The Mafia Underboss’ Regret

That night, the master bedroom door was locked.

Vicenzo stood outside holding a pillow, his face arranged into a show of reluctant concern.

“Eva, the smell of medicine on you is too strong. Luca can’t sleep with it.”

He pointed toward the guest room piled high with storage boxes. “Stay there tonight. Don’t make this difficult.”

I looked at the man who had shared my bed for seven years.

There wasn’t a single word of concern in his eyes, only disgust.

Without saying anything, I turned and walked into the room with no heating.

In the middle of the night, I heard Elena’s coy laughter drifting from the master bedroom next door, mixed with Luca’s excited shouts.

They were playing horse and rider, laughing together, as if they were the family of three.

I leaned against the cold wall, pulled out the dagger I had long hidden in my boot, then slid it back in.

Not yet.

I’d wait until the moment they were most proud of everything they had and then watch it collapse.

Early the next morning, Vicenzo got up before dawn, a rare occurrence.

He took off the old jacket, washed pale from wear, and put on a sharply tailored dark suit.

It was a custom piece from one of Nafles’ top tailors, with subtle embroidery at the cuffs.

When I had asked where he got it, he told me it was an old suit discarded by the library owner.

Now it was clear that this was the attire of the second-in-command of the Carlini family.

“Eva, go change,” Vicenzo urged impatiently. “Today we’re taking you to apologize to Mr. Mario.”

Luca wore the formal outfit Elena had bought him, looking like a proud little prince.

As he passed me, he pinched his nose and made a face.

“You stink. Stay away from us.”

I said nothing. I simply pulled on my wrinkled trench coat and covered the bandages on my arm.

Elena linked her arm through Vicenzo’s and shot me a provocative glance.

The car sped all the way to a heavily guarded estate. This was one of the Carlini family’s strongholds.

Two broad-shouldered soldati stood at the entrance.

When they saw us step out, one of them gave a cold glance and urged impatiently, “Go in. They’re all waiting.”

The display of force seemed to rattle Vicenzo. His body trembled almost imperceptibly, and he instinctively tightened his grip around my wrist.

“Eva, don’t be afraid. Just apologize properly, and it’ll be fine…” His voice shook, as though he were convincing himself, and he pulled me quickly toward the doors.

Elena followed with Luca in hand, her face openly eager for a spectacle.

Inside, the hall was lavish and glittering, with two rows of soldati standing solemnly on either side.

Mario, whom I had injured the night before, now sat boldly on a leather sofa in the center.

An arrogant smile twisted across his face, and when he saw us enter, he even crossed his legs in exaggerated confidence.

Vicenzo suddenly stopped walking and turned to face me.

The usual cowardice in his eyes was gone. All that remained was a cold command.

“Eva, kneel.”