Power plays and bloodline
2428 Words
The morning sunlight barely pierced the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti mansion. Leonardo sat in the grand study, a sleek espresso in hand, the city below still trembling under the weight of his family’s influence. The previous night’s indulgence had left him satisfied but restless. In the mafia world, pleasure was fleeting, and power—control—was eternal.
His father, Don Alessandro Moretti, sat across the massive mahogany desk, eyes sharp as ever, hands folded neatly. “The rival shipment,” he began, his voice calm but heavy with authority. “Giordano’s men are testing our borders again. Trucks were stopped at the docks last night. They tried to intercept the delivery.”
Leonardo’s jaw tightened. He had expected this. Rival families never slept; neither did they respect boundaries. “Did anyone interfere with the cargo?” he asked.
“No,” Alessandro replied. “Our men were ready. But they are bold. Too bold. They’ve grown reckless. And I don’t like it.”
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, swirling his espresso. “Let them come. We’ll remind them who controls this city.”
A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Alessandro waved the visitor in. It was Giacomo, a seasoned lieutenant, loyal to Leonardo and known for his ruthless efficiency.
“Boss, surveillance confirmed,” Giacomo said, dropping a folder on the desk. “Giordano’s men are consolidating at the East Dock warehouse. Heavy arms, at least twenty men. No sign of their leader, yet.”
Leonardo opened the folder, scanning the maps and photos. His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Twenty men? That’s a warm-up,” he murmured. “We’ll make it quick. Clean. Leave a message.”
His father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Leonardo, remember—control isn’t only about brute force. It’s about strategy. We strike smart, not just hard.”
“Understood, father,” Leonardo said, though he already had a plan forming in his mind.
By late afternoon, Leonardo was in the underground garage, donning a tailored black leather jacket over a crisp white shirt. Guns, knives, and a few more discreet weapons were secured in custom holsters. He moved like a shadow, checking in with his crew.
“Everything ready?” he asked, voice low, controlled.
Giacomo nodded, his dark eyes sharp. “All men in position. Cars staged. Drones in the air. No surprises.”
Leonardo smirked. “Good. Let’s remind them who owns this city.”
The convoy moved swiftly through the city streets, black SUVs and sleek motorcycles forming a protective perimeter around Leonardo’s vehicle. He sat in the front, eyes scanning for potential threats. The East Dock loomed ahead, a cluster of warehouses with rusted roofs, barely illuminated by the dying afternoon sun. Shadows moved in and out of sight—Giordano’s men were already there.
“Hold,” Leonardo commanded as they approached the perimeter. “I want eyes before we make a move.”
A drone overhead transmitted images to his tablet. Men in tactical gear, armed and alert, patrolling the dock. The smell of salt and diesel filled the air as Leonardo’s convoy stopped behind cover.
Giacomo crouched beside him. “They’re expecting a fight. Someone tipped them off.”
Leonardo’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Good. That means they’re predictable. And predictable men die first.”
Night fell fast, shadows blending with the neon of the city. Leonardo and his men moved like phantoms, scaling fences, positioning themselves behind crates and shipping containers. The first shots were fired from a distance, warning shots meant to intimidate. Leonardo didn’t flinch; this was the language he understood.
“Take the left flank,” he ordered, voice calm but commanding. “Suppress them. Move fast.”
The clash erupted in a blur of movement, bullets cracking the night air, shouts echoing off the warehouses. Leonardo moved with precision, his hand steady on his pistol, eyes scanning for any opening. One of Giordano’s men stepped out of cover, aiming a rifle. Leonardo fired, hitting him in the shoulder; the man dropped, screaming, chaos spreading among the rival ranks.
Giacomo and the lieutenants coordinated expertly, men moving like a well-oiled machine. Leonardo’s personal guards secured the perimeter, while he advanced toward the main warehouse entrance. Smoke and sparks filled the night as gunfire exchanged rapidly, but Leonardo’s focus never wavered.
Inside the warehouse, crates of contraband stood stacked high—cocaine, weapons, and bundles of cash. Leonardo stepped lightly over shattered glass and broken wooden crates, scanning for the leader. A shadow moved near the back—tall, broad, calculating.
“You’ve got guts, showing yourself,” Leonardo called, pistol raised.
The man laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “Moretti. So predictable.”
Leonardo’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I’ll remind you that predictable isn’t safe.”
They clashed in a brutal hand-to-hand encounter, fists connecting, bodies slamming into crates. The air was thick with sweat, gunpowder, and tension. Leonardo’s combat training shone as he disarmed the man, twisting his wrist, forcing him to the ground.
“Message delivered,” Leonardo said, letting the man kneel, bruised but alive. “Tell your family who runs this city.”
By midnight, the docks were quiet again. Leonardo and his crew had returned to the city, leaving a clear warning for the Giordano family. No one doubted the Moretti name anymore. Back at the mansion, Leonardo walked through the halls, every step echoing with authority.
His father waited in the study, reading the incoming reports. “You handled it well,” Alessandro said, voice calm but approving. “But remember—this is only the beginning. Other families will test us soon.”
Leonardo poured himself a glass of cognac, savoring the burn. “Let them test us. We’re always ready.”
Later, in the private lounge, Leonardo met with his lieutenants, reviewing city maps, shipment schedules, and upcoming deals. Every move was calculated; every alliance measured. Even in a world of violence and pleasure, strategy was king.
Giacomo leaned over a map. “There’s a new player moving in from the south side. Young, reckless. Could be trouble.”
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed. “Then we meet him. Preemptive strike. Let him know the Moretti name isn’t to be challenged.”
The night stretched on, filled with planning, orders, and strategy. No indulgence tonight—this was the work of power, the side of life that maintained their dominance.
By the early morning, Leonardo finally retired to his suite, city lights glowing through the windows. The city slept, unaware of the quiet wars being waged in shadows. Leonardo’s mind, however, remained sharp, already planning, already anticipating the next challenge, the next threat, the next move in this deadly game of power and control.
The next morning came with a heavy gray sky hanging low over the Moretti mansion. Clouds rolled over the city like smoke from untold battles. Leonardo stood on the balcony of his suite, shirtless, the cold wind brushing against his skin as he stared down at the quiet grounds.
His phone vibrated. A message from Giacomo.
– We found something at the dock you need to see. Urgent.
Leonardo didn’t waste a second. He turned from the balcony, entered his walk-in closet, and grabbed a fresh black shirt and a fitted coat. His movements were sharp, calculated — the same rhythm he had lived by since childhood.
Minutes later he was walking through the mansion’s lower hall, and the moment he reached the entrance, two guards opened the doors for him. A matte-black SUV waited outside. Giacomo was already in the passenger seat.
“Boss,” Giacomo greeted as Leonardo got in.
“What is it?” Leonardo asked, buckling his seatbelt.
Giacomo handed him a small metal box — old, dented, marked with a symbol he didn’t immediately recognize. Leonardo studied it, running a thumb over the strange crest: two serpents coiled around a dagger.
“This wasn’t from the Giordanos,” Giacomo said.
Leonardo’s eyes lifted. “Then who?”
“We don’t know yet. But the box was left right where we fought last night… like someone wanted us to find it.”
Leonardo clenched his jaw, opening the latch. Inside was a memory card, a bullet casing, and a folded note.
He unfolded the note first.
THIS CITY WON’T BELONG TO YOU FOREVER. — V.
Leonardo’s brows furrowed.
“V?”
Giacomo nodded. “No records. No intel. No known family with that initial.”
Leonardo closed the box slowly. “Someone’s watching us. Testing us.”
“We think they might’ve been at the docks before the Giordanos arrived,” Giacomo added. “We found camera mounts. Empty casings. They saw everything.”
Leonardo leaned back, tapping his finger against the casing of the bullet in the box.
“A ghost,” he murmured. “A silent player.”
His phone buzzed again. This time, his father’s name appeared.
Leonardo answered immediately.
“Leonardo,” Alessandro said, “I’ve been informed of the symbol on the box.”
“So fast?”
“I have my own sources,” Alessandro replied. “This is concerning. Return to the mansion immediately. We have business to discuss.”
“We’re on our way.”
The SUV spun around, tires gripping the asphalt as they headed back.
The meeting room in the mansion’s east wing was already occupied when Leonardo arrived. His father sat at the head of the long obsidian table. Several high-ranking lieutenants were gathered, murmuring in low voices.
As Leonardo approached, the room quieted.
Alessandro gestured for him to sit.
“Explain,” the Don ordered.
Leonardo set the metal box on the table and slid it toward his father.
Alessandro examined the crest, narrowing his eyes.
“This symbol,” the Don began, “hasn’t appeared in over twenty years.”
A ripple of surprise moved through the lieutenants.
Giacomo frowned. “You recognize it?”
Alessandro nodded slowly. “It belongs to the Valentini Clan. They were wiped out decades ago. Or so we believed.”
Leonardo’s eyes sharpened. “You never mentioned them before.”
The Don sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“They were ruthless. Far more dangerous than the Giordanos or any family now. But they vanished. Burned their own estates, disappeared off the map. And now…” His gaze settled on the metal box. “…someone carries their symbol again.”
Giacomo crossed his arms. “If they were wiped out, someone else must’ve taken the symbol.”
“Or someone survived,” Alessandro corrected.
Leonardo tapped his fingers against the table, his mind already running through possible moves, threats, strategies.
“Why appear now?” Leonardo asked.
“Power shift,” Alessandro replied. “The Giordanos are weak. Other families are unstable. The Morettis are the strongest force in the city. Anyone who wants a piece of the throne will come for us first.”
A heavy silence fell.
Leonardo broke it first.
“Then we prepare.”
His voice was calm, but something dark simmered beneath it.
His father nodded. “We tighten security. Double the watch on every shipment. Strengthen alliances. Call the diplomats from the south districts.”
“What about this V?” Leonardo asked.
“We investigate,” Alessandro said firmly. “Quietly. No one must know we’re looking.”
Leonardo smirked. “They wanted our attention. Now they have it.”
That afternoon, the mansion was a storm of movement. Guards running drills, lieutenants speaking code into radios, black cars leaving the grounds one after another.
Leonardo walked through the outdoor training yard where recruits were practicing marksmanship. He watched silently as bullets struck targets with varying precision. One soldier missed the second shot entirely.
Leonardo stepped behind him.
“Your stance is wrong,” he said.
The recruit stiffened. “B–Boss—”
Leonardo took the man’s hands, adjusting his grip.
“Shoulders back,” Leonardo instructed. “Feet grounded. You don’t shoot like the gun controls you. You control it.”
The recruit fired again. Bullseye.
“Better,” Leonardo said, stepping away. “You want to stay alive in this family? Then never get comfortable.”
He left the yard as the men straightened, their respect following him like a shadow.
At the gate, a black motorcycle approached — one of their informants. The rider dismounted, helmet still on. Leonardo’s men raised weapons instantly.
“Identify,” one guard said.
The rider lifted a hand slowly…
…then removed the helmet.
It was a woman.
Sharp eyes.
Dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
A scar on her left cheek.
“Name?” Leonardo asked.
“Elira,” she answered. “I’m the one who found the box before your men.”
Leonardo’s gaze hardened. “You were at the docks before the Giordanos?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I saw something your men didn’t.”
Leonardo studied her face. She wasn’t lying.
“Follow me,” he said, turning toward the mansion doors. “Explain everything.”
Inside one of the side brief rooms, they sat across from each other at a round table. Giacomo stood near the wall, listening carefully.
Elira placed a USB drive on the table.
“There’s footage,” she said. “Someone was watching from the rooftops. I tracked the signal.”
Leonardo plugged the USB into the table monitor.
Footage played:
A figure in a long coat standing on a distant rooftop.
Face hidden.
Watching the entire battle.
Never moving.
Never running.
At the end of the footage, the figure lifted something — a metal box — and placed it on a crate before disappearing into the darkness.
Leonardo leaned forward.
“That’s them,” he said softly.
“The Valentini ghost.”
Elira nodded. “Whoever they are… they’re not afraid of you. That alone makes them dangerous.”
Leonardo pushed the monitor away and stood, his presence filling the room.
“Lock down every border,” he ordered. “No one in or out without authorization.”
He turned to Elira. “You work for me now. Find everything you can on this V.”
Elira smirked, crossing her arms. “You’re paying double.”
Leonardo stepped closer, face inches from hers.
“I don’t negotiate with informants.”
She held his gaze without flinching.
“Then you picked the right woman.”
Giacomo chuckled quietly.
Leonardo didn’t smile — but his eyes did.
“Good,” Leonardo said. “We begin tonight.”
- Writer
