A few days back
3rd Person POV
The room was silent.
Not the kind of silence that was peaceful.
The kind that pressed against your chest.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
A long obsidian table stretched across the center of the room, polished so perfectly it reflected the dim golden lights above like a dark mirror. Around it sat the most powerful figures in the underground world—each representing a mafia clan strong enough to stand alone… yet gathered here under one name.
The Black Accord.
At the head of the table sat the woman who ruled them all.
Seraphina Virelli.
Cold beauty.
Sharp mind.
Untouchable presence.
Her posture was flawless—back straight, chin slightly lifted, fingers loosely intertwined atop the table as if she wasn't surrounded by men who could order executions with a single word.
But none of them spoke.
Not yet.
Because she hadn't.
Her silver rings tapped once—softly—against the table.
Seraphina slowly lifted her gaze, her dark eyes sweeping across the room, studying each face with quiet authority.
"You must all be wondering why I called this meeting on such short notice," she began, her voice smooth… controlled… dangerous in its calmness. "My apologies for the inconvenience."
No one dared interrupt.
But the tension shifted.
Because apologies didn't come from people like her.
"My father," she continued, pausing deliberately, "requests for something."
That was when the murmurs began.
Low.
Uneasy.
Confused.
"Her father?"
"I thought he was dead."
"Why would he need us?"
"This concerns Ombra Reale…"
Seraphina didn't stop them immediately.
She let it build.
Let curiosity turn into discomfort.
Then—
She spoke again.
"My late father," she said, her tone sharpening slightly, "wants Alessandro Moretti dead."
Silence.
Instant.
Complete.
Even the air seemed to freeze.
"He wants his head," she continued, her voice steady, almost detached, "hung at the gates of Casa Virelli."
That name carried weight.
A lot of it.
Casa Virelli—her personal clan.
The second strongest.
Second richest.
Second most feared.
Always second.
Because Ombra Reale existed.
And everyone in that room knew it.
A soft gasp broke from somewhere along the table.
Then another.
Then quiet disbelief.
Seraphina watched them.
Unmoved.
"He is offering twenty billion dollars," she added.
That broke them.
The room erupted into murmurs again.
"Twenty billion?!"
"That's insane—"
"He's lost his mind—"
"No one is worth that—"
Seraphina tilted her head slightly.
"No one?" she repeated softly.
The room fell silent again.
"Or perhaps," she continued, her gaze darkening, "you're all simply afraid."
No one responded.
Because she wasn't wrong.
Alessandro Moretti wasn't just a man.
He was a system.
A force.
A problem no one had solved.
Until now.
Seraphina leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping once more.
"Consider it an opportunity," she said. "A reward for ambition. A test of capability."
Her lips curved faintly.
Not quite a smile.
"Whoever kills Alessandro Moretti will receive the money… and a name that echoes across the world."
The words settled.
Heavy.
Tempting.
Deadly.
"The mission has already begun," she added. "Do not hold back."
Her gaze swept across the room one final time.
"I expect his head delivered to my doorstep within a month."
No one laughed.
No one questioned her.
Because they all knew—
This wasn't a suggestion.
It was a war declaration.
Leon's POV
The Next Day.
Casa Veleno Headquarters.
My head was spinning.
No—
that wasn't even enough to describe it.
It felt like everything inside me had just… collapsed.
The room blurred slightly as the words settled in my mind.
Somewhere behind me, Simon's cup slipped from his hand.
It hit the floor.
Shattered.
The sound echoed too loudly.
Too sharply.
But no one cared.
Because what we had just heard?
That was worse.
Much worse.
Mr. Moretti had a weakness.
A sister.
An actual, real weakness.
Hidden.
Protected.
Untouched by the mafia world.
And—
My stomach dropped.
Mr. Vincenzo was… his uncle?
What the hell?
Now that I think about it, Mr. Vincenzo had never actually told anyone his full name.
Mr. Vincenzo Moretti
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.
This wasn't just business.
This was family.
Twisted.
Broken.
Dangerous.
"S-so… Mr. Vincenzo..." I managed, my voice unsteady.
"What is my mission?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He just looked at me.
Cold.
Calculating.
Like I was already expendable.
"You," he said finally, "will be a distraction."
A pause.
Then—
"I'll send you to the Moretti estate."
My heart dropped.
"Make sure you get caught," he continued.
"Request to see Alessandro. Warn him about me."
My hands clenched.
"In French."
I blinked.
"…Why French?"
He smiled.
Not kindly.
"Because it will mislead him. He'll focus on French-speaking factions instead of Italian ones."
Smart.
Annoyingly smart.
"And you will not say my name," he added, his voice hardening. "Not under any circumstance."
I swallowed.
"I-I'm going to die if I go there."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Death.
That word…
I hated it.
Feared it.
No matter how many times I'd seen it.
No matter how many times I'd caused it.
I was never supposed to feel this way.
I was born into this life.
Raised in it.
Forced into it.
At twelve, I had already forgotten my parents' faces.
At fourteen, I could kill a man from two hundred meters away without hesitation.
But still-
I was human.
I felt things.
Fear.
Pain.
And…
Love.
My chest tightened slightly.
Her. Genevieve.
Three months younger than me.
Strong.
Cold.
Untouchable.
The third strongest in our clan.
And me?
Not even close.
I never told her.
I couldn't.
If I did…
She'd probably kill me herself.
"You may die," Vincenzo said flatly. "Or you may not. I don't care."
My thoughts snapped back.
"But whether you live or die… you will not say my name."
His gaze locked onto mine.
"Do you understand?"
I don't care.
The words echoed.
Something inside me… twisted.
It stung.
More than it should have.
I could expose him.
Say his name.
Die anyway.
End this faster.
But…
No.
If Alessandro Moretti fell…
Everything would change.
Maybe this world needed that.
"Y-yes, sir," I said quietly. "Loud and clear."
My fate was sealed.
And for some reason—
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
It'll be fun watching this from hell.