The room was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood and cigar smoke lingering in the air. Vincenzo leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as he took in the scene before him. Alessandro, head of logistics, stood before him, his posture stiff with unease. Behind him, a man knelt, head bowed in shame.
Vincenzo's gaze flicked between them, his mind already running through the possible reasons for this gathering. A betrayal? A failure? Or something worse?
"What's this?" he asked, his voice even, though his instincts already told him it was bad.
"Boss..." Alessandro muttered, struggling to find the right words. "One of my men—he's been compromised," he finally admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and regret. "He was threatened. His family was used against him."
Vincenzo's fingers stilled. The weight of those words pressed against his patience.
"So, he's a rat..." His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He watched as the kneeling man flinched at the word, his shoulders tensing. Vincenzo had seen this before—men who cracked under pressure, who betrayed their own blood for something as fragile as fear. And yet... something in Alessandro's stance told him there was more to this.
"Vincenzo... I brought him here because I believe in redemption," Alessandro began, his voice steady but carrying an edge of tension. "He is one of my own, and he made a mistake—one born from desperation, not malice. His family was threatened; he had no choice. But now, he has come forward, knowing the price of his actions. He recently found out that the person he's been leaking information to is from the Vitore family and has come to redeem himself. He places himself at your mercy. And if you must punish someone, let it be me."
Vincenzo tilted his head slightly, watching Alessandro. He had known the man for years—loyal, disciplined, never careless. Offering himself up like this was not just about the soldier before them. It was a plea. A test. A statement.
A deep silence filled the room. The kneeling man swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists against his thighs. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as though he were struggling under the weight of his own guilt.
"I didn't want to do it," the man finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "I swear it on my life, Boss. Every time I passed on information, I felt like I was digging my own grave. I thought... I thought I could fix it before it was too late. But when I found out who I was really dealing with, I knew I had to come clean. Please... I beg you. I know I've betrayed this Family, but my loyalty still belongs here."
Vincenzo studied him carefully. Fear and desperation could make a man say anything—but there was something in his eyes. Regret. A quiet, agonizing shame. A man who had already sentenced himself, awaiting judgment.
Before he could respond, the heavy oak doors creaked open.
Marco entered, his expression grim. He strode forward, stopping beside Vincenzo's chair, and leaned in slightly. "We have a problem," Marco murmured, just loud enough for Vincenzo to hear. "It's Rico. We found evidence—he's been working against us. The bastard played a role in Matteo's setup."
Vincenzo felt something shift in his chest. Not anger—no, that was too simple. It was something colder. He exhaled slowly, his mind processing.
Two betrayals. One night.
His voice was quiet, yet it cut through the tension like a blade. "Call everyone. We settle this now."
---
The grand hall was filled with the Family. Every seat was occupied, every face solemn. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Vincenzo stood at the head of the room, and despite the stillness, he could feel the weight of expectation pressing against him. He wasn't just deciding a man's fate tonight—he was reminding everyone of what loyalty meant.
Alessandro stood to the side, his expression unreadable, while Marco, Silvio, and Enzo took their usual places near Vincenzo. The man Alessandro had vouched for was nowhere to be seen—his fate still undecided.
But at the center of the room, bound and kneeling, was Rico. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
Vincenzo's voice was calm but filled with an undeniable authority. "Family is built on trust. On loyalty. It is a bond that transcends all things. Betrayal is not just an offense against one of us—it is an offense against all of us. And tonight, we face that offense head-on."
He motioned towards Marco, who stepped forward and placed a folder on the table before them. Inside were documents, phone records, and photographs—damning evidence of Rico's treachery. The room was silent as the weight of proof pressed down on everyone present.
Vincenzo's eyes never left Rico. He watched him carefully—the way his throat bobbed with each nervous swallow, the way his gaze darted, searching for an escape. He wasn't sorry. He was afraid.
Rico's mouth opened and closed, his mind scrambling for an excuse. "No... I—I swear, it's not what it looks like. I was forced—"
"Lies." Marco's voice was sharp. "We checked everything. No threats, no coercion. You did this for yourself. You sold us out."
The room erupted in murmurs, anger simmering beneath the surface.
Rico's breathing quickened as he saw the faces around him—faces he once called brothers, now filled with cold contempt.
Desperation overtook him, and he turned to Vincenzo, pleading. "Please! You know me, I would never—"
Vincenzo raised a hand, silencing him. He had seen this before, too many times. A man who thought he could outrun consequence.
"Then prove to me why I shouldn't end you where you kneel."
Rico opened his mouth, but no words came. He had none. The truth was undeniable.
"That's what I thought," Vincenzo said coldly.
The weight of finality settled in. Rico's body trembled. He turned to Marco, to Alessandro, to anyone who would listen. "Please! I can fix this! I can make things right!" He pleads as he reaches out crawling.
A gunshot echoed through the hall.
The room stood still.
Marco lowered his pistol, his face devoid of emotion. Rico's body slumped forward, lifeless.
Theo stood among the gathered men, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had never witnessed an execution before—never seen the moment a man's life was snuffed out so swiftly, so decisively. His breathing was uneven, his eyes fixed on Rico's lifeless body. The suddenness of it, the finality, sent a shiver down his spine.
Vincenzo, noticing his reaction, stepped closer. He placed a firm hand on Theo's shoulder, grounding him. "You did well to watch," he murmured, his voice low enough for only Theo to hear. "This is the weight of loyalty. It's not just words—it's action. It's consequence."
Theo swallowed hard, nodding despite the unease twisting his stomach. He understood now—understood in a way he never had before.
A deep breath. Silence. Then Vincenzo's voice, steady and unwavering. "This is what happens to traitors. Let tonight serve as a reminder. We move forward, stronger than before."
He turned to his men, his eyes sharp. "Prepare yourselves. We raid the place the confession led us to. We end this. Now."
The Family moved as one, their loyalty unshaken. The night was far from over.