The Romano estate was quiet in the early morning, but the calm was deceptive. Alex couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on him, that every shadow hid a whisper, every whisper a dagger. Surviving the Ferraros' attack had been one thing—but surviving inside his own family was another.
Don Salvatore's study smelled of cigar smoke and old leather. The Don sat behind his desk, watching Alex with a calculating gaze.
"They came close," the Don said. "Too close. And yet… the attack was precise. Almost too precise."
Alex frowned. "You think someone inside tipped them off?"
The Don nodded slowly. "I don't think. I know. Loyalty is rare, Alex. And betrayal… even rarer."
Later, Alex moved through the estate, observing everyone with new eyes. Guards exchanged glances that seemed a little too cautious. Servants lingered a moment too long before speaking. Even his closest allies seemed… different.
Elena appeared beside him, breaking the tension. "You feel it too," she said softly. Her hand brushed his arm, grounding him. "Someone here wants us dead. And they're clever."
Alex clenched his fists. "I'll find them."
Her eyes narrowed. "Careful. They're hiding in plain sight. And if you make a mistake…"
"I won't," Alex interrupted, voice low but steady. "I've survived worse."
He began his investigation quietly, observing patterns, questioning subtle changes in behavior, and testing loyalties with carefully placed information. Every day, every movement became a potential clue.
Then, one night, a letter arrived—unsigned, left at his door.
"The wolf is closer than you think. Watch your back, Alex."
A chill ran through him. The wolf. The term wasn't random—it was a signature, one whispered among insiders when loyalty had been broken.
Elena appeared at his side again, sensing his tension. "It's someone in the inner circle," she said. "Someone the Don trusts. And now, they're testing you."
Alex's mind raced. Could it be one of the trusted lieutenants? A childhood friend? Someone he had shared blood with? Each possibility was a knife twisting in his gut.
That night, Alex didn't sleep. He sat in the shadows, rifle ready, eyes trained on the main hall. Every footstep, every creak of the floor, every whisper of wind seemed like a threat.
Hours later, a shadow moved where it shouldn't. Alex followed silently, heart pounding. Around the corner, he caught a glimpse: a hand exchanging an envelope with someone outside the estate. A spy. A traitor.
He whispered Elena's name. "I found them."
Her voice was a whisper of steel. "Good. Now we finish this. Carefully."
Alex realized then that loyalty was no longer a question of obedience. It was a question of survival, of cunning, and of knowing who could be trusted… and who would stab you in the back.
The underworld was no longer just a world of enemies outside—it had turned inward. And the fight had only just begun.