Dante’s statement made Celia scoff loudly, her lips curling in open disdain.
“Do you actually think,” she sneered, “that in this lifetime you will ever see the Moretti family fall like your pathetic Virelli family? Keep dreaming.”
Stefan let out a theatrical sigh beside her.
“Oh, come on, sister,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t get worked up. Being delusional seems to be one of his hobbies. He really thinks we, the Morettis, aren’t smart enough to play with the big players. Imagine—us, not knowing how to stay at the top of the food chain.”
Dante didn’t respond. His expression didn’t flinch, didn’t twitch—just a calm, unreadable mask that irritated the Morettis even more.
The head of security, who had been on the phone the whole time, finished his call with a series of hurried “Yes,
