Chapter Ten: The Game begins

Cop cars whir, their sirens blazing as the shipment burns, flames licking the night sky from the shore. The chaos below is a spectacle of flashing red and blue lights, frantic officers shouting commands, and the distant wail of fire trucks approaching. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of a towering high-rise, Vincenzo Moretti stands, hands tucked in his pockets, gazing down at the inferno with an unreadable expression.

"An eye for an eye," he mutters, his reflection flickering in the glass. That they would dare threaten him was intriguing. A call? A threat? Me? Haha… This is just the beginning.

"Boss," a voice interrupts his thoughts. Vincenzo turns to find a well-built man in an immaculate suit, standing at attention. The man motions slightly, indicating something—or someone—beyond Vincenzo's line of sight. "We caught a rat."

Vincenzo steps forward, curiosity glinting in his dark eyes. "Oh my, a rat? I don't do well with rodents," he chuckles.

The suited man steps aside, revealing two others dragging a struggling young man forward. He looks no older than twenty-two, his clothes slightly disheveled from the struggle. He jerks and thrashes, but the men's grip on him is firm.

"A cute little mouse," Vincenzo muses, tilting his head as he studies the young man. "Do we have cheese that attracts you?" he adds mockingly.

"Hmph… unhand me!" the young man snaps, his voice defiant despite his predicament.

"Let him go," Vincenzo orders lazily.

The men release him, stepping back but remaining close in case he tries anything foolish. The young man rubs his wrists but keeps his glare locked onto Vincenzo.

"So, to what do we owe this honor?" Vincenzo asks, his tone playful.

"Moretti bastards…" the young man spits on the ground, his voice thick with disdain.

Vincenzo frowns slightly, tilting his head. "Hmm… I've obviously never done anything to you." His voice carries mild amusement. "What makes you so angry, little friend?"

Silence. The young man simply stares at him, seething.

Vincenzo sighs, feigning exasperation. "Well, as you can see, it's been a busy day for me." He turns to one of his men. "You… Nico, right?"

The man stiffens, clearly surprised that Vincenzo knows his name. "Y-Yes, Boss."

"Okay, Nico, I'll have to trouble you and the other brothers to treat our friend here to a fine lesson on etiquette." Vincenzo smirks. "Don't be harsh. He's a valuable guest."

As he turns toward the exit, the young man glares at him. "You think you know everything, Moretti… You think you're powerful."

Vincenzo pauses, looking over his shoulder. His smirk widens slightly. "Hmm… You're going to make a good friend. Be fun, haha." With that, he strides out, the sound of the young man's renewed struggles echoing behind him.

---

The silence of the lavish study is broken by the slow exhale of cigar smoke. A man stands in the dimly lit room, his robe embroidered with intricate gold patterns. A crystal glass of wine rests in his hand, the deep red liquid catching the glow of the chandelier above. His grip tightens as a voice cuts through the ambiance.

"My Lord."

His irritation is immediate. "What?" he sneers, his patience clearly thin.

"One of our shipments was destroyed," the voice states evenly.

The wine glass shatters against the wall before the man even processes his own reaction. "Destroyed?" His tone is sharp, laced with barely restrained fury. "What do you mean, destroyed? Who dares touch what is mine?"

The messenger, who had narrowly dodged the flying glass, kneels to gather the broken shards. "It was Moretti."

The man's rage simmers beneath his carefully controlled breaths. "Moretti? Those relics of the past? I thought we were done with that filth." He clenches his jaw, his fingers drumming against the edge of his desk as he tries to maintain his composure.

"Vincenzo Moretti, sole heir to the name, has been active recently. The Young Lord is on it."

The man exhales sharply through his nose. "He better be." His gaze darkens. "Convey my orders. I don't want this becoming a bigger issue. We are the head of the union. We are Italy's gods. We are Vitore. And nothing will stand in our way."

"Yes, My Lord." The messenger bows, glass shards wrapped in a napkin as he excuses himself.

Alone, the man mutters to himself, his rage bubbling over. "Moretti… Moretti…" His fists clench. "I shouldn't have listened to that damn monk." His voice is barely above a whisper, but the venom in it is unmistakable.

---

"Boss."

Theo's voice slices through the hum of the penthouse office, pulling Vincenzo out of his thoughts. The room is sleek, modern, with the glow of multiple screens casting a cold light over the space.

"Are you even listening to me?" Theo asks, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

Vincenzo shifts in his seat, straightening up. "Yes, I've been listening."

Theo smirks. "You sure? What was the last thing I said?"

Vincenzo narrows his eyes. "The servers… trace and a man," he says, his words not quite as fluid as usual.

"Aha! I knew you weren't paying attention." Theo grins triumphantly.

"Theo…" Marco growls in warning from his place near the window.

"Haha, chill, Marco," Theo laughs, undeterred. Then, his gaze sharpens. "You've looked bothered since you came back, Vince. What's up?"

"Vince?" Theo echoes, his brows raised. "Since when does the executioner get all soft?"

Marco glares, his patience thinning. "You talk too much."

Theo, ever the instigator, leans in, cupping his face dramatically. "A soft maiden in there, are we?" he teases, before breaking into laughter.

Marco's expression darkens, his body language exuding danger.

"Both of you, chill," Vincenzo interjects, breaking the tension. "We have bigger things to do. How's the trace on the caller coming?"

Theo leans forward, tapping on his keyboard. "Well, they were using a burner phone, so it's untraceable…"

"For normal folks," he adds with a grin.

Vincenzo nods. "And you're not normal, so what do we have?"

"I appreciate the compliment, 'Vince,'" Theo says, bowing mockingly. "I traced the call. At the time, the caller was in Venice."

"Venice?" Marco echoes, frowning.

"Yeah, and guess what else is in Venice?" Theo grins, waiting for a response. Silence. He sighs dramatically. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Marco asks, unimpressed.

"To the ordinary person? Nothing." Theo leans back, typing rapidly. "But after digging deeper, I found something interesting—pet centers, bar houses, all masking a warehouse used by our guys. And get this… it belongs to the Vitore familia."

Theo presses a final key, turning his laptop to face them. "And as the genius that I am… I pinpointed the exact location of the call. Bang."

He leans back, grinning. "Now don't praise me too much. I already know I'm a god"

"Interesting..." Vincenzo mutters, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leans back, absorbing the revelation. A slow, knowing smirk forms on his lips. "This is going to be a very fun game." His chuckle, low and deliberate, lingers in the air, carrying both anticipation and the promise of something inevitable.