All at once, Vito, Lorenzo, and Taddeo turned toward the man who had been thrown clear of the illegal bar they'd visited in the black market district. Bloodied and struggling to rise from where he'd crashed onto the ground, the stranger was barely conscious. Vito and the others had only just left an underground auction when they were set upon by enemies sent to kill their leader.
"Looks like Il Capo didn't take too kindly to this one?" Taddeo remarked, pressing his right boot against the back of the downed assailant he'd subdued moments earlier.
"They're the fifth group to try assassinating Penelton," Vito said, brushing dust from his linen shirt. "Whoever's pulling the strings is growing desperate to have him dead."
"Plenty fear the Senza Pietà—especially now that Il Capo is expanding our organization beyond Russia," Lorenzo added, his gaze shifting to Casimiro, who'd settled into a squat beside one of the lifeless attackers. "Territory means rivals, and more rivals mean more attempts to bring us down. But none have succeeded against our boss yet. Whoever's behind these hits should be grateful he hasn't come looking for them… not yet."
"Oi, Penelton the Second! What are you staring at that corpse for?" Lorenzo called out, drawing Vito and Taddeo's attention to Casimiro. It was then that Elijah emerged from the bar, striding steadily toward the only remaining attacker—still gasping and clinging to life.
Several black market onlookers watched with morbid fascination; Elijah was well-known in mafia circles, and his presence always commanded attention.
"P-Please, Penelton… s-spare me, and I'll tell you who ordered us to kill you," the wounded man pleaded as Elijah stopped before him, his expression cold and impassive.
Elijah sank into a crouch, facing the trembling assailant—fear etched across the man's face, though he was too badly injured to fight back.
"P-Please… I'll tell you everything—"
"A moment ago you faced me with boldness," Elijah cut him off in a flat, icy tone. "Now you beg for your life? I despise inconsistency… especially from my enemies."
The black market crowd winced as Elijah drove the dagger he'd been holding deep into the man's thigh, drawing a sharp scream of agony.
"That's gotta hurt like hell," Taddeo chuckled, grinning.
Taddeo and the others knew Elijah well—their mafia boss never let enemies die without making them pay. Ruthless and unforgiving, he showed no mercy to those who crossed the Senza Pietà.
"Casimiro, do you know who they work for?" Elijah asked without emotion, twisting the dagger deeper as the man wept in pain.
"They bear an eagle tattoo on their neck, Il Capo," Casimiro replied calmly. "The Eagles belong to the Illustrato family—led by Gustavo Moretti. The same man you turned down two weeks ago when he asked to join the Senza."
"So someone else was behind the earlier attempts on our boss's life," Taddeo said.
"Gustavo Moretti…" Elijah murmured darkly. He wrenched the dagger from the man's thigh, then slit his throat before the attacker could speak another word.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the bloodied weapon aside, stood, and pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands clean. He discarded the cloth without a second glance.
"What's the plan, Il Capo?" Lorenzo asked. "Shall we pay Gustavo Moretti a visit at his home?"
"Let's go—"
"Oh!" Taddeo interjected suddenly, making Elijah turn to him with a questioning look.
"Spare me the dramatic 'oh,' Penecarte the First," Lorenzo scoffed. "What is it?"
"I just remembered—Gustavo Moretti wasn't just turned down by Il Capo. He's been pursuing my under-associate, Silas!"
"You mean Silas, your subordinate?" Vito asked, and Taddeo nodded.
"That's the one, Benitez! And if I recall correctly, Silas was supposed to head to Moretti's place tonight to… quiet him down."
"So we won't need to go kill Moretti ourselves—someone's already taking care of it, even without Il Capo's orders," Lorenzo noted.
"You got that right, Salvato—"
"Moretti is mine to kill," Elijah cut in sharply. "Call your associate, Deo. I will be the one to end that bastard's life." With that, he began walking away from the black market.
"Shall I stop Silas? B-But she aren't picking up my calls—"
"Figure out how to reach your subordinate, Penecarte the First," Lorenzo interrupted, already following Elijah alongside Casimiro and Vito. He clapped Taddeo on the shoulder as he passed. "Just make sure Moretti is still breathing when Il Capo arrives."
"Oh fuck!" Taddeo cursed, fumbling for his phone. "How am I supposed to tell Silas that Moretti belongs to Il Capo when that woman never answers her calls?!"
He hurried after Vito and the others, dialing frantically as he went. Elijah's soldiers remained behind to clean up the mess they'd left in the market.
Not far from Gustavo Moretti's mansion, Samara hid behind a tree, carefully surveying the grounds before moving in. As an associate of the Senza Pietà under Taddeo Penecarte, her role was to gather intelligence that would benefit the organization. To do this, she worked as a waitress at a club frequented by those plotting to destroy the Senza.
But Samara was more than just an informant—she was trained to hold her own in combat, skills honed over years with the organization. She'd joined not for money alone, but to find the people responsible for killing her parents.
"You won't see another sunrise after tonight, Moretti," she whispered, her goal clear: to end Gustavo Moretti's life.
She'd grown tired of his relentless advances, which often disrupted her work at the club. Once, he'd even struck her—and that had been the final straw. Beyond personal revenge, Moretti possessed documents detailing secret Senza transactions, records he'd kept without authorization.
"Two birds with one stone," Samara mused. "I'll silence that pervert and retrieve the files that never belonged to him in the first place."
She was about to leave her hiding spot when her phone vibrated in her pocket.
"Ugh! Who could be calling me at a time like this?" she muttered under her breath. When she pulled out her phone, she saw Taddeo's name flashing on the screen.
She answered reluctantly, and his voice burst through the line with unmistakable relief.
"Silas! You answered—you've made my day!"
"I'm busy, Sir Taddeo. If you need something—"
"Don't kill Moretti. You can beat him up, rough him up… but don't you dare take his life."
Samara furrowed her brow in confusion. "Why not?"
"We're on our way to his place now. Il Capo wants—"
"Moretti owes me," Samara cut him off firmly. "I'm the one who's going to kill him."
"Wait, Silas! Calm down—Il Capo wants to be the one to finish Moretti off himself!"
"Finders keepers," Samara said simply.
"Silas, wait—"
She ended the call and switched off her phone to avoid further interruptions.
"That perverted bastard is mine," she declared. "I got here first—so he's mine to deal with."
With that, she left her hiding place and slipped silently into Gustavo Moretti's estate.