Chapter 4 Shadows in the Inner Circle

Alessandro stared at the photo glowing on his phone screen, the rain blurring across the cracked glass. The encrypted drive - the one Elena had risked her life to protect - was now in the hands of someone inside his organization.

His consigliere.

Luca Ferraro.

Of all the people...

He stuffed the phone back into his coat and pushed harder through the hallway, Elena close behind, carrying her mother's weight across her shoulders.

"She needs a doctor," Elena gasped, panting. "Now."

"I'll call Matteo," Alessandro said, his voice flat with fury. "He's clean. Trusted since my father's time."

"No one is clean anymore," she spat. "That's the point."

They reached a side hall as two guards rushed over.

"Get the doctor here," Alessandro ordered. "Top speed. Secure the west wing and run a silent sweep of the compound. No radios. No noise. No word leaves this house."

"Yes, boss!"

As the guards took Elena's mother to a secure guest room, Alessandro grabbed Elena's wrist and pulled her into a locked study.

Bookshelves lined the walls. A fireplace burned low in the corner.

He slammed the door shut.

"Elena," he said, voice deadly calm, "we have a traitor. Not just a rat, but someone with keys to everything. Luca's been my consigliere for six years. He helped me bury enemies."

"And now," Elena said coldly, "he's digging them back up."

Alessandro moved to the old desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a leather binder marked Confidential – De Luca Inner Circle. Inside were detailed profiles of every capo, soldier, and family associate.

He flipped to Luca Ferraro.

"Born in Sicily," Alessandro said aloud. "Raised by the Orsini crime syndicate before switching allegiance to my father. Known for his charm, discretion, and ruthlessness. Loyal..."

Elena pointed to a notation at the bottom. "Except for this - 'previous affiliation with Eastern European intel.' Have you ever asked him about that?"

"Of course," Alessandro growled. "He said it was a cover story. My father believed him."

"Your father also signed my father's death warrant," she snapped. "Loyalty means nothing to the dead."

Alessandro slammed the folder shut and turned toward her. "We're wasting time. If Luca has the drive, he's already on the move. That thing is filled with names, transactions, murder contracts, government deals-"

"-and blackmail files," Elena added. "My father kept one on every don from Rome to Chicago. If those files go public..."

"The entire Mafia burns," he finished.

They stood in silence for a moment, the crackling fire casting shadows across their faces.

Then Elena said, "We need to stop him before he sells the drive."

"Agreed. But where is he?"

Alessandro thought fast. "Luca owns a villa in Milan, a townhouse in London, and a private airstrip in Montenegro."

"He's not running," Elena said suddenly. "Not yet."

He turned to her. "Why?"

"Because if he wanted to vanish, he wouldn't have sent you that message. He's taunting you."

Alessandro narrowed his eyes. "He wants me to come."

"Exactly," she said. "This is a setup."

Alessandro's phone buzzed again. Another message from the same unknown number:

"Midnight. Come alone. The old opera house in Palermo. Bring the girl - or I'll leak everything."

Attached was a live GPS pin.

Elena's face hardened. "He wants me there too."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the last threat," she said. "The files were encrypted by my father's biometric code. Only I can unlock them."

Alessandro paced the room, fury simmering beneath the surface. "So this is about power. Not just blackmail. He wants to control the future of the Mafia."

"No," she said, stepping closer. "He wants to rewrite it."

A knock at the door.

It creaked open to reveal Matteo, the family doctor - gray-haired, sharp-eyed, and calm as always.

"She's stable," he said. "Sedated. But weak. Likely drugged over time."

Alessandro nodded. "Thank you."

Before Matteo could turn to leave, Elena grabbed his arm. "Doctor... did you see anyone suspicious near her room?"

Matteo frowned. "No. But I did notice something strange."

He pulled a sealed envelope from his coat.

"This was tucked under her mattress. Addressed to you."

Elena took it with trembling fingers. The envelope bore no name, just a small red wax seal - the old Rosetti family crest.

"My father's seal," she whispered.

She opened the letter slowly, unfolding a single sheet of yellowed paper.

Her eyes skimmed the words - and her face went white.

Alessandro read over her shoulder.

"If you're reading this, it means they've come for me. The files are not what they seem. There is another key - one even you don't know about. Trust no one. Not even him."

Below it, a line of numbers. A string of coordinates.

"Coordinates?" Alessandro said. "To what?"

Elena shook her head. "I don't know. But we have to find out. Tonight."

Alessandro checked the clock. 11:03 PM.

They had less than an hour until the opera house meeting.

"Elena," he said carefully, "if we go there, it's a trap. But if we don't go, Luca leaks everything."

"Then we go," she said. "But we don't go in blind."

"What do you have in mind?"

Elena looked up, her eyes ice-cold and crystal clear.

"We give Luca what he wants - me. But we don't give him all of me."

Alessandro raised a brow. "You mean..."

She nodded. "He wants to unlock the files? Let him try. I'll give him the wrong passcode - and buy us time."

Alessandro couldn't help it. A small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

"De Luca blood, Rosetti brains," he muttered. "God help us all."

They left the study and moved quickly to the armory. Alessandro strapped on his shoulder holster, checked the clip in his Glock, and slipped a blade into his boot.

"You ready?" he asked.

Elena pulled her hair back into a tight bun, revealing a tiny comms piece Matteo had planted behind her ear.

"Born ready."

They climbed into the black Maserati parked outside and sped into the night - Palermo's winding roads lit only by the headlights and the occasional flash of lightning.

As the old opera house loomed in the distance, a new message appeared on Alessandro's phone.

No number. No sender.

Just two words:

"Too late."