His Only

Chapter Eight

ALESSANDRO

The location was an opulent, heavily fortified villa nestled deep in the rolling hills of the countryside. Its high walls and imposing gates were designed to keep unwanted visitors out, while its lavish interior was crafted to impress and intimidate. This was the infamous Casa dei Mercanti, a neutral ground where mafia factions gathered to conduct their darkest dealings.

As I entered, I was immediately struck by the villa's grandeur. Marble floors gleamed underfoot, while crystal chandeliers refracted light into a kaleidoscope of colours. The air was thick with the scent of cigar smoke and fine wine.

To my left, a bar stretched along one wall, manned by a silent, stone-faced bartender. He polished a glass with a white cloth, his eyes flicking towards me with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

The room was filled with men like me - ruthless, calculating, and driven by a hunger for power. They clustered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes darting towards me with a mixture of suspicion and respect.

At the far end of the room, a raised dais supported a single, ornate chair. This was the throne of the Casa dei Mercanti, where the master of the house held court. Seated in the chair was the infamous Don Victor Cassano, his eyes fixed intently on me as I approached.

To my right, a corridor led deeper into the villa, disappearing into the shadows. I knew that this was where the real business took place - the trades, the negotiations, the brutal enforcement of debts. This was the heart of the Casa dei Mercanti, where human lives were bought and sold like commodities.

I nodded to Victor Cassano, my eyes locked on his. I had come to this place for one reason, And I would stop at nothing to achieve it.

As I approached Victor Cassano, he rose from his throne-like chair, a hint of a smile on his face. We exchanged a stiff, formal greeting, our hands clasping in a firm handshake. The gesture felt forced, lacking the warmth and camaraderie that typically accompanied such interactions.

"Ah, Alessandro, welcome," Victor Cassano said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "It's been...enlightening to hear about your recent endeavours."

I smiled, mirroring his faux amiability. "Victor Cassano, always a pleasure. Your...hospitality is as legendary as your business acumen."

We stood there for a moment, exchanging empty pleasantries, our words hanging in the air like a challenge. The tension between us was palpable, a living, breathing thing that threatened to consume us both.

As we spoke, I couldn't help but notice the subtle signs of unease that betrayed Don Cassano's calm exterior. The faint twitch of his left eye, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. He was a man on edge, waiting for me to make my move.

I, too, was playing a role, hiding my true intentions behind a mask of civility. But I knew that this charade couldn't last forever. Eventually, the facade would crumble, and the true nature of our meeting would be revealed.

As the bidding commenced, I stood stoic, my eyes scanning the room with an air of detachment. But beneath my calm exterior, a storm was brewing. I was waiting for one person, and one person alone.

And then, she appeared. A surge of rage coursed through my veins, clouding my vision with a crimson haze.

I couldn't believe she was here, being sold like a piece of property. The thought of anyone else owning her, touching her, was unbearable.

Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed a single number. The voice on the other end answered with a simple "yes?"

"Do it," I growled, my voice low and deadly. I had made plans before coming here, blowing up Cassano's warehouses was one of them.