Page 74 of Beneath the Shadows

“Explain.”

“She’s challenged your authority before, right?”

“Every damn day.”

“I’d bet she told him you approved of it,” I pause letting the idea sink in. “You know Dante’s loyal. It sounds like he was just as deceived as you”

There’s silence on the other end, then a thoughtful grunt. “I don’t know.”

“Alessia’s the problem.” I push forward, hating every word, but knowing it’s the only way to protect them both. “She needs to be disciplined. You can’t allow her to manipulate your men.”

Another pause. Then, “You’re right. I’ve already punished her,” Valentino says far too pleased with himself. “She’ll think twice before crossing me again.”

I release a slow breath, grateful they’re both alive, even though I can’t think about what he did to her. “Then we agree and consider this handled?”

“Yes, cousin,” he says, finally relenting.

“Perfect,” I say, shifting the conversation. “I have some news you’ll want to hear.”

“What is it?”

“Construction on the new room is finished. Just in time for the procession of the saints.”

“That’s good news indeed,” he says. “Arrange for Lena to be at my disposal. I hope you had the rack I requested installed. I want her stretched out, taking it like the filthy slut she is.”

“I think you’ll be very pleased with what you’ll find,” I reply, hating him more with each passing second. “I almost forgot. I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” he asks, intrigued.

“A belated wedding present. I’ve been working on it for months.”

“Now you have my attention,” he says, laughing.

Everything’s in place, the pieces perfectly aligned. Tomorrow, as the restaurant fills with patrons lost in revelry and tradition, I’ll be beneath them—in the shadows. It’s there that I’ll carry out my plan to bury the rot that has festered among us, sealing away its darkness.

Valentino’s reign ends tomorrow, and with it, the blood-stained legacy he left on our family.

Antonio

The sky is still cloaked in darkness as I unlock the backdoor ofCasa della Ombre. I needed to arrive before the chef and the kitchen staff to have enough time to set the stage for Valentino’s surprise. Procuring Prussic Acid wasn’t easy, but favors are a currency in this life, and I decided to cash one in.

Mixing the chemical in water is a delicate process, each cube a lethal promise waiting to be fulfilled. It’s convenient—almost too perfect—that Valentino insists on having his own personal ice cube tray. Once it’s prepared, I pour the liquid into it and slide it into the freezer.

Downstairs, I handle the next part of my plan. Carefully, I pry open the wooden crate and lift out the ornate display case. Inside, encased like a sacred relic, is the rarest bottle of whiskey known to man—the 1926 Macallan, bottle number twelve of twelve, with its hand-drawn label by Valero Adami. A masterpiece of indulgence.

“It’s almost a shame to waste something of such value,” I murmur, admiring the bottle’s pristine appearance. “But it has to be done.”

After arranging the bottle in the center of the conference table, I make my way through the tunnels to the newly built dungeon. The workmanship is impeccable. Anyone unfamiliar with the building’s original layout would never suspect this room wasn’t part of it.

The limestone-covered walls and heavy wooden beams create an ancient, foreboding atmosphere, like a medieval torture chamber. Six wrought-iron torches mounted on the walls provide the only light, their gas-fed flames casting restless shadows across the space. Sourced from a two-hundred-year-old barn outside the city, the stone and wood lend a sense of permanence—a space built to hold secrets.

Among the furnishings are a Saint Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, and stockades. Chains and a selection of cuffs hang along one wall, cold and unyielding, perfectly fitted for the suspension system. I was even able to find a hanging cage and a fully functional stretching rack—everything on Valentino’s wish list of twisted cravings.

The dungeon waits, as silent and still as a crypt. Soon, it will be alive with the echoes of what’s to come. Valentino, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of rare luxuries, will be drawn by the allure of the 1926 Macallan. His final indulgence.

He’ll enter, unsuspecting, his greed blinding him to the trap laid at his feet. Just like Fortunato, lured by the promise of Amontillado, Valentino will be ensnared by his own desires. The walls, these ancient stones, will bear witness to his last breath.

Soon enough, the whispers of the past will awaken, filling this space with the echoes of retribution. And like those who’ve crossed the line before him, Valentino will be forever entombed—not by brick and mortar, but by the decisions he can never escape.

---