THE ASSEMBLY OF VULTURES
1798 Words
THE ASSEMBLY OF VULTURES
The dawn over the Tuscan hills brought a cold, stark light, like the kind that precedes an execution.
The forensic report that Dante Moretti had handed me now rested beneath the false bottom of my jewelry box, right under the colonial pearls that had belonged to my mother.
The words printed on that yellowish paper had been burned into my mind: Mechanical asphyxiation by simulated submersion.
Presence of sedatives in the bloodstream.
It hadn't been an aneurysm. My mother had been drowned in the bathtub of her own home while I slept two rooms away, and the fingerprints had been erased from the report that bore the seal and signature: D’Luca.
I looked at myself in the mirror as I fastened the black diamond earrings that matched the choker Aaron had forced me to wear. The color of the stones was so dark it seemed to absorb the light of the room, just as he absorbed the light of my soul.
"It looks perfect on you," Aaron’s voice echoed from the threshold of the dressing room.
Through the reflection, I saw him advance with the lazy elegance of a leopard that knows it controls the territory. He wore a tailored three-piece suit, a charcoal gray so dark it almost passed for black.
His shoulders were broad, his posture impeccable, and his eyes... Heavens, his eyes maintained that predatory fixity that used to make my knees tremble.
However, this morning I noticed a subtle shadow of fatigue on his eyelids. The mild sedative I had diluted in his Cabernet the night before had served its purpose. The master of suspicion had slept eight consecutive hours for the first time in years, allowing me to return from my meeting with the enemy without raising suspicion.
"It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, Aaron," I said, turning slowly to face him, forcing a smile I had rehearsed three times before he walked in. "Though sometimes I feel it weighs too much. Like it’s a yoke."
Aaron closed the distance between us, grabbing me by the waist with a sudden roughness, pulling me against his chest. I felt the hardness of his body, the smell of imported tobacco, and that woody cologne that for months I had considered my only refuge.
His fingers dug into my hip, right over the slit of the dress where the garter concealed the poisoned dagger.
"It’s a yoke of gold and diamonds, Sofia. The kind of yoke for which half the women in Europe would sell their families," he murmured, leaning down to lick the line of my jaw—a purely animal gesture that made me catch my breath.
"Today is the day of The Commission. The bosses of the five families are meeting in Florence. They are going to demand to see the woman who caused the death of Enzo Moretti. They want to see if you are a weakness they can exploit... or the trophy that will consolidate my ascent to the absolute throne."
"And what am I, Aaron?" I asked, running my hands up his lapels, caressing the fabric with a feigned devotion that my cold heart executed with precision. "Am I your weakness or your trophy?"
He stared at me, and for a second, the coldness in his eyes was replaced by a spark of possessiveness so burning it almost scorched me.
"You are my queen, little viper. And today you are going to sit by my side while I dismantle the Moretti empire piece by piece. Franco already has his men ready at the San Miniato cemetery. Your mother’s St. Jude medal will be exhumed before the sun sets. We will have the key, we will have the Vatican documents, and The Commission will have no choice but to kiss your hand."
"Even Dante Moretti?" I mentioned the name with calculated lightness, watching for the slightest reaction in his features.
Aaron’s jaw clenched. A small muscle ticked in his cheek.
"Dante is a rabid dog who inherited his brother's scraps. If he tries to look at you today, I’ll gouge his eyes out before the session ends... Let's go. The car is waiting."
The drive toward the Renaissance palace on the outskirts of Florence unfolded in a silence heavy with strategy. Aaron didn't let go of my hand for a single second, but his fingers weren't caressing me; they were imprisoning me.
On his tablet, he was reviewing the supply routes of northern Italy that would be left vacant after the fall of the Morettis. Beside him, I stared out the armored window, mentally retracing the layout of the Church of Santa Maria and the forensic doctor's words.
The art of betrayal, just as Aaron had taught me, required absolute impassibility. If he discovered that I knew the truth about my mother before obtaining the medal, my life wouldn't be worth the paper on which my first contract was signed.
When the SUV pulled into the inner courtyard of the Palazzo Pitti, a dozen armed men in dark suits and earpieces surrounded us. The Commission was not a peaceful meeting; it was a nest of vultures waiting for the king to bleed so they could devour him.
Aaron stepped out first and offered me his hand. As I stepped out, the cool air hit my face, restoring my lucidity.
We walked arm in arm through the marble corridors decorated with frescoes depicting ancient battles—a reminder that in Italy, power has always been paid for with betrayal.
The double doors of the grand hall swung open. In the center, a circular mahogany table brought together the most dangerous men in the country.
At the opposite end, his face pale and his gaze fixed on me, sat Dante Moretti. He wore a black suit of mourning, but his eyes reflected a cold sharpness that clashed directly with Aaron’s arrogance.
"Don D’Luca," spoke the elderly Don Bernardo, the longest-standing member of The Commission, his voice sounding weary from the passage of years. "You are late. And you bring company that does not belong at this table."
Aaron didn't flinch at his attitude. He walked toward the presidential chair and, before sitting down, pulled me to stand at his right side, with a hand resting firmly on my waist.
"Sofia D’Luca belongs wherever I decide she belongs, Bernardo," Aaron replied, his voice resounding with an authority that caused several of the perimeter guards to tense.
"She is not a guest. She is the reason why half of the Moretti territories are now changing hands. Her brother Enzo tried to break a blood pact; he tried to kidnap my wife. And he paid the corresponding price."
"Your wife is the daughter of a debtor who stole millions from us!" roared Dante Moretti, leaping to his feet and slamming his fists on the table. "My brother died defending our family's rights over the port routes that you snatched from us, using that woman as a shield!"
Aaron let out a low, dangerous laugh—the exact sound he made before initiating a m******e.
"Your brother died because he was a fool who brought a gun to a business negotiation, Dante. And you are very close to following in his footsteps if you don't sit back down in that chair."
The silence that followed was absolute. I could feel the tension of Franco’s men, who already had their hands on their weapons hidden beneath their jackets.
I looked at Dante. He held my gaze for exactly three seconds, long enough to remember our pact in the ruined church. I subtly lowered my hand toward the slit of my dress, brushing the handle of the poisoned dagger. The message to Dante was clear: I am ready. Move your piece.
"The Commission demands stability," Don Bernardo intervened, looking at Aaron with suspicion. "The Vatican documents everyone is talking about... the ones the girl's father hid. If those documents fall into the hands of the government or a rival family, we will all fall. Tell me... Where are they, Aaron?"
Aaron smiled, an expression of absolute triumph that turned my stomach. I knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.
"My men are securing the key at this very moment," Aaron declared, scanning his eyes across each of the bosses. "By tonight, we D’Lucas will have total control of the diocese's accounts and the identities of The Commission's informants. Anyone who wants to keep operating in Italy will have to do so under my terms."
"And what does the girl say?" Dante asked suddenly, pinning his sharp eyes on me with a crooked smile. "She is the rightful owner of that reliquary. It is her mother's blood that adorns that grave. Do you agree, Sofia? Do you agree to hand over your family's legacy to the man who destroyed everything you loved?"
Aaron squeezed his fingers into my waist so hard I almost gasped. His body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
"She does not speak at this table, Moretti,"
Aaron sentenced, his voice turning into a threat. "She is mine. And her will is my own."
This was the moment. The precise instant where the student had to surpass the master. I pulled away from Aaron’s grip with a smooth but firm movement, taking a step forward, exposing myself to the eyes of the five mafia bosses of Italy.
"You are mistaken, Don Bernardo," I said, my voice sounding clear, melodious, and devoid of any trace of the fear that used to dominate me. "I will speak at this table.
Because the key my husband speaks of... is no longer in my mother's grave."
Aaron snapped around to face me with terrifying speed. His eyes shifted from surprise to a cold, calculating fury that would have killed anyone else in this room.
"What are you talking about, Sofia?" he asked, his whisper like thunder. "Get back to my side. Now!"
"The St. Jude medal was removed from the cemetery three years ago by my father's orders, before you ever appeared in our lives with your property contracts," I lied with a confidence that astonished my own subconscious, looking directly at Dante Moretti. "The documents don't open with a code engraved in silver. They open with a genetic print and a password that my mother left me before... her alleged illness."
The impact of my words struck every corner of the meeting room. Aaron stared at me, simultaneously surprised and stunned.
- Writer
