Chapter 2 Two

The Devil You Dance With

The Moretti estate's dining hall was rarely used, reserved only for ceremonies, negotiations, or power plays disguised as family dinners. Tonight, it was all three.

Alessia sat beside her father at the long mahogany table, her fingers poised around a crystal wine glass she had no intention of sipping. Across from her sat Dante Romano, as composed and silent as ever, the weight of old blood and newer secrets clinging to him like smoke.

She was beginning to realize that silence was his greatest weapon. He said little, but watched everything.

Luciano raised his glass, "To peace," he declared.

"To strategy," Dante corrected, lifting his own glass, "Peace is often a lie."

Alessia arched an eyebrow, letting her gaze linger on him, "And truth?" "Overrated."

A hollow clink echoed between them, Alessia swallowed the urge to ask if he meant that about his brother too.

Dinner passed in stilted conversation, business updates, whispers of alliances, and mentions of a new distribution line along the Hudson. Alessia said nothing, She didn't need to, Her presence alone was enough leverage to keep the wolves at bay, For now.

After dessert, her father beckoned Dante to the private study, undoubtedly to discuss whatever deal had dragged the Romano heir into this charade, Alessia took her chance.

She slipped from the hall and headed for the east wing, her mother's gallery. It was the only place in the mansion untouched by blood, lies, or the stink of gunpowder. Paintings lined the walls, some unfinished, some masterpieces, And at the center stood a covered canvas that hadn't been unveiled in years.

She reached for it,

"Don't."

The voice stopped her cold.

She turned slowly, hand still on the edge of the cloth, Her mother stood behind her, arms folded, face pale beneath a layer of powder and poise.

"That painting is not for you," Rosa Moretti said.

"I don't even know what it is."

"And you never will."

Alessia's hand dropped, "Why? What are you all so afraid I'll find?"

Rosa's eyes darkened, "The truth."

Dante lit a cigarette as he followed Luciano into the study, The air was already thick with cigar smoke, brandy, and authority. A glass of something aged and dangerous waited for him on the desk.

"We need to talk about Luca," Dante said without preamble.

Luciano's hand paused mid-pour, "You're digging in a graveyard, boy."

"My brother died too cleanly, And too quietly."

Luciano handed him the glass, "Accidents happen, Even to the Romanos."

Dante didn't drink. "But your daughter knows something, doesn't she?"

The Don's expression didn't change, But something in the room shifted, colder, and sharper.

"Careful where you tread."

"I don't like lies."

"Then you're in the wrong business."

They stared at each other, two kings in a game neither was ready to concede.

Alessia sat on the edge of her mother's chaise longue, mind reeling. There were too many holes in their stories, Her entire life had been a script, and suddenly, the lines didn't make sense anymore.

She rose and left the gallery, steps swift but quiet.

She didn't know where she was going until she found herself outside the surveillance room.

Only three people had access: her father, his consigliere, and Marco, the house enforcer.

She waited until the shift changed, until Marco left for his smoke break, then picked the lock. She had learned from watching, from listening. In this house, survival meant paying attention.

Inside, rows of screens flickered to life. One screen in particular caught her eye, dated footage from nearly seven years ago. Her finger hovered over the "play" button.

A moment of hesitation.

Then she pressed it.

What she saw stopped her heart.

It wasn't an accident.

Luca Romano's car hadn't swerved, It hadn't crashed on its own.

A Moretti bullet shattered the driver's window just seconds before the explosion.

And standing in the frame, caught only for a moment, was a younger version of her father... and someone else beside him.

Someone smaller,

Someone who looked a lot like Alessia.

"No," she whispered, "That's not possible."

The door slammed open behind her.

She spun, but it was too late.

A strong hand grabbed her wrist.

"Curiosity," Dante growled, "is how people die in this family."

They stared at each other in the dark room, the flickering monitor casting eerie shadows across his face.

"How long have you known?" she whispered.

"I didn't," he replied, voice tight, "Not until now."

He turned his gaze to the screen, jaw locked, breath sharp.

Then he looked at her, really looked, and she saw it.

The realization, The betrayal, The rage.

"Your father murdered my brother."

She flinched, but stood her ground, "I didn't know."

"But you were there."

"I don't remember that night!"

He stepped closer, "And yet your father's keeping you on a leash. Why?"

"I don't"

He reached into his coat and pulled out a phone, "You just became my leverage, Alessia."

Her heart sank, "You're not going to hurt me."

"No," he said coldly, "But I'm going to hurt your father, And you're going to help me do it."

"Why would I ever?"

He showed her the screen.

It was the security footage, The file, The proof.

And it had just been sent to every capo on the East Coast.

Alessia's blood turned to ice.

"You started a war," she whispered.

He gave her a cruel smile.

"No," Dante said, "I ended a truce."