Chapter 91 Old Debts and Decaying Gifts
The scent of stale tobacco and expensive liquor clung to the walls of the study, a heavy perfume that did little to mask the underlying stench of old blood and older rivalries. Kael sat at the far end of the long glass table, his expression a mask of bored indifference. Beneath the surface, however, every nerve was on high alert. His right hand rested near the waistband of his trousers, the familiar weight of his revolver providing a cold comfort.
Across the table sat Vittorio De Luca. The man looked every bit the weathered kingpin Kael remembered, though the years had not been kind. The once jet-black hair was now a jagged landscape of silver, and deep wrinkles spider-webbed from the corners of his eyes. Yet, those hazel eyes remained sharp, shimmering with the cunning of a predator. As Kael stared into them, a strange sense of familiarity pricked at his mind—a ghost of a memory he couldn't quite pin down.
Vittorio was more than just a rival; he was a relic of a war that had started before Kael’s first breath. The De Lucas had been the primary obstacle to the Aslanov expansion, hijacking shipments and sabotaging transactions with a surgical precision that suggested a deep-seated hatred. When Kael had taken the reins of the Russian mob, he had offered a truce—a set of boundaries that had held for five years.
That truce was now a pile of ash.
Vittorio took a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a dying star before he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. Kael watched the gray haze dissipate, revealing the old man’s sinister grin.
“A pleasant surprise to have you here, Kael,” Vittorio said, his Italian accent thick and honeyed with false warmth. “To what do I owe this visit? I hope you are enjoying your stay in Italia.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. He wasn't here for pleasantries. “I thought we had a deal, Vittorio,” he said, his voice flat and dangerous.
Vittorio feigned bewilderment, propping his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. “A deal? Yes, I remember. Is there a problem?”
Kael didn’t bother answering. Instead, he gave a sharp nod to one of his men. A large black gift box was placed in the center of the table. With a silent command, the lid was removed.
The room was instantly hit by the cloying, sweet rot of decaying flesh. Kael didn't flinch. He watched Vittorio, searching for a crack in the old man's composure as he stared at the contents: the severed, purpled head of the spy Kael had caught at the Dome. The man’s eyes were milky and wide, frozen in the moment of his agonizing end. Beside the head lay a single amputated finger, still bearing the De Luca signet ring.
“I caught him spying on my property,” Kael stated, his voice a low rumble. “He was wearing your mark.”
Vittorio peered into the box, his expression remains disturbingly unfazed. “There must be a misunderstanding. I didn’t order any spying. Why would I risk our peace for a common thief?”
The lie was so blatant it made Kael’s thumb itch to pull the trigger of his hidden gun. “A few months ago, my people were ambushed at a hospital. One of your men was seen in the perimeter.”
Vittorio let out a dry, hacking laugh that echoed off the high ceilings. “Ah, Kael. A kingpin like you makes enemies like a dog makes fleas. I assure you, those weren’t my men.”
Kael leaned forward, the foul smell of the box between them like a third party in the negotiation. “I didn’t give him a peaceful death. I made sure he suffered until he was willing to trade his loyalty for a quick end. Do you want to know what he said?”
Vittorio’s eyes gleamed with a sudden, sharp malice. “And what did he say?”
“He said I possessed something that belongs to you,” Kael replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve bought everything I own. I don’t steal, Vittorio. I trade.”
Vittorio stood up slowly, walking toward the box and sliding the lid back into place with a definitive thud. “You do have something that belongs to me,” he said softly.
Kael’s mind raced through his recent acquisitions. “The Pink Star diamond? If you want the stone, name your price.”
Vittorio chuckled, a dark, private sound. He looked at Kael with a patronizing smirk. “Oh, no... something far more valuable than a rock. But don't worry. Only time will tell when I decide to take it back.”
The last of Kael’s patience snapped. In a blurred motion, he lunged across the table, his fingers coiling around Vittorio’s silk tie and yanking the old man forward until their noses nearly touched.
“I am not playing games, you old cretin! What is it?!” Kael snarled.
The room erupted. Kael’s men and the De Luca guards drew their weapons in unison, a chorus of clicking safeties filling the air. Vittorio remained strangely calm, even as Kael’s breath fanned across his face. He raised a hand, signaling his guards to hold their fire.
“Calm yourself, young man,” Vittorio whispered. “As I said, I am not taking it... yet. I suggest it is time for you to leave before this floor gets stained with Russian blood.”
Kael felt the heat of fury behind his eyes, but he knew when to retreat to fight another day. He released Vittorio with a shove, the old man stumbling back.
“I’m warning you,” Kael said, his voice a deadly promise. “Touch anything of mine, and I will burn your world to the ground.”
Kael signaled his men and stormed out of the villa, the meeting having yielded more questions than answers. He needed to find out what "property" the old man was referring to—and he needed to find out now.
Behind him, Vittorio straightened his tie, his hazel eyes burning with a cold, focused hatred as he watched Kael disappear. He turned to his second-in-command, his voice cracking like a whip.
“Call Ronan. Tell him to get to Russia immediately. He is to remove this mess from my sight at once!”
He stared at the black box on the table, a grim smile touching his lips. Kael Aslanov had no idea that the most valuable thing in his possession was the one thing he was currently neglecting.