CHAPTER 4

“She is dead.”

Aria's legs gave out. She collapsed slowly, hitting the floor hard, the marble cold against her knees.

This can't be happening. God, please—not my sister.

Thud! Teresa, who was still kneeling beside Elena’s body, collapsed to the floor.

“Mum!” Aria jolted back up, her heart leaping into her throat. 

Don Lorenzo strode forward; he bent down and effortlessly picked his wife up. With some slow, heavy steps, he placed her on one of the cushions in the center of the grand hall.

“Call the doctor,” he ordered Matteo. His voice, for the first time, came out shakily as he caressed Teresa's face.

Aria stood still. Tears streamed down her cheek, but the sobs didn't come out. She was silent and shell-shocked, her whole body frozen, her gaze traveling from her Mum back to Elena’s lifeless body. As if the whole world had stopped, the only noise was the slow thudding of her heart.

About a minute later, she blinked and drew in a weak breath. She glanced around the grand hall, now packed with her father's men. They all stood in silence, heads down. A tear rolled down Marco's cheek. Don Lorenzo walked forward, each step echoing across the hall. Every gaze turned to him as he approached Elena's body.

He bent down. A tear slid down his cheek. He reached out with his arm, caressing her blood-stricken face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clenching his fist.

He stood, shoving both arms into his pockets. He squeezed his eyes shut and remained there for the next three minutes.

Aria’s hands trembled by her side. Each breath came out as a muffled sob. She tried to stay quiet in the heavy silence.

It's all my fault. I convinced her to come. God—take me instead.

Don Lorenzo’s eyes darkened. The flicker of emotion in them disappeared; he gulped hard.

“Who did this?” he growled, turning to Vincent, who was seated on the floor with a bruised face one could hardly recognize.

Marco’s eyes turned red; he gritted his teeth, trying to contain his rage. “You heard the Don,” he chipped in. “Who the fuck did this?”

Vincent opened his mouth, but only a thin, shaky sound escaped—barely a sound. Blood spilled over his lips, thick and dark.

“Open your fucking mouth,” Marco insisted, as he walked to him.

Vincent tried to force out a word, but it broke into a rough, voiceless vibration, just as Matteo walked in with the doctor. Marco bent down and grabbed Vincent by the hair. “Speak up, you—”

He stopped, his eyes meeting Vincent’s blood-filled mouth.

"Fuck," he growled, jerking his head back an inch. "They cut out his tongue," he announced, letting go of Vincent's hair as he stood back up.

Aria flinched at the horrible thought as the image processed in her mind. Matteo led the doctor to where Aria’s mother lay. Aria turned to the doctor, who was now attending to Teresa.

“He is no use to us,” Roberto sighed, running both hands through his hair.

POW!

The sound of a gunshot rang out. The doctor flinched. Aria jerked violently, both hands flying to her ears as she pressed them tight. Her lower lip trembled, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Everyone spun toward the sudden noise.

Vincent’s life slipped out of his body as it collapsed to the floor. Don Lorenzo stood with his gun still pointing at the lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Aria glanced at her dad, her whole body now shaking in fear. Tears rained freely down her face.

Seconds later, her legs moved on their own. She fled upstairs, stumbled into her room and slammed the door. Her hands shook as she pressed her back against it, sliding down to the floor.

God, please. Wake me up. Let this be a nightmare.

……

DANTE

Across the city, Dante Valleni was celebrating.

Don Vallerio slid out of his car without even waiting for his guards to carry out their usual ritual of opening the door. He walked straight into the Vallenis mansion, two men trailing behind him in silk black suits. Shoving the door open, he loosened his tie. His rage-filled eyes scanned the grand hall, landing on his son, Dante.

Dante sat in the midst of his friends—more like relatives—with a half-full tequila bottle in hand. Empty bottles lay scattered across the table. At the sound of the door flying open, everyone turned. They all stood when they saw Don Vallerio walk in.

Everyone, except Dante.

“Arrhhgg…” he grunted, seeing the rage in his father’s eyes.

“Get out, everyone!” Don Vallerio growled.

Each and every person in the grand hall walked out, leaving only him and his son.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Don Vallerio asked, yanking Dante up by the collar.

“Come on, Dad, give it a break,” Dante responded without making eye contact.

Hands clenched, Don Vallerio raised his arm.

THUMP!

A punch landed on Dante’s face, sending him flying to the other side of the table.

“I warned you. I told you not to act irrationally,” Don Vallerio snarled, placing both hands on his waist.

Dante touched his now-bleeding lip. He smirked as he stood back up, his eyes darkening as he glared at his dad.

“What did you do when they killed Nicolas?” he asked, taking a threatening step forward. “Nothing,” Dante muttered, answering his own question.

Just then, his uncle Adrian Vallenis walked down the stairs, drawn by the yelling.

“You asked me to let the Deca Familia handle it, but guess what? Two weeks later, they did nothing but call the murder of my brother self-defense,” Dante snarled at his father.

“You dare raise your voice at me?” Don Vallerio asked, brows drawn together, surprise mixed with anger etched on his face. He gritted his teeth, his arm flying up again, but Adrian stepped in between them.

“Calm down, brother,” he pleaded, holding Don Vallerio back. “What’s the matter?” Adrian asked, glancing between his brother and his nephew.

Neither of them answered.

“You know what? Because of your reckless behavior, we have been summoned to the Deca Familia meeting as the major suspects,” Don Vallerio yelled, pointing at Dante.

“They can’t prove a thing,” Dante responded, licking the blood from his lips.

“So what if they do?” Don Vallerio asked and went silent for a few seconds, as if waiting for an answer he knew Dante couldn’t give. He shook his head, staring at Dante over Adrian’s shoulder.

“Just pray I don’t submit your sorry ass to them,” Don Vallerio added before storming away.

Adrian turned to Dante, confusion visible on his face. But the look on Dante’s face was anything but remorseful. He raised the tequila bottle to his lips, gulping down the rest of its contents. He sat back down, a grin creeping across his lips.

If there’s one thing I know about you, Dad, it’s that you’d rather burn down this earth than turn in your son, your last and only heir.