way conversation shifted when his name entered the room. The way someone laughed too loudly at a joke that wasn’t funny. The way a man across the table avoided eye contact when De Luca’s name surfaced.
“So,” one of them said casually, swirling his drink, “seems Alessandro landed something interesting.”
Marco didn’t react.
He sipped his wine slowly.
“Oh?” he said. “Did he?”
A shrug. “That’s what people are saying.”
People.
Always people.
The most dangerous liars in the world.
Marco set his glass down carefully.
“People also said he was finished last week,” Marco replied. “Funny how that works.”
The table laughed.
But the laughter was thin.
Forced.
Marco excused himself ten minutes later and drove back to his office in silence.
By the time he arrived, the reports were already waiting.
Not proof.
Never proof.
Just movement.
Just doors that had cracked open again.
Just enough to irritate him.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
This was psychological warfare.
Cheap.
Effective.
He hated that it worked.
Because even without confirmation, the city was adjusting.
People hedged.
They always did.
He picked up his phone and stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then—against his better judgment—He made a call.
Vitale
Vitale watched the rumor spread like a man watching weather from behind reinforced glass.
He hadn’t touched it.
Hadn’t encouraged it.
Hadn’t denied it.
Which meant it belonged to him now.
Because the second people believed Alessandro had won something, they stopped asking who actually had.
Vitale leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement.
There was no deal.
Not for De Luca.
Not for Romano.
The last contract signed in their world sat in Vitale’s private safe, sealed, and buried beneath layers of silence.
The beauty of it wasn’t the money.
It was the timing.
He had let Alessandro borrow the illusion of success.
And Marco?
Marco would tear himself apart trying to prove it wasn’t real.
Vitale’s phone rang.
Marco.
Vitale smiled faintly before answering.
“Marco,” he said warmly. “Tell me you’re calling with better news than my morning.”
Marco didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“Did you lose the Baltic contract?” he asked.
Vitale sighed — just enough to sound annoyed.
“Apparently,” he said. “Stolen right out from under me.”
Marco paused.
“That’s unfortunate,” he said carefully.
Vitale laughed softly. “Is it? I was starting to think it was cursed.”
Silence stretched.
Then Marco asked, “Did the De Luca’s take over your deal??”
Vitale raised an eyebrow.
“Marco,” he said gently, “dont you think that if I was certain about what happened you would have been the first one to know?”
That landed exactly where it needed to.
Marco exhaled sharply.
“So you think he actually got it?”
Vitale hesitated — just enough to plant doubt.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that someone wants us to think he did.”
“Who?”
Vitale chuckled. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Another pause.
Vitale leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“If I were you,” he added, “I’d be careful not to overreact. The moment you look angry… people start betting against you.”
Marco said nothing.
Vitale didn’t push.
“Anyway,” Vitale continued lightly, “I had always known My family is not as strong as yours and Deluca's so it is not a surprise if he did get it, but maybe there is someone else in the game as well, I dont know I could be wrong but I feel there are things that we don't know yet.”
That was a lie up to a point.
Just not one Marco would care to prove eitherway.
They ended the call minutes later.
Vitale set his phone down and stared at the city skyline.
Perfect.
Marco believed Alessandro might be winning.
Alessandro believed Marco was rattled.
And neither suspected the truth.
Vitale stood and walked to the window.
“Let them fight shadows,” he murmured. “I’ll take what’s real.”
Because the best victories weren’t announced.
They were discovered too late.
That night, the city whispered.
About De Luca’s return.
About Romano’s irritation.
About power shifting, alliances trembling, war brewing.
No one spoke Vitale’s name.
Which was exactly how he liked it.
Because in a world ruled by noise and ego, the quiet man always won.