The Rossi estate’s ballroom had been emptied of chandeliers and music, filled instead with long tables and armed men. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the tang of expensive liquor and hidden hostility.
Damian Moretti entered with his lieutenants at his side, his tailored black suit gleaming under the dim lights. His eyes cut across the room, locking instantly on Adriana—seated between her father and two Rossi enforcers. Her face was pale, but her chin was lifted, unbroken.
The atmosphere was a powder keg. Both families had come under the pretense of a truce meeting. In truth, everyone knew it was a trap waiting to spring.
At the head of the table, Don Enzo Rossi smiled coldly. “At last, the heirs of blood arrive. Let us see if peace is possible—or if we should finish
