Chapter 10: Alana Rican , friend or foe?
919 Words
Victor stood in the grand hall of the estate, hands in his pockets, watching as Alana Rican entered like she owned the place.
She was tall, poised, and deadly in her confidence. Box braids framed her striking face, dark eyes unwavering as they met his. She wore a sleek, midnight-blue dress, elegant but powerful, a woman raised in the shadow of giants.
"You’re quieter than I expected," she said, voice smooth like aged whiskey. "Your father was never one to hold his tongue."
Victor smirked, stepping forward. "My father also didn’t live to see his own funeral."
Alana tilted her head slightly. "A shame. He was a man of great vision… if only he had lived long enough to execute it."
Victor’s muscles tensed. There was something calculated in her tone. She wasn’t here just to fulfill a contract—she was here to see if he was worth standing beside.
"You had months to back out of this," Victor said. "Why now?"
Alana smiled slightly, but there was no warmth. "Because I wanted to see how you handle power first. If you were weak, I would have walked away, deal or no deal. But last night?" She took another step closer. "You survived an assassination attempt, exposed a traitor, and still have every Don in this city respecting you. That tells me one thing."
"And what’s that?"
"You’re strong enough to stand beside me."
Victor’s lips parted slightly, caught between intrigue and annoyance.
"You think I need you?"
Alana’s smirk widened. "No, Victor. But you do need Don Rican. And I am his price."
---
Sophia’s Discovery
Meanwhile, across the city, Sophia sat at a private table in a dimly lit restaurant. Luciano slid a folder toward her.
"Alana Rican isn’t just a niece," he said, voice low. "She’s the only heir to Rican’s empire. His personal assassin, his fixer. She’s been trained to kill since she was fifteen."
Sophia’s fingers tightened around the folder. She flipped it open, eyes scanning pages of classified documents, reports of unsolved murders linked to Alana.
One line caught her breath:
Suspected in the deaths of at least twelve rival Mafia figures, including a Moretti soldier three years ago.
Sophia’s heart pounded.
"Victor doesn’t know, does he?"
Luciano shook his head.
Sophia’s stomach twisted. If Alana had already killed one of Victor’s own men, what stopped her from killing Victor himself?
She wasn’t just competition.
She was a threat.
---
The Enemy Strikes
Just as Victor processed Alana’s words, the sound of gunfire ripped through the manor.
"DOWN!" Enzo roared as Victor pulled Alana behind a marble pillar. Guards hit the ground, some firing back.
Victor grabbed his gun and pushed forward.
A rival family was making their move.
"This is the Mancini family!" a voice bellowed. "You think you can inherit your father’s empire without paying for his sins?!"
Victor’s pulse pounded. The Mancinis—his father’s old enemies.
He exchanged a look with Alana.
"You ready to prove yourself, Moretti?" she asked, drawing her own gun.
Victor exhaled sharply, then smirked.
"Let’s see if you can keep up."
Together, they moved as one, stepping into the storm of bullets.
The marble floors were slick with blood. Gunfire rattled through the halls as Victor and Alana moved like a well-oiled machine—covering each other, taking down threats without hesitation.
Victor emptied a clip into a Mancini soldier who made the mistake of stepping too close. Alana spun, her blade flashing, slicing through another’s throat with ruthless efficiency.
Victor watched her, impressed despite himself.
"You fight like a ghost," he muttered as he reloaded.
Alana smirked, wiping blood from her cheek. "And you fight like a man with nothing to lose."
The shooting died down. Victor’s men took control, dragging the wounded Mancini soldiers into the center of the grand hall. The survivors would answer for their attack.
But something wasn’t right.
Enzo stormed in, his face pale with rage.
"They took someone," he ground out.
Victor’s pulse spiked. "Who?"
Enzo’s voice was deadly.
"Sophia."
--
Sophia’s world blurred. One moment, she was leaving the restaurant, folder clutched in her hands. The next, a bag was thrown over her head, and she was shoved into a car.
When the bag was yanked off, she found herself staring into the cold eyes of Antonio Mancini.
"Do you even know what you’ve walked into?" he asked, voice calm but full of menace.
Sophia clenched her jaw. "I know that Alana Rican is a killer. And if you think I’m going to beg, you’re wasting your time."
Antonio chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart. You’re not here to beg. You’re here to send Victor a message."
A flash of steel. A burning pain in her arm.
She bit down a scream as blood trickled down.
"Let’s see how far Moretti is willing to go for you."
---
Victor stood motionless as one of his men handed him an envelope.
Inside was a bloodstained piece of Sophia’s dress.
And a note.
"Come alone, Moretti. Or she dies."
Victor’s knuckles turned white.
Alana stepped beside him, reading the message over his shoulder. "It’s a trap."
Victor turned his burning gaze to her. "You think I don’t know that?"
"Then let me come with you," she said. "We’ll take them out together."
Victor stared at the letter. His mind spun.
If he went alone, he’d be walking into an ambush.
But if he took Alana…
Would she save him?
Or was she just as much a threat as the Mancinis?
- Writer
