Silk & Steel: A Mafia Romance | ENGLOT

Chapter 7: Glitter & Gunfire

Contessa flinched at Damiano's question, the truth hanging heavy in the air.  She wasn't supposed to hear this, the gritty details of territory disputes and smuggled weapons that fueled the city's underbelly.  Her role was to entertain, a distraction, not a witness. 

Wyvern's icy composure finally cracked.  "Because you deal in human lives, Zolla," she spat, her voice laced with venom.  "Children vanish, families are torn apart, and all to line your pockets with blood money."

Damiano's laughter echoed across the room, devoid of humor.  "And you, Wyvern, are you so innocent?  Your 'protection racket' bleeds businesses dry, leaving them hollow shells.  Saints, we both are not."

The tension in the room became a living thing, thick and suffocating.  Luca's hand hovered near his jacket pocket, knuckles white.  Sofia's jaw clenched, her gaze flicking between Wyvern and Damiano like a caged tigress.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the table cut through the tense silence.  One of Damiano's men, a hulking figure with a scarred face, slammed a manila folder onto the table.  "Enough talk," he growled, his voice gravelly.  "Here's the new shipment route.  You Dragoni Rossi stay out of it, and we'll call it a truce."

Wyvern snatched the folder, her eyes scanning the documents within.  A low growl escaped her throat as she read.  "This route runs right through our territory," she snarled, her voice tight with fury.

"Then find another one, sweetheart," Damiano sneered, his hand tightening around Contessa's waist in a possessive grip that made her want to scream.  "The city's big enough for both of us, unless you're looking for a fight."

Wyvern's eyes narrowed to slits, her gaze burning into Damiano like a laser. "This is a war you don't want, Zolla," she said, her voice a low growl. "We won't tolerate this blatant disrespect."

A ripple of movement ran through the Dragoni Rossi, hands hovering near holsters. Luca's knuckles grew even whiter as his grip tightened around the handle of a switchblade strapped to his forearm. Sofia's eyes narrowed to slits, her gaze fixed on Damiano with a predatory intensity.

"Then suggest an alternative, Wyvern," Damiano countered, his voice dripping with a dangerous calmness. His hand, still gripping Contessa possessively, brushed against the concealed weapon at his hip. The faint click of the safety being disengaged was lost in the pounding of Contessa's heart.

The room hung on a knife's edge.  Contessa's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in her ears.  One wrong word, one wrong move, and this fragile peace would shatter.  Fear, cold and primal, coiled in the pit of her stomach.

The air crackled with unspoken threats. Luca slammed his fist on the table, mirroring Wyvern's fury. "Don't push your luck."

Damiano's face hardened, a dangerous glint flickering in his dark eyes. He threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that sent shivers down Contessa's spine. "Luck?" he scoffed, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "There's no luck involved here, just business. And in business, sometimes you have to take what you want."

With a swift, practiced movement, Damiano ripped open his jacket, revealing a holstered pistol nestled against his hip. He drew the weapon with lightning speed, the metallic click echoing ominously in the room.

In a heartbeat, the room erupted in chaos. Sofia lunged across the table, knocking over a crystal ashtray that shattered on the plush carpet. Damiano shoved Contessa away from him, sending her sprawling onto the floor. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed in the confined space, the bullet embedding itself in the wall behind where Wyvern had been moments before.

Contessa screamed, scrambling for cover. She dove beneath a plush armchair, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The air filled with the deafening roar of gunfire, the pungent smell of gunpowder overwhelming her senses. Through her blurry vision, she saw figures scrambling for cover, flashes of light erupting as bullets ripped through the opulent room.