SERIS
The man rose from his executive chair with a burst of manufactured warmth, his silk suit catching the light. He rushed toward them, pulling each of them into a heavy, uninvited hug. Alessandro remained stiff as a board, Marco looked like he was contemplating where to hide the body, and Matteo didn't even move his arms to return the gesture. They weren't huggers; they were killers who allowed people to live within their radius.
Then, he reached me.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. His brows furrowed in a flicker of confusion as his eyes scanned my face, searching for a memory he couldn't quite place. Before the recognition could click, he pulled me into a tight embrace as well. The scent of his expensive cologne made my stomach churn.
"Please sit, sit!" he insisted, gesturing toward the long, obsidian conference table. The female assistants glided forward, guiding the brothers to their seats like high-priestesses.
"I'll sit down there, at the corner," I whispered into Alessandro's ear. Before he could clamp a hand on my waist to keep me by his side, I slipped away. I retreated to the far end of the table, tucking myself into the shadows of the corner, keeping my profile low. I knew if he looked at me for one second longer than necessary, the mask would slip, and the lie would end.
"So, it's been a while," The man said, settling back into his seat.
The silence that followed was deafening. I risked a peep over my shoulder. The brothers looked like a storm front moving in. Their expressions were granite, their eyes cold and hollow. They weren't here for a friendly catch-up; they were here for blood or business, and he was clearly failing the vibe check.
My eyes drifted to Matteo. He reached out, his long fingers wrapping around a crystal glass of deep red wine. He lifted it off the table with a slow, deliberate grace, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back. His aura was so loud it practically hummed, drowning out everyone else in the room.
"Specifically, news that involves a certain name. Caruso."
The name hit the room like a physical shockwave. My pulse spiked, a frantic, drumming rhythm in my ears.
Donovan Vane. He was… is…a secret associate of my father. I'd seen him from the shadows of my father's estate, a ghost moving through the corridors of power. I was never allowed in those meetings, but I knew he was one of the few men my father seemingly trusted. But in this world, trust is just a word people use before they twist the knife.
Donovan chuckled, though it sounded like dry parchment rubbing together. He reached for his glass, his fingers trembling just enough for the crystal to clink against the table. "And what news would those be?"
Matteo's face was a mask of cold, dead stone. If I were Donovan, I'd have stopped smiling the moment I saw the hunger in Matteo's eyes…the look of a man who hadn't tasted blood in far too long.
"You can't seriously believe those rumors," Donovan said, his gaze darting between the brothers, searching for a single crack in their resolve. "A Vane and Caruso link-up? It's poetic, but it's fiction."
He cleared his throat, the sound wet and nervous, as he set his wine back down. The glass table amplified the sound, making it echo like a gunshot. The fear was finally settling into his marrow.
"Vane," Alessandro's voice was like falling ice. Donovan whipped his head toward the eldest Ricci. "What is it, then?"
"It's absurd! I swore my life to your father. Why would I touch the Carusos? I'm a Ricci man, through and through!" He laughed, a high-pitched, frantic sound that set my teeth on edge.
Matteo tilted his head, studying him like a scientist would a dying insect. Suddenly, he chuckled…a low, melodic sound that chilled the air. He looked down at his glass and smiled, and the room went deathly silent.
"Matteo..." Donovan whispered, his voice shaking.
Matteo stood up. The movement was fluid, predatory. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, the cold metal gleaming as he slid them over his fingers.
"I don't like doing this," Matteo lied, his voice almost gentle.
"Matteo, please…!"
The impact was sickening. A wet, heavy thud as Matteo's fist collided with Donovan's jaw. Luca let out a jagged, bark-like laugh, his eyes wide with sadistic glee. The guards at the door didn't move. The assistants didn't blink. They knew the hierarchy: the Riccis were gods, and Donovan was currently an offering.
Blood sprayed across the obsidian table. Donovan collapsed back into his chair, clutching his shattered face and howling.
"I hate liars," Matteo said, looming over him. He gestured to Marco, who tossed a stack of surveillance photos onto Donovan's lap.
My heart sank. The photos scattered—Donovan meeting with my father in the dead of night. My breath caught in my throat. How did Matteo find these? If he was this deep into my father's business, did he know about me? Was I already a dead woman walking?
For a split second, Matteo's gaze flickered to the corner where I sat. It was a look of pure, icy calculation. Then, he turned back to the bleeding man.
"It's not what you think!" Donovan sobbed, his words muffled by blood. "I'm... I'm just a spy!"
The word hung in the air. This fucking animal. He was playing both sides, trying to stay alive by selling us both out.
Matteo squatted in front of him, bringing their faces level. Donovan flinched, trying to pull his broken jaw away.
"A spy for a long time," Matteo mused. "And yet, you forgot to tell us anything useful. Tell me something now, Donovan. It will determine if you walk out of here or leave in a bag."
Donovan nodded frantically, blood dripping onto his silk tie.
"Tell me about the Caruso family," Matteo commanded.
The air left my lungs. Our family? He was digging into us. He was hunting us while I was sitting right under his nose.
"The Caruso family?" Donovan stammered, his eyes darting around as he tried to weigh which death would be slower…the one from the Riccis or the one from my Carusos.
"I'm not asking again," Matteo's voice was a whisper of death.
"Fuck this," Marco snapped. In one blur of motion, he drew his suppressed pistol and pressed the cold muzzle against Donovan's temple.
Donovan shrieked, the sound echoing off the glass walls. "He has two daughters!"
The world went black for a second. My heart didn't just drop; it shattered.
"Two daughters huh,"
Fuck.