Chapter 16: Enter the wild card
817 Words
The drive back to the estate was silent, except for the occasional hum of the tires against the asphalt. Victor’s mind was a battlefield—his mother’s betrayal, Rican’s manipulations, and the marriage contract he never agreed to.
But tonight wasn’t over. Not yet.
As he stepped out of the car, Luca was already waiting by the entrance, eyes sharp.
“Boss, we got company.”
Victor didn’t react—he simply strode past him, jaw set.
“Where?”
“The study.”
Victor pushed open the heavy oak doors, and there—sitting casually in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk—was Lyon Moretti.
His cousin. His wild card.
Lyon was the kind of man who thrived in chaos—a ghost when he wanted to be, a menace when he had to be. Dressed in his usual dark attire, his long fingers toyed with a gold coin, flipping it effortlessly. His sharp, mischievous grin didn’t waver as he looked up at Victor.
“Cugino,” Lyon greeted lazily, using the Italian word for cousin. “You look like hell.”
Victor didn’t flinch. He closed the door behind him, his presence filling the room.
“You picked a bad night to show up.”
Lyon smirked. “Oh, but I heard things were getting interesting. And you know I love a good show.”
Victor didn’t sit. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “What do you want?”
Lyon sighed dramatically, standing up and stretching. “That’s the thing, Vic—I think the better question is, what do you want?”
Victor’s eyes darkened. “I want to know why the hell you’re here.”
Lyon chuckled. “You’ve got Don Rican playing kingmaker, Alana in your bed—” he raised a brow “—or at least trying to be—and your mother making backroom deals behind your back.” He whistled. “Messy. Even for a Moretti.”
Victor clenched his jaw. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Lyon twirled the gold coin between his fingers. “I heard a whisper. A certain contract. A certain arranged marriage. And let’s just say… I don’t trust Rican any more than you do.”
Victor exhaled sharply. “You came all the way here for that?”
Lyon finally dropped the grin.
“No, I came here because I think you’re about to make a mistake.”
Victor’s eyes flickered with warning. “And what mistake would that be?”
Lyon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Playing by Rican’s rules.”
Silence hung thick in the air.
Then Lyon smirked again. “Lucky for you, cugino, I’m very good at breaking rules.”
Victor’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—but it wasn’t a no, either.
The wild card was in play.
And the game had just changed.
Victor stood and walked out "I'm going to freshen up, we're going out!
The club was alive, drowning in deep bass and flashing neon lights. Victor leaned back in the VIP booth, his glass of whiskey half-empty as he scanned the crowd. He wasn’t here for fun. He never was.
Lyon sat beside him, relaxed but alert, his sharp eyes tracking movements like a seasoned hunter. Across from them, Luca and the rest of Victor’s men stood watch, their expressions unreadable.
“You sure you didn’t just bring us here to loosen up?” Lyon mused, taking a sip of his drink. “You look like you could use it.”
Victor exhaled, barely amused. “I don’t drink for pleasure.”
Lyon chuckled. “That’s your problem, cugino.”
Before Victor could answer, something shifted in the atmosphere.
A presence. A warning.
His instincts flared. He had been in the game long enough to recognize when trouble walked into a room.
And then—gunfire.
Screams erupted. The club descended into chaos.
Victor was already moving before the first body hit the floor. He flipped the table for cover, his gun drawn in an instant.
Luca and the guards retaliated just as fast, bullets slicing through the flashing lights. Lyon—laughing like a maniac—grabbed a pistol off a fallen attacker and joined in.
Victor fired, his mind calculating in seconds. Who sent them?
This wasn’t random. This was a message.
He spotted one of the shooters retreating toward the exit—a man with a scar slashing through his cheek.
Victor’s heart stopped.
That face. He had seen it once before.
A ghost from his past. A lead he had been praying for.
Victor vaulted over the table, chasing after the man, his heartbeat hammering in sync with the gunfire behind him.
The club was burning in chaos, but none of it mattered.
He had waited too long for this moment.
And he wouldn’t let it slip away.
- Writer
