⌐╦─ SALVATORE MORETTI IS DEAD

The headline on the front page of the morning newspaper was printed in massive, bold black ink that seemed to stain the paper: MAFIA KING SALVATORE MORETTI FOUND DEAD.

Below the text was a grainy, high-contrast photograph of the 140-story skyscraper where the body had been discovered, its jagged silhouette cutting into the Chicago skyline.

Simone stared at the paper, his eyes scanning the date at the top of the page over and over again, as if the numbers might change if he looked hard enough. September 28, 2019.

He crushed and dropped the newspaper onto the heavy mahogany desk, the paper crinkling loudly in the quiet, suffocating room.

He began to pace the floor, his heavy leather boots clicking softly against the dark hardwood tiles. His chest felt incredibly tight, a heavy weight pressing down on his lungs. He kept running his palm over his thick stubble, the rough, uneven hairs scratching against his skin as he tried to process the absolute chaos of the last twelve hours. His father, the man who had ruled the Chicago underworld with an iron fist, was gone. And his sister, Serafina, was missing, presumed dead or running from the law.

Across the room, his mother, Valeria, sat on the plush velvet sofa. She wasn't wearing the traditional black of a grieving widow. Instead, she sat perfectly upright, a cup of dark espresso resting untouched on the glass table in front of her, a thin layer of skin forming over the cooling liquid. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but her face was hardened into a mask of pure anger.

"I always knew it," Valeria said, her voice sharp and brittle, cutting through the silence like a blade. "I always knew that ungrateful bastard would turn around and kill her own father. She was a snake from the moment she took her first breath."

Simone stopped pacing. He turned to face his mother, his brow furrowed deeply in disbelief. "Mamma, stop. Just stop talking like that. We don't even know what happened up on that terrace yet.” He closed his eyes for a split second, the image of his sister flashing in his mind. Serafina was ruthless, yes, but she had spent her entire life shielding Simone from the darkest parts of this family. “ The police are guessing, the media is guessing—"

"The police found her on the roof with his blood completely coating her hands, Simone!" Valeria snapped, her voice rising sharply as she stood up from the sofa. She took a step toward him, and Simone could see how badly she was trembling.

The tears flowing down her face had matted the small, loose fringes of her styled hair against her forehead, pinning the dark strands to her damp skin. Her makeup was ruined, leaving dark, messy tracks down her cheeks. "She ran! She jumped off the building into the fog like a coward! What more proof do you need to see her for what she really is?"

"I don't believe it," Simone said firmly, shaking his head. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his voice dropping into a stubborn, quiet tone. "I cannot believe Sera could ever do that. She loved Dad. More than anyone else in this family, she actually respected him. She wouldn't just slaughter him in cold blood. It doesn't make any sense."

Valeria let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded more like a choke. "You are blind. You have always been completely blind when it comes to your sister. She wanted the throne, Simone. She saw herself as the rightful new heir, and she took the quickest, bloodiest path she could find to get it."

"She didn't need to kill him for that!" Simone yelled back, his composure finally snapping. The frustration that had been building up all night boiled over. "Dad was already preparing her to take over! He trusted her! Why would she ruin everything she ever worked for?"

"Because she is malicious! Because she has her father's twisted heart!" Valeria shouted, fresh tears spilling over her eyelids and soaking into her collar. She stepped closer to him, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, her whole body shaking with rage. "And here you are, defending the monster who murdered your father! Your own blood is lying on a cold metal slab right now, and you are standing up for his killer!"

"I'm defending the truth, Mamma! I'm trying to think logically!"

"No, you are being an ungrateful son!" Valeria screamed, sobbing openly now, her shoulders heaving under the weight of her distress.

She slapped her chest hard with her palm, right over her heart. "You should be celebrating! Venice is yours now. You should be happy to step up and accept this empire! Do you have any idea what I have sacrificed for this? The dirty deals I had to look past, the blood I had to tolerate in my own home, just to ensure this legacy stayed intact for you? I worked myself to the bone to build a secure future for this family, and you are mourning a murderer instead of taking what is yours!"

Simone stayed entirely silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it throbbed. He watched his mother break down, her manicured fingers digging into her own arms as she wept. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, to hold her through the grief of losing his father, but the awful accusations she was throwing at Serafina felt like poison in the air.

Valeria wiped her tears aggressively with the back of her hand, smearing the dark mascara even further across her face. She glared at her son with a deep, painful resentment.

"She did this to you," Valeria whispered, her voice suddenly dropping into a low, venomous hiss. "Even from whatever grave she dug for herself by jumping off that ledge, she is still doing it. She brainwashed you, Simone. She turned my own son against me, and she isn't even here to see it."

Without waiting for him to reply, Valeria turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Her heavy silk skirt rustled, and a moment later, the massive double doors slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the empty space.

The echo of the slam slowly faded, leaving Simone completely alone in the massive, quiet office. He looked back at the desk, where the stark newspaper headline seemed to stare up at him like an open, bleeding wound.

He rested his palm against the polished wood, right next to the crinkled newspaper. He was twenty years old, the empire was on the brink of a bloody war, his father was dead, and the only person he ever trusted to protect him was currently running for her life in the dark.

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