PREGNANT AND HUMILIATED AT THE MAFIA GALA: His Mistress Handed Me A Box That Cost Her Everything

Sal Moretti began to hyperventilate. The realization that he had betrayed his own bloodline for a hollow bluff hit him like a physical blow. He spun on Nikolai, his hands trembling violently.

""You said you had him!"" Sal screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. ""You said the paperwork was ironclad! You said Victor was finished!""

Nikolai didn't even look at him. His focus was entirely on me, a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect hardening his jaw. ""You baited the trap. You let the Geneva firm float the rumors of distress.""

""I knew your family was desperate to recoup the losses Dimitri suffered in New York,"" I said, taking a slow sip of water. ""I simply gave you a target that looked too enticing to resist. A pregnant, abandoned wife hiding in Italy while her husband's business collapsed. It was such a lovely story, wasn't it? The kind of story arrogant men always believe.""

Victor stepped forward then, setting his bourbon glass down on the marble mantelpiece. The subtle click of crystal against stone sounded like a gunshot in the room.

""Sal,"" Victor said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, quiet register that made even the hardest men look at the floor.

Sal fell to his knees on the Persian rug, his arrogance completely evaporating into desperate sobs. ""Victor... please. He came to me! He promised me territory! He swore the Castellanos were turning on you! I was trying to protect the family!""

""You conspired with the people who sent an assassin into my bed and threatened my unborn daughter,"" Victor said, looking down at his cousin with an expression not of rage, but of absolute disgust. ""You broke the only law that matters.""

""Victor, please! We're blood!""

""And blood pays for blood,"" Victor said coldly. He didn't pull a weapon. He didn't need to. He glanced toward the arched double doors, where Marco stood alongside four armed men wearing the crest of Don Castellano.

The Castellanos had arrived an hour earlier, listening to every word from the adjoining parlor.

""Don Castellano,"" Victor called out smoothly.

The elder Don stepped into the room, impeccably dressed, an unlit cigar between his fingers. He looked down at Sal with cold disappointment, then turned to Nikolai Volkov.

""Your father and I had an agreement fifty years ago, Nikolai,"" Castellano said in gravelly Italian. ""Your family has broken it twice in six months. First with the girl, now with this rat. There will not be a third time.""

Castellano gestured to his men. Two of them hauled Sal to his feet, dragging him toward the back terrace. Sal’s hysterical pleas echoed down the stone corridors until the heavy oak doors shut, sealing the sound away.

Castellano looked back at Nikolai. ""You will leave this villa. You will board a private jet at Malpensa before midnight. If any member of your bloodline is found west of the Danube after tomorrow, my family will personally eradicate every holding you possess in Europe. Do you understand?""

Nikolai swallowed hard, bowed his head slightly toward Castellano, and then turned his gaze back to me.