His Queen,Their War

Chapter Ten

The footsteps echoed first.

Two sets, steady and deliberate, their rhythm sinking into the marble floor of the penthouse corridor. Guards straightened at once, not daring to meet their eyes as Salvatore and Lorenzo passed. The weight of their presence was heavier than the silence surrounding them,men who carried empires on their shoulders, who decided life and death with the flick of a wrist.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. They stepped inside, the ride up silent but taut, like even the elevator cables strained under their power. By the time the doors slid open again, they stepped out.

Their footsteps carried across the penthouse floor, the muted thud of leather soles on wood blending with the faint hum of jazz spilling from hidden speakers. The scent of smoke already clung to Salvatore, a cigarette resting casually between his fingers. Lorenzo’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fists clenched, jaw tight, a storm bottled just under his skin.

They reached the lounge, where the city lights glared through glass walls. Salvatore sank into the leather couch with a regal calm, exhaling smoke like a man who had all the time in the world. Lorenzo stayed standing at first, pacing like a caged wolf, before slamming into a chair opposite him.

For a moment, there was only the sound of a lighter snapping shut, the faint crackle of burning tobacco. Then Lorenzo’s voice cut through, sharp and livid.

“I know it’s about Matteo and you were right,He betrayed me after everything”

Salvatore lifted a brow, blowing a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “So I’ve heard.”

“Don’t play it soft.” Lorenzo leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Matteo didn’t just cross some petty line. He broke blood oath. He sold information to outsiders,my men’s routes, our shipments. He handed pieces of my house to vultures and thought I wouldn’t notice.”

Salvatore tapped ash into the tray, his face unreadable. “And now you want him dead.”

“Of course I want him dead!” Lorenzo’s voice rose, echoing against the high ceilings. “I want to cut out his tongue, burn his name off the streets, remind every bastard who breathes in this city what betrayal costs.” His fist slammed the armrest. “He deserves nothing less.”

Calm as ever, Salvatore swirled the whiskey in his glass. His eyes glinted, steel under velvet. “Killing him now would be… premature.”

Lorenzo scoffed, leaning back. “You always talk about patience like it’s a virtue. But while you sip whiskey and play chess, Matteo sharpens knives behind our backs.”

Salvatore smiled faintly, a predator’s patience in every line. “That’s why you don’t meet betrayal with blood right away. You meet it with strategy. With permanence.”

“What strategy do you propose, then?” Lorenzo spat. “Wait until he guts me in my sleep?”

Salvatore leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his cigarette glowing like an ember between his fingers. His voice dropped, smooth and deliberate.

“Marry her.”

Lorenzo stilled. His brows shot up, confusion warring with fury. “What?”

“Alessia,” Salvatore said, his tone calm, unshaken. “His step-sister. Marry her. Bind her to you, and by extension, bind him. Take the sister, and Matteo cannot move without tightening the noose around his own neck. Every choice he makes will cost him double.”

The words sank like lead into the air between them. Lorenzo’s mouth curled into something between a sneer and a grimace.

“You want me to chain myself to his family? To take a wife just to keep him leashed?”

Salvatore exhaled another drag, smoke clouding the space. “It isn’t about love, Lorenzo. It’s about power. You kill him now, you end one man. You marry her, you own his bloodline. You poison him slowly, through loyalty and obligation. That is a wound that never heals.”

Lorenzo’s jaw worked, his temper shifting into suspicion. His voice turned cold, dangerous. “Or is this about her? About Alessia.”

Salvatore’s gaze flicked to him, steady and unreadable.

Lorenzo leaned in, his tone biting. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you circle her name. You bring her up too often. You think I don’t see the way your eyes shift when she’s mentioned? You want her for yourself, don’t you?”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp as a blade. For a beat, silence stretched, only the city’s hum filling it.

Then Salvatore laughed once, low and dark, like a Don amused at being underestimated. He crushed the cigarette out in the tray, slow and deliberate, before meeting Lorenzo’s glare.

“If I wanted Alessia,” he said softly, voice edged with steel, “there would be no need for strategy. She would already be mine.”

Lorenzo stiffened, anger clashing with the unshakable certainty in his brother’s tone. Salvatore rose from the couch, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. The ice clinked softly, punctuating his calm.

“This isn’t about a woman,” Salvatore continued, turning toward the window. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, the city glittering beneath his silhouette. “This is about control. About building chains stronger than bullets. Alessia is a piece on the board. A valuable one, yes. But a piece all the same.”

“And if she resists?” Lorenzo asked, voice tight.

Salvatore turned, his eyes hard, commanding. “Then resistance becomes another lesson. And Matteo watches his family slip further from his grasp, knowing every breath she takes is under your roof.”

Lorenzo rose abruptly, pacing, fury vibrating off him. “You would use her like that?”

“You mistake use for purpose,” Salvatore said coldly. “She has a role to play. We all do. Even you.”

Lorenzo stopped pacing, staring at him, his chest rising and falling like he’d just fought a battle. Suspicion still lingered in his eyes, but Salvatore’s authority left no cracks to exploit.

Finally, Lorenzo spoke, voice lower but no less bitter. “And if your so-called purpose turns into sentiment? If you find yourself thinking of her as more than just a piece?”

Salvatore’s lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His voice was iron.

“Then sentiment dies with the rest of them.”

The room went silent again, heavy with smoke, whiskey, and the weight of decisions that could topple empires. Outside, the city glittered on, unaware of the storm brewing in its highest towers,two brothers, bound by blood but divided by fire, already tightening the web around Matteo and Alessia alike.

“You’ve gone soft,” Lorenzo spat, his voice thick with contempt.

Salvatore stilled. The words hit harder than a bullet. The air seemed to tighten around him,the cigarette frozen halfway to his lips. His eyes, dark and unreadable, shifted to his younger brother. The silence stretched,dangerous, heavy, like the seconds before a gunshot.

Lorenzo’s jaw was set, fire in his glare. He didn’t take it back. He wanted the sting to land, and he wanted Salvatore to feel it.

As usual, Salvatore did not answer immediately. He sat on the chair,unmoving, the city’s glow painting sharp edges into his face. The only sound was the faint crackle of tobacco, the whisper of smoke curling from the burning tip.

Then,three sharp knocks on the door.

Both brothers turned as it opened a crack, one of their men stepping inside with his head bowed. His voice was low, urgent.

“Don Lorenzo, we’ve caught the offender. He awaits your word.”

Salvatore’s gaze lingered on Lorenzo a moment longer, cold and deliberate, before he finally lifted the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled deep, the ember burning brighter, smoke flooding his lungs.

When he exhaled, it was slow and controlled,directly into Lorenzo’s face. The haze curled around his brother’s features, a ghostly veil of dominance.

Salvatore’s lips curved into a smile, but it carried no warmth.

“It’s been a while,” he murmured, voice smooth as glass, “since I drew out blood.”