Mixed blood

Chapter three : Happy widow

Despite the simmering animosity between their families, a grudging respect underlay every move—each side knew the other was a force to be reckoned with. In this deadly chess game, every misstep could mean the end.

William Russo was not a man easily deceived.

Or so he had believed.

Now, standing face-to-face with Luana Romero, her gun trained steadily on him, he knew he had been played. And not just played—completely outmaneuvered.

But if she thought he would give her the satisfaction of seeing even a flicker of anger, of betrayal—she was sorely mistaken.

Instead, he let out a low chuckle, slow and mocking. "So this was your grand master plan? I'll admit, Amara, oh, I mean Luana, for someone who spent so much time at my side, I expected something a little more... impressive."

Her grip on the gun tightened. "You didn't expect anything at all. That's why you're standing here, completely at my mercy."

William smirked, shaking his head as if scolding a naive child. "Your mercy? That's cute. Really." His tone was dripping with condescension. "See, that's where you're wrong. You didn't win. You got lucky. There's a difference."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. I planned this for months. Every step you took, I was ahead of you."

He sighed dramatically, as if bored. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you're some brilliant tactician? Please." His gaze flickered over her, slow and assessing, before settling back on her eyes with a lazy smirk. "If you were really as ahead of me as you claim, I wouldn't be standing here, completely unharmed, still in control of the situation."

Her frustration was palpable, the slight shift in her stance, the way her fingers twitched on the trigger. "You are not in control, William. You're surrounded. Your men walked straight into my trap. You have nothing."

William exhaled a short laugh. "If this is a trap, it's painfully underwhelming." He took a slow step forward, and to his satisfaction, she stiffened. "And you? You're floundering. That anger in your eyes? That frustration in your voice?" He leaned in slightly. "It means you didn't get the reaction you wanted from me, did you?"

Luana inhaled sharply, but he saw the flicker of irritation in her expression.

"Tell me," he continued, voice velvety smooth. "How did you picture this moment? Did you think I'd be furious? Broken? Did you think I'd beg? That I'd curse your name for betraying me?" He gave a slow shake of his head. "You were expecting a dramatic reaction. And yet... here I am. Laughing at your efforts. Your betrayal is nothing more than amateur theatrics."

Her finger twitched on the trigger. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "Struck a nerve, did I?"

Luana's expression darkened, her anger barely restrained. "I played you, William. Every step. Every move. And you didn't even see it coming."

"And yet," he drawled, voice laced with mock pity, "I'm still standing, and you're the one getting emotional." His gaze drifted lazily to the gun in her hand. "Go on, then. If you've really won, pull the trigger. End it. Prove to me that all of this wasn't just a desperate attempt to make yourself feel powerful."

Her eyes flickered, but her grip didn't waver. "You still don't get it, do you? This is  a message. The Russos will fall—starting with you."

A sudden crash outside snapped their attention away—backup had arrived. In a flash, William's instincts kicked in. With precise, almost clinical efficiency, he disarmed her. The gun clattered to the floor. Before she could recover, she lobbed a smoke ball and bolted.