Chapter 28 - The Silent Witness
The other three Dons at the table instantly threw their hands into the air, falling out of their chairs onto their knees, their faces pressed against the floorboards.
"Don Luca! We knew nothing! We swore fealty to you!" one of them shrieked in terror. "Valenti called this meeting! He told us you were gone!"
"Quiet," Luca ordered, not even looking at them. His gaze was locked solely on Valenti, who was clutching the edge of the table as if trying to keep the earth from swallowing him whole.
"Luca... listen to me," Valenti begged, a line of drool pooling at the corner of his trembling mouth. "It was a misunderstanding. I was trying to protect your empire! I thought—"
"You thought you could buy a Russian bullet to do what you never had the balls to do yourself," Luca said, reaching the head of the table. He rested his right hand on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my neck in a silent, possessive claim before he turned his lethal focus back to the traitor. "You gave the codes to the east wing. You let the contractor in."
"I have proof!" Valenti cried out, grasping at straws. "You have no proof! My nephew Dario was set up! The Russians forged my biometrics! You can't execute a Commission head without undeniable proof, Luca! The other families will revolt!"
"Proof?" Luca smiled, a terrifying, humorless smirk. He tapped the side of his chair. "Marco. Bring in the witness."
The side door of the dining hall opened.
Marco stepped into the room, leading Isabella by the hand. She wore a simple white dress, her dark hair combed neatly. She looked small and delicate in that room of monsters and blood, but her hazel eyes were bright, clear, and utterly fearless.
When Valenti saw the eight-year-old girl, a fresh wave of panic seized him. "A child? You're going to take the word of a mute child?!"
"Shut your filthy mouth," I snapped, standing up from my chair and extending my hand to Isabella.
Isabella walked past the cowering Dons on the floor and came directly to my side. She held a black leather sketchbook in her hands. Luca rested his hand gently on her head, his fingers threading through her hair, offering her all the protection of his kingdom.
"Show him, *piccola*," Luca murmured gently.
Isabella opened the sketchbook and turned it toward the table.
On the cream paper was a charcoal drawing, sketched with shocking, photographic detail. It wasn't just a picture of a man; it was an exact, unmistakable drawing of Valenti’s private study, drawn from memory when Isabella had visited with Luca six months prior. On the desk in the drawing was a unique, hand-carved silver lighter shaped like a serpent with emerald eyes.
Isabella turned the page.
The next drawing was from the gala ballroom—drawn from her perspective under the table. It showed a pair of bespoke leather shoes with distinct, hand-tooled silver buckles, and on the floor next to the shoes, falling from an open pocket during the chaos, was that exact same serpent lighter.
And then, Isabella signed.
She didn't use the frantic, trembling motions of a terrified victim. Her small hands moved with crisp, terrifying precision in the silence of the grand hall.
*THE MAN WITH THE SNAKE LIGHTER OPENED THE ROOF DOOR,* she signed, her eyes locked dead on Valenti. *HE SMILING. HE LOOK AT ME. HE SAY 'GOODBYE, DON LUCA'.*
Valenti’s hand instinctively darted to his empty jacket pocket. His breath caught in his throat.
"Looking for this, Giorgio?" Marco asked, pulling the heavy silver serpent lighter from his own pocket and flicking the flame to life. "Found it jammed in the emergency release lever of the catwalk stairs. Covered in your fingerprints."
Valenti’s knees gave out entirely. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, clawing at Luca’s polished leather shoes. "Luca! Have mercy! I carried you on my shoulders when you were a boy! Your father was my brother! Please!"
Luca looked down at the weeping wreck of a man with cold disgust.
"My father is dead," Luca said, his voice dropping into the chill of the grave. "And his brother died the second his bullet hit my chest instead of my wife."
Luca raised the Beretta.
"Isabella," I whispered, reaching down to cover the little girl’s eyes and turning her face into my waist.
*Crack.*
The single gunshot echoed like a cannon through the high ceilings. Valenti’s body went limp on the Persian rug, the silver serpent lighter clattering to the floor beside his pooling blood.
May you like
The other Dons on the floor trembled violently, weeping in terror, pressing their foreheads deeper into the blood-splattered wood.
Luca lowered the weapon, turning to look at the surviving members of the Commission. "Clean this mess up," he commanded Marco coldly. "And tell the Russian ambassador that Don Moretti accepts their declaration of war."
