Chapter
Elena's POV
Power was a fragile thing.
It wasn't just about who held the most weapons or commanded the most men. True power came from control—over information, over perception, over the delicate balance of fear and loyalty, and right now, that balance was shifting.
Lorenzo had been a liability, a traitor who thought he could play both sides and live to tell the tale. But Aiden had handled it. And more than that, he had returned not just with blood on his hands but with leverage—a flash drive filled with secrets that could turn the tides of war before the first shot was even fired.
He was becoming an asset, and that was dangerous.
The meeting room in the Moretti estate was reserved for family and trusted advisors—not for outsiders, and certainly not for men like Aiden Callahan, yet, here he was, seated at the long oak table as if he belonged.
The other members of my inner circle weren't as welcoming. Elias sat to my right, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the polished wood. He hadn't spoken since Aiden walked in, but his silence was louder than words. On my left, Matteo, one of my most trusted enforcers, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Aiden like he was waiting for an excuse to put a bullet between his eyes.
Aiden, for his part, looked completely unfazed. He met their stares head-on, lounging back in his chair with that same infuriating confidence he always carried.
I broke the silence. "Lorenzo's gone. His resources are ours now." Elias exhaled slowly. "You let him live?" Aiden smirked. "I left him breathing. That's not the same as letting him live." Matteo scoffed. "You should have put a bullet in his skull."
"I could have," Aiden said, his voice smooth. "But then we wouldn't have all the information he was willing to hand over in exchange for a second chance he'll never get."
Elias narrowed his eyes. "And we're supposed to trust that you handled it cleanly?"
I cut in before Aiden could respond. "We don't need to trust him. We only need results."
I turned my attention back to Aiden. "You asked for a seat at the table. Consider this your test." I tapped the flash drive still sitting on the table. "You gathered information. Now tell me what you plan to do with it."
For the first time, Aiden hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but out of calculation, then, he leaned forward.
"Lorenzo wasn't working alone," he said. "The money trails on that drive lead to the Vescovi family." Elias stilled, Matteo cursed under his breath.
The Vescovis had been keeping their distance from the Morettis for years, playing neutral. If they were funding Lorenzo, that meant something had changed.
"They're testing us," Aiden continued. "Pushing at weak spots, waiting for the right moment to strike." Elias finally spoke, his voice low. "Then we strike first."
By the time the meeting ended, the plan was set. The Vescovis thought they were working in the shadows. They thought we didn't know about their attempt to undermine us.
They were wrong.
Our next step was clear: send a message.
The kind that didn't need words.
Elias would handle the logistical side, gathering intel on the Vescovis' weak points. Matteo would be in charge of sending the first warning shot—a strategic hit on one of their supply chains.
And Aiden? Aiden would be working with me.
That was my decision, and judging by the look Elias gave me, he didn't agree. He waited until the others had left before speaking.
"You're giving him too much," Elias said, his voice quiet but firm. I raised a brow. "You don't trust him." "No," Elias admitted. "And neither should you."
I exhaled, turning toward the window, the city stretched below us, golden lights against the dark sky; Somewhere out there, enemies were watching, and waiting.
"I don't trust him," I said. "But I understand him."
Elias studied me. "And that's enough?"
"For now."
Elias didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He didn't have to.
Because deep down, I wasn't sure if I believed it either.
Later that night, Aiden and I sat across from each other in the dim glow of my office.
A bottle of whiskey sat between us, untouched. I tapped the flash drive against the desk. "You didn't tell me everything."
Aiden smirked. "I told you everything that mattered." I leaned forward, my voice soft but sharp. "And the things that don't matter? What are those?" He studied me for a long moment before speaking.
"There was another name buried in Lorenzo's files," he admitted. "One that might interest you." I waited.
Aiden exhaled. "Sebastian Ricci."
My fingers stilled against the desk.
Sebastian Ricci was a ghost; a name whispered in dark corners, a man who never stayed in one place long enough to leave a trail. Once, a long time ago, he had been mine.
Aiden caught the flicker of recognition in my eyes, his smirk turned razor-sharp.
"You know him," he said. I didn't respond.
He leaned back.
"Interesting."
It wasn't just interesting. It was dangerous.
Because if Sebastian Ricci was resurfacing, it meant my past was no longer content to stay buried, and if Aiden had figured that out…
Then maybe Elias was right.
Maybe I had given him too much.
The following evening, Aiden and I arrived at the Glasshouse Club, an exclusive, high-end lounge where criminals and politicians rubbed elbows over thousand-dollar drinks.
It was neutral ground, but neutrality was always an illusion.
Tonight, our target was a Vescovi informant—a man who thought he was untouchable within these walls. He was wrong.
Aiden spotted him first, sitting in a private booth at the far end of the club, laughing over a glass of wine. We moved like shadows, slipping through the crowd until we were close enough to strike.
Aiden slid into the booth first, blocking the man's exit. I followed, taking the seat across from him, the laughter died in his throat.
"Elena," he said, too quickly. "I didn't expect—"
"You should have", I answered.
His hands twitched toward his drink - nervous habit.
I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "We need to talk." Aiden reached forward, casually plucking the man's drink from his hand and taking a slow sip. The man swallowed hard.
Good.
Fear was the best kind of persuasion.
By the time we left the club, we had everything we needed. The informant had talked—quickly, desperately, spilling everything he knew about the Vescovis' next move.
War wasn't coming. It was already here.
Aiden walked beside me as we stepped into the cold night air. "So what now?"
I looked up at the city, feeling the weight of everything we had set in motion.
"Now," I said, voice steady, "we make sure the Vescovis never get the chance to strike first."
Aiden smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Sounds like fun."
I didn't smile, because this wasn't a game.
This was war, and war demanded sacrifices.