Chapter 4 - The Viper at the Dinner Table
The revelation struck the room like a physical blow.
Lorenzo Vance had been the legendary ghost-consigliere of the Rossi Syndicate—a brilliant strategist who disappeared twenty years ago after a bloody coup attempted by rival families. It had been assumed his entire bloodline was wiped out.
Gio stared at the ring, then up at her face. Now, looking past the plain waitress attire and the wet hair, he saw the unmistakable aristocratic bone structure, the sharp intelligence, and the iron-willed posture of the Vance dynasty.
“Lorenzo’s daughter,” Gio muttered, wrapping a linen handkerchief around his bleeding hand. “My father told me you died in a fire in Palermo when you were nine.”
“Roberto extracted me from the burning estate himself,” Isadora said, her voice dropping into quiet gravity. “He hid me under a new identity, funded my education in forensic accounting and intelligence in Switzerland, and prepared me for this exact scenario. He knew that the moment he showed weakness, his own inner circle would consume him. He told me to watch, to wait, and to only step into the light when Arturo made his final move.”
“And what is Arturo’s final move?” Gio demanded, stepping closer.
“The Syndicate Council summit in three days,” she replied without hesitation. “Arturo has allied himself with Don Moretti from Calabria. They intend to challenge your leadership, declare you unfit and reckless, and present forged bank records proving you’ve been embezzling syndicate funds for your private offshore accounts. When you resist, they will execute you under the guise of syndicate law.”
Luca stepped forward, his face pale. “Boss, Arturo has been handling the offshore transfers for the past six months. If he fabricated the ledgers, the Council will believe him. The other five families are already uneasy about how aggressive you've been expanding the shipping ports.”
Gio’s expression turned savagely dark. “Then we kill Arturo tonight. In his bed.”
“No!” Isadora stepped forward, putting her hand directly against Gio’s broad chest to halt him.
The contact made both of them freeze. Gio looked down at her slender hand against his shirt, his pulse hammering against her palm. An electric, dangerous spark leaped between them, heavy and suffocating.
“If you kill Arturo without proof, the other families will unite against you and declare you a tyrant,” Isadora said, keeping her voice steady despite the heat radiating through his clothes. “You will start a war across Southern Italy that will destroy everything your father built. You need to humiliate them publicly. You need to let Arturo present his trap, and then you spring ours.”
Gio tilted his head down, staring into her amber eyes. “And how do you propose we do that, Miss Vance?”
“You bring me to the high-society Gala tomorrow evening at the Grand Hotel Excelsior,” she declared. “Not as a waitress. Not as a hostage. But as your fiancée and the sole heiress of the Vance financial syndicate. When Arturo sees the Vance name resurface, he will panic and scramble to move his stolen assets—and that is when I will intercept the transfers and expose him in front of every Don in Italy.”
Matteo whistled softly. “That’s a suicide run. The moment Moretti sees Lorenzo Vance’s heir alive, every hitman from Naples to Reggio will be gunning for her.”
Gio didn't look at Matteo. His eyes remained locked on Isadora, a dangerous, intoxicating fascination gleaming in the dark depths of his gaze.
“Are you afraid to die, Isadora?” he asked, his voice low, intimate.
She met his gaze without flinching. “I stopped being afraid the night my family’s house burned down. The question is, Giovanni... are you brave enough to trust a woman who poured ice down your trousers three hours ago?”
May you like
A slow, lethal smile curved Gio’s lips for the first time that night.
“Luca,” Gio ordered, his voice dripping with dark anticipation. “Call the finest dressmakers in Milan. Tell them they have twelve hours to dress the future Queen of the Amalfi Coast.”
