Dangerous Ties

Boom. A deafening blast shook the room through the east wing of the casino and fire erupted.

A thick and shocking smoke swallowed everything,

“Dad! Caleb! Uncle Sam!” I shouted, my voice swallowed by the chaos around me.

people screamed, tripping over each other, trying to escape the collapse of the ceiling or find some clean air to breath. Dust and debris fell like rain from the ceiling.

But Blackwood men were already pulling guns, searching for enemis in the mess.

“Dad! Dad! Caleb! Uncle Sam!” I shouted again, hoping, praying, that they were still alive somewhere in this chao.

And that's when I spotted him. My uncle Sam lay sprawled near the bar, Bathing in his own blood. Two cousins were dragging him. But I still had to find Caleb and dad.

Then I saw movement. Marco, one of our enforcers, running toward me, his face was turned up and bloody. "Ethan! You have to get out! Now!" he yelled.

“Not without my family." I shoved past him, making my way through the panicking crowd. The mixture of smoke and dust choked my throat and I could barely see.

Through the smoke, I spotted my father, bleeding from the head but alive. "Clear the rubble from the bodies. There may be survivors. Remove the injured." He barked orders like he was still in control of the smashed room. Relief hit me hard enough to stagger me. But then I saw my younger brother, Caleb, pinned under a beam, not moving.

It was the biggest tear I've ever experienced in my life. It was as if my heart was tightening to keep from shattering into a thousand pieces. One thing was certain, the Vitale had just declared war on us...

··•·•·•··

One hour earlier.

Tonight, the Vitale family had rolled out everything: tables of fine food, flowing champagne, and a red carpet of sorts for us, their guests.

Don Vitale sat at the head of the main hall in a large, ornate Louis XIV chair. My father sat across from him in one just like it. The two of them spoke in low, serious voices. You didn’t need to hear the words to feel their weight.

Then Don Vitale stood. He picked up two glasses of wine and clicked them together. A sharp, clear sound that cut through the noise.

Slowly, the music faded. Conversations died mid-sentence. A quiet spread across the room like a wave, until the only thing left was silence. Now everyone was looking at him.

"Welcome, friends," he said, sweeping a hand toward the Blackwoods. "Tonight, we celebrate a year of fragile peace. But that obviously we all desired, cherished and cuddled for twelve long months.

It was not easy, you know. Believe me, a mere scrap of a man like me knows a thing or two about that," he said, stroking his bald head as a wave of muffled laughter spread through the audience. "But we worked day after day, each on our own side, and the result brings us together tonight. Isn't peace beautiful?" He continued, giving my father a satisfied look.

"May it grow, and may our families find not just coexistence… but trust."

Applause followed, polite but cautious. And then he gestured toward my father, Dominic Blackwood, who rose slowly, smoothing his jacket.

"We thank Don Vitale," my father said, voice firm and calm. "This year has shown that peace is possible, if we choose it. I hope for a future where our families cooperate, not out of fear, but because it is wiser, and maybe… even fruitful for everyone. Thank you."

His words sounded right and polished and an eruption of applause rippled through the room. Yet, beneath the surface, tension crackled. Everyone watched everyone else and anything was good to create the spark that would ignite the flame. And me… I couldn’t stop glancing at Luca Vitale across the room.

Our eyes met for a moment, and I quickly looked away. Then he turned his attention elsewhere, but i couldn't shake the heat of that look. It wasn’t friendship but something else, something I didn’t let myself name.

My younger brother, Caleb, wasn’t watching anyone. He was pouring himself another glass of rum. I frowned.

"You’re drinking too much," I muttered, snatching the glass from his hand.

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, Ethan. It’s just a little fun."

"Not in front of everyone," I snapped.

Before I could argue further, Uncle Sam stepped between us. Calm and unshakable as always. "Let him be," he said, his voice carrying that softness only he had. "He might not get a chance to enjoy himself under our watch."

"He could cause a scandal if he gets drunk," I said, scowling.

Sam shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Then I’ll take care of it."He raised his glass, just enough so Luca could see before quickly looking away.

I froze, my stomach twisting as uncle Sam added with a smirk, "And you two… I noticed you’ve been glancing at each other all evening. With this peace, maybe you could have a fulfilling relationship."

My face burned. he had touched a nerve. I looked away, catching a glimpse of Luca doing the same.

"Come on! Enjoy your evening, son. Life is short." He said, nudging me past.

Later, guests were talking and laughing over the soft music. I saw Luca and his father heading into a private room at the far side of the hall. Luca stopped for a moment and looked straight at me. His eyes held mine, just for a second but it felt intense, too knowing. My heart raced. Then he was gone.

And that was the last calm moment of the evening, Before the explosion and the chaos that followed.

··•·•·•··

"No Caleb, nooo!" I cried out, struggling as they held me from behind, forcibly dragging me out of the ruined hall. That was the end of Caleb.

Outside was chaos in another way. Sirens screamed, and flashing red and blue lights cut through the smoke pouring out of the building. Broken glass covered the ground, along with lost shoes and people lying still.

Help was there, they were going to take over.

They took caleb out, but his neck was bent at an angle no one could fix.

I had cried all the tears of my body. My uncle Sam was gone too. I knew by the way his head lolled when the others carried him. Two deaths already, maybe more.

"Keep an eye on him!" my father shouted to pur enforcers, He meant me the heir he couldn’t afford to lose.

My throat burned, my chest tight. The survivors gathered fast—what was left of us.

"I told you to let go of me," my father shouted to the paramedics who insisted on taking care of him while blood ran down the side of his face.

And then I saw the Vitale family, huddled on the far side of the street, lit by the spinning glow of police lights. Their boss, Don Vitale, with his men gathered tight around him. Their tuxedos were dirtied, but none of them looked dead. None of them had lost what we had.

My stomach twisted.

"Those bastards did this," someone spat behind me. "Blew up the place while smiling at us in the same room."

I didn’t answer. I just stared across the chaos, at the other family, Luca Vitale among them. His eyes met mine. He looked pale, shaken, but alive, even too alive to my taste.