Chapter 6
Aiden's POV
Trust was a dangerous thing.
In this world, it wasn't given—it was bought, stolen, or broken. And if you were stupid enough to trust the wrong person, you didn't just lose the game, you lost your life.
I had spent years learning that lesson.
And yet, here I was, standing beside Elena Moretti, a woman whose motives I couldn't fully read, preparing to put my life in her hands. Elena never trusted me, neither did I trust her. We were only using each other to get what we wanted.
The streets of Verona had always smelled like smoke and desperation, but tonight, there was something heavier in the air. Something that told me we were walking straight into bloodshed. The Vescovis had made their move, now, it was our turn, with or without trust, I would see this through.
The Moretti estate's underground war room was dimly lit, the only sound the steady ticking of the antique clock on the wall. The tension in the air was a slow-burn fuse, ready to explode.
Elena stood at the head of the table, her expression cold, calculating. Elias, her second-in-command, was pacing like a caged animal, ready to spill blood. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching.
The city was on the edge of a war—one we weren't ready for.
Elena's voice cut through the silence. "The Vescovis are closing in. If we don't act first, we won't get another chance." Elias scoffed. "So we kill them before they kill us."
It wasn't that simple.
The Vescovis weren't reckless—they were predators, just like us. Marco Vescovi, the heir to their empire, was too smart to make a direct move, which meant he was waiting for us to slip first. Elena turned to me. "We need to take Marco off the board."
I studied her, searching for any sign of doubt, but there was none.
"You're sure about this?" I asked.
Her jaw tightened. "Do you have a better idea?" I didn't. Because in this game, the only way to win was to strike first and strike hard.
Marco Vescovi was a creature of habit.
Every Friday night, he went to Club Verona, a high-stakes poker lounge that catered to the city's most dangerous men - neutral ground: no weapons, no public executions. If we wanted to take him down, we had to be smarter than him. That's why I was here.
I stepped into the club, the low hum of conversation mixing with the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke. The lights were dim, the air thick with tension and unspoken deals. Marco was at the VIP poker table, laughing, drink in hand, he looked untouchable, but that was the thing about men like him - they never saw the knife coming until it was already in their back.
I walked up to the table, tossing a chip onto the felt. "Mind if I join?"
Marco barely glanced at me. "Buy-in is fifty grand." I smirked. "Then let's play."
The game started slow. I let Marco win the first few hands, feeding his ego, making him think I was just another rich idiot with more money than brains. Then I turned the tables,
hand by hand, I took back everything I'd lost—and more until Marco was down millions.
His expression darkened, the easy arrogance slipping from his face. The final hand was the kill shot. He laid down his cards—a straight flush, nearly unbeatable, then he smirked. "Tough luck." I placed my cards down.
The tension at the table snapped tight, the other players shifting uncomfortably, Marco's smirk vanished. His loss wasn't just money, It was humiliation, and for a man like him, that was fatal. I leaned in, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "Seems like your luck is running out."
Marco's jaw clenched. "Who the hell are you?"
Before I could answer, a soft voice cut in.
"Elena," Marco breathed, his bravado slipping as she slid into the seat beside me.
She looked deadly in black, her presence a warning. "We need to talk," she murmured, nails tapping against the table.
Marco hesitated, then, slowly, he stood.
The alley behind Club Verona was dark, and quiet.
Marco stood between me and Elena, his bravado gone, replaced by something sharper - realization. He wasn't walking away from this.
"You think you can—" Elena cut him off, her voice smooth. "We know your family is planning to move against us."
His eyes flickered, searching for a way out. "You kill me, and my father will—" "He'll be too busy cleaning up the mess," I said.
Marco's breathing quickened - Fear.
Elena reached into her coat, pulling out a silencer, Smooth and Effortless.
Marco opened his mouth—maybe to beg, maybe to curse. The shot was clean: blood bloomed across his shirt as he fell forward, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.
Elena exhaled, tucking the gun away. "Let's go." She said. I watched her for a long moment; she hadn't hesitated, neither had I.
The war had officially begun, and there was no turning back.