Chapter 9: Whiskey And Regrets

Vinnie Costa sat alone in his penthouse office, the city stretched out beneath him like a glittering kingdom.

A kingdom he now ruled.

He swirled the Macallan 25 in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. The good stuff. The kind of whiskey meant for celebrations.

So why did it taste like ash?

He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the skyline. The lights blinked in the distance, the streets pulsing below, alive with deals being made, orders being followed, money changing hands—all in his name.

Dom Ricci was dead—at least, that's what everyone believed.

The throne was his.

His men swore loyalty.

His enemies had been crushed.

So why couldn't he shake the feeling that someone was watching him?

Not the cops. Not the feds.

His own men.

The same faces that once looked at him with respect now held something else—hesitation. Doubt.

Maybe even resentment.

He told himself it was nothing. "I am just imagining things."

But Vinnie had been in this game long enough to know one thing for certain— 

*Power breeds paranoia.*

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A soft knock echoed through the penthouse. 

Vinnie's hand tightened around the glass. "Enter," he said, his voice sharper than intended. 

The door opened, and Mira slipped inside like a shadow, her movements smooth, effortless. She wore a black dress that clung to her like a second skin, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Everything about her was controlled. Calculated. 

She didn't speak right away. Instead, she moved to the bar, pouring herself a glass of water from the crystal decanter on his desk—a small, deliberate act. A reminder that she wasn't here to be dismissed. 

She took a sip, then set the glass down with a quiet click. 

"Trouble sleeping?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. 

Vinnie exhaled slowly. "Just thinking." 

Mira studied him, her dark eyes unreadable. "Thinking about what?" 

He hesitated. Even now, even with her, he didn't like voicing his insecurities. But Mira was the only one he trusted—or at least, the only one he wanted to trust. 

"About them," he admitted, nodding toward the window, toward the city, toward the men under his command. "Whether I can trust them." 

Mira ran a finger along the rim of her glass. "Can you?" 

Vinnie frowned. "Of course I can. They know who's in charge." 

Mira tilted her head slightly. "Loyalty is a funny thing, Vinnie. It can be bought. It can be broken. And sometimes…" She let the words hang in the air, "…sometimes, it dies with the last king." 

Vinnie's stomach turned. "What are you saying?" 

Her gaze locked onto his, sharp as a blade. 

"I'm saying you're not invincible." 

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Mira moved around his desk slowly, the way a cat circles prey—not overtly threatening, but with the promise of something dangerous. 

"Just that you should be careful," she said, perching on the edge of the desk, her fingers trailing lightly along the polished wood. 

"There are people within your ranks who aren't as satisfied with your rule as they appear to be. Some are ambitious. Others… resentful." 

Vinnie's jaw tightened. He leaned forward. "Names." 

Mira smiled—but it wasn't a kind smile. 

"Sera Rossi," she said simply. 

Vinnie's pulse ticked. Sera had been one of Dom's most trusted lieutenants—sharp as a blade, steady as a rock. She'd pledged loyalty to him after Dom's fall, but now that Mira mentioned it… 

She had been quiet lately. Too quiet. 

Mira leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "She was close to Dom. She knew his way of doing things. Maybe she's waiting. Maybe she's watching. Maybe…" Her lips curled slightly, "…she's planning." 

Vinnie's fingers clenched around his glass. 

"And then there's Tony Mancini." 

Vinnie's jaw twitched. The Hammer. Big. Loud. Brutal. 

But Tony had a following. Men like him didn't follow out of fear. They followed out of respect. 

And if Tony didn't respect him— 

Others wouldn't either. 

"They wouldn't dare," Vinnie muttered. 

Mira's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Wouldn't they?" 

She stood up, adjusting the fabric of her dress. 

"I'm not saying you have a problem, Vinnie. I'm just saying…" Her voice trailed off, letting the implication settle. "…you should think about who benefits from your downfall." 

She reached for her glass again, taking a slow sip. Their eyes met. 

"Sleep well," she murmured. 

Then she turned and glided out of the office, leaving behind nothing but the ghost of her perfume and the weight of her words. 

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Vinnie sat there, gripping his whiskey. His mind raced. 

Sera. 

Tony. 

How many others? 

The city lights outside felt colder now, their glow no longer a symbol of victory but a reminder of something else—he wasn't safe. 

He took another sip. 

The whiskey burned. 

Not like before. 

Not like warmth, not like celebration. 

Like poison. 

For the first time since taking the throne, Vinnie felt the walls closing in. The empire he thought was secure was beginning to crumble under the weight of his own doubts. Was Mira right? Or was she manipulating him, feeding his fears to serve her own agenda? 

He stared at the empty doorway where she had vanished, wondering how much of her warning was truth—and how much was calculated manipulation. 

If Sera was plotting, she'd move soon. If Tony was restless, he'd make noise. 

But if neither were threats… then perhaps the real danger was closer than he imagined. 

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Vinnie drained the rest of his drink, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the silent room, a stark contrast to the distant hum of the city below. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall—midnight. Yet sleep felt impossible. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer, every silence louder. 

Mira's words replayed in his mind: *"You should think about who benefits from your downfall."* 

Who indeed? 

Was it Sera, nursing old loyalties to a man she still admired? Was it Tony, chafing under the rule of someone he saw as unworthy? Or was it someone else entirely—someone Vinnie hadn't considered? 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: Loyalty wasn't absolute. It could fracture. Shift. Break. 

And if it did… 

His grip on the city would slip. 

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Vinnie poured himself another drink, though the alcohol did little to dull the edge of his unease. Outside, the rain began to fall, its steady rhythm masking the chaos brewing beneath the surface. 

He thought about Dom—the man he'd betrayed, the man whose shoes he now tried to fill. Had Dom ever felt this way? Did he ever question whether those around him truly supported him or merely waited for him to falter? 

Vinnie shook his head, dismissing the thought. Dom was gone. Dead. Irrelevant. 

Yet the word lingered in his mind—*dead.* 

Could it be true? Or was Dom lurking in the shadows, biding his time, plotting revenge? 

No. Vinnie pushed the idea aside. Benny's death at Fulton had proven Dom was finished. 

Still, the doubt gnawed at him. 

Mira's warning returned unbidden: *"Sometimes, loyalty dies with the last king."* 

Was he the new king? Or just another pawn in a larger game? 

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As the rain continued to fall, Vinnie stared out at the city, the lights reflecting in his glass. For all its beauty, the view felt hollow. The throne he coveted so fiercely now seemed less like power and more like a prison. 

Every decision carried risk. Every alliance came with strings. And every moment brought the possibility of betrayal. 

Mira's presence lingered in the air, her parting shot reverberating in his mind. 

"Who benefits from your downfall?"

The question haunted him, digging deeper with each passing second. 

If he wasn't careful, the answer might come sooner than he expected.