CHAPTER TWELVE - A Declaration of War
820 Words
The night outside the De Luca mansion was calm, but inside Alessandro's office, the air pulsed with tension. The crackling fireplace cast long shadows against the dark mahogany walls, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Alessandro sat at his desk, leaning back in his leather chair with a glass of whiskey dangling loosely in one hand. His gaze was distant, eyes half-lidded as if lost in thought. But his mind was never truly at rest — always calculating, always anticipating the next move.
The calm shattered with the sudden crash of the door bursting open.
Vincenzo stumbled inside, breathless and pale, clutching something tightly in his trembling hands. Alessandro bolted upright instantly, the glass slamming onto the desk with a sharp clink.
“What the hell are you doing?” Alessandro snapped. “Barging in like—”
“Boss,” Vincenzo cut him off, voice cracking. "You… you need to see this."
He stepped forward, holding out a bloodied handkerchief. The fabric was dark with red, the stain still fresh. It dripped slightly, a single drop splattering onto the floor between them.
Alessandro’s stomach dropped. His expression hardened. Slowly, deliberately, he stood from his chair, the room seeming to grow colder with every second of silence.
“What happened?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Vincenzo’s breathing hitched. "I… I don’t know. One of the men found this at the gate. There was… a letter too."
Alessandro ignored him for the moment, snatching the handkerchief from his hands. His fingers trembled slightly — not with fear, but with fury — as he unfolded the stained fabric.
Luca’s crest fell into his palm.
His blood ran cold.
Alessandro stared at the pin for a long moment. The De Luca family crest… Luca never went anywhere without it. His most loyal guard. His right hand. His most trusted man.
And now it lay in his palm, soaked in blood.
Vincenzo swallowed hard. “There’s… there’s a note.”
Alessandro didn’t look at him. He barely seemed to be breathing.
“Boss?”
Finally, Alessandro’s eyes flicked up, sharp as a blade. “Give it to me.”
Vincenzo handed him the folded letter with shaking fingers. Alessandro unfolded it slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he read.
Your favorite bodyguard is in my custody. Meet me at Massimo Castle at noon — and bring Marco.
Leonard Rossi.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence.
And then Alessandro laughed.
It started low — a soft chuckle under his breath. But it built, growing louder and louder until it echoed through the room. A cold, manic sound that sent shivers down Vincenzo’s spine. Alessandro tossed the letter onto the desk, running a hand through his dark hair as the laughter spilled from his lips.
“Leonard Rossi,” he murmured between breaths. “This… this is what you’ve got?” He shook his head, eyes glinting with something dark. “Taking my guard? This is your grand move?”
He slammed his hand against the desk suddenly, the impact rattling the glass of whiskey. “Pathetic.”
Vincenzo shifted nervously. “Boss… what do we do?”
Alessandro’s smile dropped instantly. His eyes turned to ice. “What do we do?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped closer to Vincenzo, slow and deliberate. “We make him suffer.”
Vincenzo swallowed. "But… he has Luca."
"And I have his pride," Alessandro spat. "This was never about Luca — this was about me. He wants to make a statement. Well, I’ll give him one he’ll never forget."
He turned away, pacing toward the window. The city lights glittered in the distance, but Alessandro’s gaze was unfocused. His breathing was slow and controlled — too controlled. The kind of calm that came before a storm.
"Prepare for war," Alessandro said finally.
Vincenzo blinked. "War?"
"You heard me," Alessandro snapped. "Gather the men. Double the security around the mansion. I want eyes on every Rossi property by morning. I want them to feel our presence breathing down their necks."
"But what about the meeting at Massimo Castle?"
Alessandro’s expression darkened. "Oh, I’ll be there. With Marco."
Vincenzo hesitated. "Do you think it’s wise to bring him?"
Alessandro’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Wise? No. But necessary."
Vincenzo nodded, though uncertainty lingered in his eyes. "And… Luca?"
Alessandro’s gaze flicked back to the bloodied crest in his hand. His fingers curled around it tightly, knuckles going white.
"Luca will survive," he said quietly. "Because I won’t let him die."
The room fell silent again, but this time it was different — heavy with the promise of violence. Alessandro set the crest down gently on the desk, running a thumb over the metal as if it might somehow reassure him.
But there was no reassurance to be found.
Only rage.
- Writer
