CASSIAN
Three years ago.
Nothing happens in England without a Moretti knowing.
Don Dante, my father and president of MGD—Moretti Global Dynasty—clinked the glass in his hand.
He looked regal in his three-piece light grey suit and sleek black tie—no trace of wrinkle on his shirt. Black hair with slight traces of silver meticulously styled and tucked neatly behind in a low bun.
Beneath his gentleman's look, he was a cold-hearted devil with no emotions. Most of the people in this room knew what he was capable of—never showing mercy, and always had his way with information— that's how he'd earned his nickname "devil's eye.'
His lips curved in a perfunctory smile; whoever had planned the attack wasn't here—a villain could always sniff out his kind.
His lips parted. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, diplomats and aristocrats, heirs…" the speech rolled on perfectly.
Sitting at the other head of the VIP table, one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped against my thigh, I caught the lust-laden gaze of some women.
I wasn't mesmerised by the impressive curves of their ample derriere.
Most women in Lake Como had marital affairs, but men like me were the ones labelled as lotharios. Women are impossible!
I rolled my eyes, returning each stare with a cynically colder expression devoid of emotion.
I had my special class of ladies.
The phone on my table chimed. An incoming text appeared at the top of the screen.
"We found him."
I tipped my head slowly, intrigue clouding my senses as my gaze veered to the stage and Dante's eyes met mine.
Briefly.
A faint smirk ghosted his lips, gone as quickly as it had appeared to have been noticed by anyone else.
I bobbed my head slowly. Just once, but enough for him to get the signal, then I dropped the phone back on the table.
Two seconds. No, three.
I adjusted my mulberry-black Ermenegildo Zegna tie, aligned it perfectly, straightened my double-breasted Brioni jacket, then stood and turned for the exit.
I'm a Moretti, and that means one thing: we don't use side doors.
Immediately I got into the black Cadillac, I signalled for Rio. We drove to the Moretti warehouse located in the middle of nowhere.
I pushed aside milky vinyl strips, scarred and yellowed at the edges, and stepped inside.
The smell of blood, steel, damp air, and of course, violence, hung heavy.
I inhaled sharply. Finally
"Where's my present?" I asked lightly, leaning against the auburn desk.
Nico, my underboss, stepped forward, removed the iPod from his ear while his lips worked… "Andriano Selarno. Twenty-four. Cousin to Vittorio Selarno. Surveillance operative."
Luca, wheeled a man in on cue.
"A Selarno?" I arched a brow, "I know the Selarnos always want to make an impression, but Vittorio must either think you're obtuse or expendable to send you after my father. Don't you think so?"
Adriano's eyes widened as he shook his head violently.
I cupped his chin, forcing his gaze to hold mine. I saw fear mixed with anger in his eyes as they met mine.
"A little disrespect is definitely no respect." I thought.
I smiled.
Every mafia is always known for four things.
Power. Wealth. Womanizing. And instilling fear before killing your enemies.
I did it all.
Adriano's feet were bound, the rest of his body tied to the metal chair.
He bit down on the gag in his mouth, veins bulging, sweat slicking his skin as he thrashed uselessly.
Of course, nothing would come out. His mouth was sealed.
I clicked my tongue between two teeth.
"Shovel," I muttered gruffly, with no trace of emotion in my voice.
I glanced at my Rolex Daytona. "Six minutes. That's all."
Surely, I wasn't as merciless as people assumed I was. I would spare him a little mercy—a little time before playing villain tonight.
"Understood?"
Adriano's eyes flared bloodshot. He muffled another response.
I smiled faintly. "Good."
I rolled up my sleeves, clamped a hand on his chin, tilted his face with my free hand, then pulled the strap on his mouth forcefully, and a little blood appeared on the broken skin.
"YOU DAMN MORETTIS' FEEL SO POWERFUL, DON'T YOU?" Andriano spat, rage uncontained as he tried to jerk forward.
I looked at him lazily.
Wrong move. Wrong person.
Why did people like him think this was a feeling? Or some fucking stupid aura?
I fixed a hand into my pocket, walked behind him, bent forward, voice-controlled. "No," I replied,
"We don't feel powerful, stronzo. We are power itself. I'm sure you figured that out considering how you were in New York two hours ago, and now, you're right here in Lake Como." I smiled darkly.
"Don't worry, I promise to have your body cut into bits and sent to Vittorio."
"You have one minute to beg for mercy." My voice carried a calmness with a hint of animosity.
I was offering my kindness.
Adriano scoffed, spitting Italian curses.
Of course. I knew he wouldn't accept my kindness.
"Play the music," I ordered Nico, standing straight to my full height.
He twitched, twisting his body, "Sei un miserabile. Ti staccherò la testa!" He slurred, breath ragged, and a green vein appeared on his neck.
"Credimi, l'inferno ti aspetta… e io aprirò la porta."
My Italian wasn't perfect but at least I understood him.
I circled him, standing in front of him, shovel scraping the tiles.
The walls were soundproofed.
I sent him a dead stare. "You fucking dumbass Selarnos never learn." I retorted dryly, "Very well then. See you in hell."
Immediately, I aimed at his neck and slammed the shovel into his face.
Once.
Again.
Again.
Again. Until I felt warm, wet liquid spray across my white shirt, my face, the walls and desk.
The fucking idiot really soiled my mood.
I stared at Andriano, neck bent wrongly, almost falling off, face bloodied.
"Clean up and make sure the body gets delivered before dawn," I ordered, throwing the shovel on the floor.
I think 'two can play' whatever game Vittorio has up his sleeves.
I washed my hands and face, changed into a clean white shirt, fixed my suit, strapped on the Rolex Daytona and headed back to the car.
"The bloody bastard took eight minutes of my time!" I grunted as Rio rolled the car out of the warehouse onto the road.
My phone rang.
Dante Moretti.
"Hope you had a nice time window shopping?"
He was using the codes, just in case the lines were bugged.
I raked my fingers through my hair, exhaling sharply, "Of course, father. However, I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for"
"Hmmm." A brief pause. "That's enough for today. Breakfast tomorrow at the Villa."
"Si" I responded, before the line disconnected.
I stopped at the art gallery to get a cat painting for Kevin—my cat, then headed for my penthouse.
Next Morning
💎 💎 💎 💎
I felt a noir feeling tighten my chest as I weaved my fingers through my thick black hair.
It wasn't fear—It was the feeling of something stupid that made women spray holy water on their loved ones.
I stepped out of the elevator into the parking lot. Rio appeared, lounged beside the car, "Good morning, Boss"
I nodded.
From my peripheral, I noticed a large man inside a truck, his cap pulled too low but I spotted the anchor tattooed on his wrist before he drove out of the gate.
"The Villa." I said, my attention back on the iPad in my hand as I slid into the passenger seat.
Rio reared the engine to life and swerved out of the underground parking lot.
Fifteen metres away from the penthouse, two black cars appeared behind.
"We've got company," Rio announced, eyes focused on the road.
The bloody hell we did. I could see that!
The other cars behind moved into formation as bullets rolled.
"What the fuck!" I hissed.
Twisting my neck to look over my shoulder through the back window, I felt that acrid feeling in my gut.
Smoke curled. Bullets rained.
Pulling out the revolver from the box sitting beside me, "don't fucking stop until I say so." I snapped.
I pulled out my phone and texted Dante for backup, then opened the door, propped my head out, then squeezed the trigger and bullets rolled off.
A bullet flayed an inch past my face.
"Fuck!" I moved back inside and slammed the door.
From the rear, I saw one of the Moretti convoid blown into pieces as more unidentified cars suddenly appeared from the sides.
The phone in my suit pocket vibrated.
Who the fuck was calling at a time like this?
I checked—Private number.
I placed the phone beside my ear..
No one spoke for the next minute. Just unnerving ragged breath.
Was this some sort of breathing contest?
"Cassian Moretti." a voice said gruffly from the other end, finally breaking the silence, every syllable stretched.
I didn't respond. Not yet.
"I believe you sent me a package."
I scoffed. "You wasted two minutes of my time giving this half-assed introduction? I expected something better." I said, leaning back into the car seat and focused my gaze on the road.
Gunshots bounced off the bulletproof windows, forcing a twitch at the corner of my lips.
"I actually thought you were better off than your father. Maybe smart enough to hand over what the Moretti owes me. Instead, you sent me a surprise box of my dear cousin sliced into pieces. . ." The anger in his voice was palpable. "Looks like I'm dealing with the devil himself."
I pulled a dice from my pocket and stroked it. The anger in my veins was strong, I needed to shove it into something.
Decades ago, Vittorio Selarno, my father's consigliere and business partner, had become greedy for more. He'd become greedy for more shares from the money-laundering deals and drug shipment.
Dante found out and outwitted him in his own game—the Moretti blood made men sensitive—turning the MorSela Groups into MGD-Moretti Global dynasty, because in my family, betrayal was as good as murder.
I managed a smile. "That was a worthy surprise I sent you. A proof that we never keep what isn't ours."
An uncomfortable silence stretched.
"You just stepped into an old war, Cassian"
I smiled. "I'm only dancing to your tune, Vittorio."
An explosion rang in front, causing the car to swerve a little.
Tension hung heavy by a breath. I didn't show it.
I was a Moretti god.
"Welcome to the game, Cassian!" Vittorio laughed brusquely,
My lips pressed into a thin line. I wanted to crack his jaw and break every single bone in his body one by one.
"Enjoy the show, Salerno…but I'm gonna find you. E quando lo faccio, ti spezzerò un osso," I roared in Italian—anger made my Italian smooth.
The truck I'd spotted earlier at the penthouse, came out of nowhere, crashing into the side of the Cadillac.
The impact of the truck sent the Cadillac somersaulting and crashing into an electric pole.
I saw Rio's neck twist in an awkward position, eyes wide open and unblinking.
I jammed the doors open with my right foot and crawled out as smoke filled the Cadillac.
Gunshots rang again, making me push my body forward as I ran ahead.
A bullet burned into my shoulder, sending sharp pain through my entire body.
But adrenaline made survival my goal. I didn't stop. I ran forward. Another bullet cracked into my side making me stumble.
I'm fucking going to die!
When your life has 0.99% of surviving, adrenaline fucking makes you feel powerful, especially when you plan to stay alive.
I clutched my sides as blood dragged down, the motherfuckers gained a clean shot right there. My ribs were cracked, my feet aching. In fact, every part of my body was bloody pounding right now.
This pain was hard but sweet—I had endured worse—I sucked in my teeth. I'd underestimated Vittorio.
Bullets rolled again.
I forced my legs to move, standing up. I did the one thing I could do right now—I ran.
Pain kicked in from my bleeding side but I didn't stop. I didn't limp. I didn't turn back to shoot. I fucking ran towards the alley.
The floor was wet and slippery.
The Cadillac exploded in the distance with Rio's body inside.
I spotted two cars pull up in front.
I wasn't going to die here. Never.
The sound of a car alarm fueled my reflexes.
Bullets flew in my direction as I slammed my shoulder into the back door of a restaurant, sounds of porcelain crashing to the floor as I moved, blood from my side painted the floor red.
I tapped through my bloodied what-could-have-been-a-jacket for the revolver, gone.
Fuck! The damn baby had fallen off.
I swerved to my left, and walked out the front door, a different direction from the attack leading to a rail station. I stepped on something hard—Round and small.
I fell hard, my body slamming hard against bloody metal.
I turned to find a pair of cold eyes, hollow and lifeless staring at me, a revolver in his hand.
Shit!
How did they have men everywhere?
"You don't fuckin wanna do that!" I whispered, curling my fingers around a sharp metal from the floor, I aimed at his neck. I missed.
The scarred face lounged forward, smashing the edge of his revolver into my bleeding side.
I saw stars. Black. Red. Then white.
He got on top of me, releasing hard punches on my face and I heard the crack of bones.
"Wrong spot," I whispered, then pulled the rose still hanging on my suit.
I dug the pin into the bloody idiot's neck with a quick reflex .
Once.
Twice.
Blood spilled.
I pushed his body off me and stood— slowly, painfully, wobbly.
He tried to get up, I smashed my other foot into his knee first. Then his head.
I didn't hear the sound of the footsteps from behind but just before I spotted the shadow on the floor, a bullet swayed past my face, burning my skin.
*Fuck!"
My shoulders throbbed, my insides were burning up like hell was inside.
Before I could turn and get the hell out of there, large scarred hands pulled the pin on a grenade and had it thrown somewhere ahead of me.
The last thing I saw was mama holding my hands at the hospital the day before she'd passed on.
Shit!
It's damn fucking early for a reunion, Mamma.
The impact of the explosion sent my body flying and my head colliding into something sharp.
This was the beginning of the end.
——
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