BLOOD AND BETRAYAL

Chapter 6: Assassination Attempt

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. The Moretti estate, a fortress of wealth and power, had always felt impenetrable—until now.

Victor Moretti lay in bed, sleep elusive, his mind tangled in the weight of his father’s death and the chaos that followed. Shadows stretched across the walls, cast by the dim bedside lamp. His father’s empire was now his to command, and with it came enemies lurking in every corner, waiting for a moment of weakness.

A sudden shift in the air.

Instinct kicked in. Victor’s fingers brushed the cold metal of his gun beneath his pillow just as the bedroom door creaked open. A figure moved in the darkness, quick and calculated. The sharp gleam of a knife caught the faint light.

Victor rolled to the side just as the blade sank into the mattress where his chest had been a second ago. He fired—once, twice. The silencer muffled the shots, but the assassin was fast. The figure dodged, vanishing into the shadows like a ghost.

A crash. The lamp shattered.

Victor was on his feet, gun raised, every muscle coiled in lethal readiness. He moved with precision, scanning the darkness. The assassin lunged again. This time, Victor didn’t miss. The bullet struck the attacker’s shoulder, sending him stumbling against the dresser.

Then—another shot, not from Victor.

The assassin jerked forward, a final gasp escaping his lips before he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.

Victor turned sharply. Alana stood in the doorway, gun in hand, her expression unreadable.

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly, lowering her weapon.

Victor exhaled, his grip on the gun tightening. “Who the hell let him in?”

Alana nudged the body with the toe of her boot. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Somewhere within the estate, the guards were scrambling, too late to prevent what had already happened.

Victor’s jaw clenched. Someone had betrayed him.

And he was going to find out who.

The grand dining hall of the Moretti estate had been transformed into an interrogation room. The long mahogany table, once reserved for family dinners and business discussions, was now occupied by Victor’s most trusted men, key staff members, and allies. The weight of his father’s absence loomed over them, but this wasn’t a time for grief—it was a time for action.

Victor sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. The assassin had made it past the gates, past his guards, and into his private chambers. That meant betrayal.

Lyon sat to his right, arms crossed, his usual sharp wit dulled by the gravity of the situation. Across from them, Enzo was silent, his hands steepled in front of him, observing everyone with a calculating gaze. Alana stood by the door, armed, scanning the room for the slightest hint of deception.

Victor leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the polished wood. “Someone let him in,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “And I want to know who.”

A tense silence followed. No one moved.

Then, he turned his gaze to the household staff. “Speak.”

One of the servants, an older man who had served the Moretti family for decades, swallowed hard. “Sir, we don’t know anything. Security was tight as always. No one unauthorized entered the estate—at least, not through the front.”

Victor’s jaw clenched. “Then how the hell did he get in?”

Alana stepped forward, placing a file on the table. “I found this on the intruder’s body.” She flipped it open. Inside was a blueprint of the estate—detailed, precise. “He knew the layout. He knew which halls to take to avoid security. That’s not something you can guess.”

A blueprint meant one thing—an inside source.

Victor exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze to the staff again. “Who has access to these blueprints?”

One of the housemaids, a young woman with box braids, hesitated before answering. “Only the estate manager and security team, sir.”

“Then bring them in,” Victor ordered.

Within minutes, the estate manager, an aging man with a perpetually nervous expression, was brought before him. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming at his temple.

“I—I would never betray the family,” he stammered. “I swear on my life.”

Victor stared at him, then at his men. “Search his quarters. Now.”

As his guards moved, Victor turned his attention back to the rest of the room. “Until we know who the rat is, no one leaves. No one. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, but the unease in the air was thick.

Then, Lyon spoke, breaking the silence. “And what about the marriage contract?”

Victor’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had almost forgotten about that. Almost.

Sophia’s offer still lingered in his mind. A marriage of convenience—one that could secure his position, his influence, and, more importantly, provide him with a powerful ally. But accepting meant binding himself to her, and Victor never liked being bound by anyone.

“I’ll give her my answer soon,” he said.

But in truth, he already knew what it would be.