"You picked an interesting place for a meeting." Vincenzo remarks as he takes his seat.
A quiet chuckle. "You disapprove, Signore Valenti?"
"Not at all." Luca Valenti—or at least, that was the name he wore tonight—leaned back in his chair, slowly swirling the wine in his glass.
"I didn't expect to be able to meet you" Vincenzo adds as he arranges his seat, "You're that big" He adds smiling. "Not as big as you're becoming" The accountant laughs.
The dim lighting cast long shadows over the pristine tablecloth as he gestured vaguely. "And a place like this... gives a man plenty of time to do his research."
Across from him, Giuseppe Ricci smirked, his sharp eyes glinting. "And?"
Luca lifted his glass but didn't drink. "And I imagine a man like you doesn't leave things to chance."
The accountant exhaled through his nose, the smirk never leaving his face. "You're right. I like certainty. And when rumors about the Midas Touch started spreading, I had to see for myself."
Luca tilted his head slightly. "And?"
Giuseppe tapped his fingers against the table, the motion slow, deliberate. "And what I found was fascinating." His smirk widened, a little too eager. "Every stock you touch—dead or dying—flourishes overnight. Some say luck. Others say instinct."
Luca merely hummed.
"But I don't believe in luck, Signore Valenti." Giuseppe leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Men like us... we make our own luck."
A flicker of amusement passed through Luca's gaze. "Is that so?"
Giuseppe's smirk didn't fade. He glanced around, his voice turning almost conspiratorial.
"There are no eyes here. No ears listening. Just two men discussing business." He took a slow sip from his glass, savoring it. "Isn't that the ideal setting?"
Luca watched him, studying the greed beneath the charm. Then, with a slow exhale, he set his glass down.
"A man who values privacy," he mused. "I can appreciate that."
Giuseppe inclined his head. "Then let's talk, Signore Valenti. I have a feeling this will be a very productive meeting."
Vincenzo smiled.
But it wasn't Luca Valenti who smiled.
Giuseppe leaned in, his expression smooth, his voice warm.
"Luca, my friend," he purred, "you are unlike anyone I've ever met in this industry. The way you move, the way you see things before they happen—it's… breathtaking."
Vincenzo said nothing, swirling the wine in his glass, watching the deep red liquid coat the crystal.
"I've spent decades studying markets," Giuseppe continued, voice dripping with admiration. "Years analyzing trends, predicting movements. And yet—" He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Here you are. A man who defies every rule and wins every time."
He lifted his glass in a toast. "To visionaries."
Vincenzo clinked his glass against Giuseppe's but didn't drink. His expression remained unreadable.
Giuseppe took a sip, licking his lips before setting the glass down. His fingers tapped against the table again. A little quicker now.
"You know," he continued, lowering his voice, "I've been thinking."
Vincenzo arched a brow. "Oh?"
"Yes, yes." Giuseppe leaned in, as if sharing some great secret. "I know men like you guard their investments jealously, as you should. But I can't help but wonder… what does your portfolio look like?"
Vincenzo smirked. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Giuseppe."
The accountant laughed, waving a hand. "Come now, no need for dramatics! It's just… well, between you and me, I'd love to see it. Just a glimpse." He gave an easy smile. "I admire your methods, that's all."
He reached for his glass again, feigning nonchalance, but his eyes shone with something else.
Desperation.
Greed.
A man who smelled money and couldn't help himself.
Vincenzo exhaled slowly. "My methods?"
"Yes." Giuseppe nodded quickly. "You could say I'm a man who appreciates genius. And you, my friend, have something the rest of us could only dream of." He leaned in even closer. "Why not share just a little?"
Silence.
Then—
Vincenzo laughed.
A sharp, full-bodied laugh that rang through the dimly lit restaurant.
Giuseppe's grin faltered. He blinked, uncertain for the first time that evening. "Something funny?"
Vincenzo wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye, shaking his head. Still chuckling. Then he exhaled, tilting his head.
"Your greed." His voice was rich with amusement. "It's truly something, Giuseppe."
Giuseppe stiffened. "I—"
Vincenzo waved a hand. "No, no. Don't bother. I've seen this play before." He took a slow sip of wine. "A man with sticky fingers, always reaching, always wanting more." He chuckled again. "Tell me… is this how you handle your clients?"
Giuseppe squared his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean."
Vincenzo's smirk widened, but his eyes stayed cold. "The way you pounce the second you smell wealth. The way you try to wiggle into their good graces, all while wondering how much you can take before they notice."
Giuseppe's expression darkened. "I won't stand for being defamed." His voice was tight now. "I am a respectable businessman, and I refuse to have my name dragged through the mud—"
Vincenzo laughed out loud this time, a cruel, mocking sound.
"Defamed?" His grin stretched wider. He tilted his head, studying Giuseppe like an insect under a magnifying glass. "Tell me, am I defaming you?"
Giuseppe's fingers twitched.
Vincenzo sighed. "I wonder… if I were to ask the Cassano Family and the Medici Family—"
The blood drained from Giuseppe's face.
"—if they'd also consider it defamation?" Vincenzo's smirk didn't fade. "Or maybe… I should simply call them. Let them know how generous you've been with their money?"
A heavy silence.
Giuseppe's breathing had turned shallow. His once-slick confidence shattered.
His lips parted, but no words came.
For the first time that night, he looked truly afraid.
Vincenzo savored it. Then—softly, almost kindly—he spoke.
"Who am I, you ask?"
He set his glass down, resting his hands lightly on the table. His next words landed like a hammer.
"My name is Vincenzo Moretti."
Giuseppe flinched.
Vincenzo smiled. "And as of this moment, Giuseppe… I own you."
Giuseppe swallowed hard. "I—I'll do whatever you need." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Just don't tell them."
Vincenzo smirked. He picked up his glass, swirling the wine leisurely.
"Good." He took a slow sip. "Welcome to the family, Giuseppe."
------
Nicodemo sat at the table, whiskey in hand. A plain wooden box rested before him.
He flipped the lid open.
His tracker's severed head stared back, mouth slightly open as if caught mid-scream.
For a moment, he just looked.
Then—
He laughed.
A slow, shaking laugh, torn between rage and amusement. He leaned back, running a hand down his face. "She's something."
His laughter faded. His grip on the glass tightened.
His eyes flicked to the man with the rose tattoo. "How long do you plan to sit there before handling this Vincenzo matter?"
The man smirked. "Don't worry. Just a little more."
Nicodemo exhaled sharply.
The man finally looked up, grinning.
"A perfect time to strike."
Then—
He laughed. Low. Amused. Promising nothing but blood.