Valentina was still locked in her suite down the east corridor, guarded by two of Marco’s most trusted men. She likely believed she was merely dealing with a jealous fiancé overstepping his bounds. She had no idea that the trap she had meticulously laid was about to snap shut around her own throat—and that her partner in crime was closer than she could possibly imagine.

Lorenzo turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing rhythmically against the marble floor as he marched toward the western wing. It was time to find out just how deep the rot in the Moretti family tree went.

Chapter 2 – The Serpent in the West Wing

The air inside the western guest quarters was deliberately cooler, scented with the faint, expensive aroma of cedarwood and sandalwood cologne—the exact scent Julian Moretti wore like a second skin. Lorenzo walked down the dimly lit hallway, his hand resting casually near the concealed holster beneath his arm. Every instinct honed through decades of violence was screaming at him, yet his exterior remained as calm and glassy as a frozen lake.

He did not knock. With a sharp, sudden shove, Lorenzo threw open the mahogany doors of the suite.

Julian sat comfortably in a velvet armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a crystal glass of amber bourbon catching the failing twilight. He didn’t look panicked; instead, a slow, practiced smile played at the corners of his lips as he swirled the ice in his glass.

“Cousin,” Julian said smoothly, not even bothering to stand. “I heard the estate was locked down. Rumor has it you canceled your Miami trip. Security is acting like a pack of rabid dogs out in the corridors. Care to explain what has our fortress in such an uproar?”

Lorenzo stepped into the room, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind him with a resonant echo that made the glass rattle. He crossed the room slowly, his eyes locked onto Julian’s face, searching for the micro-expressions of guilt that separate a master liar from a true psychopath.

“You skipped our afternoon strategy review, Julian,” Lorenzo said, his voice deceptively soft. “Unusual for a man who claims to care so much about the family business expansion.”

“I had a migraine,” Julian replied smoothly, taking a slow sip of his bourbon. “The stress of the upcoming wedding, no doubt. We all want this merger with the Ricci family to go off without a hitch. Valentina must be beside herself with worry.”

“Oh, she’s beside herself, all right,” Lorenzo murmured, stopping just three feet away from the armchair. He leaned down slightly, invading Julian’s personal space. “She’s currently locked in her suite, trying to figure out how a six-year-old maid caught her discussing the exact time my car leaves through the south gate.”

Julian’s hand froze mid-sip. The ice cube tapped softly against the rim of the crystal glass. It was a micro-second of hesitation, but to Lorenzo, it was a neon sign flashing treason.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lorenzo,” Julian said, though the cool composure in his voice dropped half a degree. “A maid? Discussing your schedule? Surely you aren’t letting the domestic staff manipulate your judgment about Valentina.”

“Valentina didn’t act alone, Julian,” Lorenzo countered, his gaze piercing. “She’s ambitious, but she’s never had the strategic mind to orchestrate a precision vehicle-sabotage on a mountain road three months ago. That required inside knowledge of my transit protocols. Knowledge only a high-ranking family member—someone with clearance to my private logs—would possess.”

Julian set his glass down on the side table with a sharp clink. The smile vanished completely, replaced by a cold, hardened glare that mirrored Lorenzo’s own intensity.

“You’re accusing me based on a maid’s gossip?” Julian sneered, finally standing up to face his cousin eye-to-eye. “After everything I’ve done to build up the western territories for you? If Valentina is cracking under pressure, that’s her failure. Don’t drag me into your domestic paranoia.”

“It’s not paranoia when the text message intercept routes directly to an unregistered burner phone registered to an IP address inside this exact room,” Lorenzo whispered, his hand flashing out with blinding speed to grab Julian by the lapel of his tailored jacket, slamming him back against the window frame. The glass groaned under the impact.

Julian didn’t flinch, though his breath hitched. Instead, a dark, dangerous laugh escaped his throat.

“You always did think you were untouchable, didn’t you, Lorenzo?” Julian rasped, his eyes flashing with years of hidden resentment. “You take the throne, you take the wealth, you take the respect—and you leave scraps for the rest of us. Valentina wanted out from under your thumb, and I wanted what should have been mine from the start. We didn’t plan your funeral, cousin… we planned your succession.”