Sinister Obsession | 18+

|07| The Vendetta Gala.

Cassio

The Gala's in this old mansion dripping with luxury but soaked in secrets. Chandeliers shine all fancy, trying to hide the dark stuff underneath. The walls tell tales in tapestries, but tonight it's all about who's pulling strings and who's on the chopping block.

People here ain't just chatting; they're playing chess with words, sizing each other up with every smile and handshake. Flowers and fancy table settings are just distractions from the real game—power.

Candles flicker, music plays, but it's all part of the show. Everyone's acting like they're best buddies, but behind those smiles are sharp minds and sharper intentions. In this fancy house, it's all about who can play the game without showing their cards. Sentimentality's a weakness, and tonight's about showing strength, even if it means playing dirty.

My whiskey in hand, I listened as three members of the Delucca family, all in suits, conversed. Killian stood beside me, engaging in conversation with them. I observe the ice cubes swirling in my whiskey, catching the light as the Deluccas discuss territory disputes, smuggling operations and-

"He caught a sniper bullet right to the head," one of them remarked. Marco. I lift my gaze to them. "Where?" I ask, pretending not to know exactly where. "Right outside the restaurant, he was with Nikolas Castille," one of them responds.

"Nikolas Castille?" Killian asked, pretending he didn't already know everything about it. "Yeah, we got some deals," one of them answered casually.

The deals are gone now, but those fucking codes won't leave my mind. It's like trying to catch smoke with your hands—every time I think I've got something, it slips away. It's frustrating, always wanting to know more but hitting dead ends every time.

The mention of the codes immediately shifts my focus, and I glance around the room, seeking out the one figure I always keep an eye out for at these gatherings: Saint.

We've been trying to hack into the Beaumonts' system, but nothing seem to fit with the codes. I've been watching Saint closely for weeks now, and even though I haven't caught her slipping up yet, I know better than to trust her. The Beaumonts have a long history of being untrustworthy, never keeping their word. This rivalry between the Donatis and Beaumonts has lasted for decades, but Saint adds a personal twist to it.

I refocus on the Deluccas. "Whoever's behind Marco's death will face the consequences," I say with a deadly edge. "And I'll be the one delivering that justice. I'll make sure of it." I make eye contact with them, pretending empathy while secretly enjoying the idea of getting back at them, even if I have to do it multiple times.

"You are a man of honor, Cassio," I hear, and a smile tugs at my lips as I take another sip.

"I'm done wasting my time here," I mutter under my breath, annoyance evident in my voice. "Catch you later." Without waiting for a response, I stride away from the group, eager to leave their pointless discussions behind.

I was a patient man, but my patience has worn thin. I need answers, and the only way I can get them is by no longer lurking in the shadows, but to face them and get that hell of a woman to talk and give me what I want.

I take another sip of the whiskey still in my hand and continue walking through the grand ballroom. As I walk with the glass to my lips, I suddenly come face to face with a pair of stern, strong blue eyes. Time seems to slow down, and the world around me blurs as I lock gazes with Delmore Beaumont, brother of Gabriel Beaumont.