Chapter 8 - The Serpent’s Ledger
Adeline stepped smoothly between Sienna and Nico, her expression slipping instantly into the mask of meek, professional deference she had perfected.
"Mr. Alfieri is resting, Miss De Luca," Adeline said smoothly, adjusting the collar of her uniform. "His physical state requires calm and minimal excitement, particularly after the exertion of today's gala."
Sienna scoffed, taking a slow sip from her glass. Her sharp eyes flicked to Nico, who sat slouched in the wheelchair, his head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes vacant and unblinking—the exact picture of the broken shell she and Julian had manufactured.
"He doesn't know what room he's in, Vance," Sienna sneered, stepping closer and tapping her long manicured nail against Nico’s limp shoulder. "Look at him. A few months ago, the mere mention of Julian taking over the docks would have made him paint the walls with someone's blood. Now? He's a houseplant with a family crest."
Behind the dull haze of Nico's hooded eyes, a tempest raged. Adeline saw the microscopic twitch in the muscle of his jaw and stepped forward, deliberately cutting off Sienna’s view.
"Miss De Luca, if you continue to disturb him, I will have to record an elevation in his vitals and notify the board of overseers," Adeline said with quiet authority. "Your father insisted on strict medical protocols being followed."
Sienna’s face soured. "Don't lecture me, you hired help. Make sure he's dressed in something respectable tomorrow by eight. The heads of the Falcone and Moretti syndicates are arriving. Julian is taking the chairman’s seat officially, and we need the Alfieri puppet in the corner to sign the power of attorney." She turned on her heel, her silk robe billowing behind her. "Don't let him drool on his lapels."
The moment the heavy door clicked shut, Nico sat bolt upright. The lifeless mask vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating Don who had ruled the Eastern seaboard before the sabotage.
"She signed her own death warrant," Nico muttered, his voice cold enough to freeze water.
"Let her think she has the upper hand for twenty-four more hours," Adeline said, pulling a encrypted flash drive from her pocket. "While Gould was updating your charts earlier, I managed to clone the data from his tablet. It wasn't just your medication they were manipulating, Nico."
Nico’s eyes sharpened. "What did you find?"
"Gould wasn't just working for Julian. He was working with the offshore accounts linked to the port authority," Adeline said, bringing up a glowing screen on her laptop. "Julian didn't just want your territory. He sold the northern shipping routes to a human trafficking cartel out of Montenegro. He needed your signet seal to clear the customs manifests without inspection. The shipment lands tomorrow night at midnight—right while they host their little victory dinner."
Nico stared at the screen, the blue light illuminating the hard planes of his face. His family had lived by a code for three generations: weapons, turf, gaming—yes. But human trade was a line no Alfieri crossed under penalty of death.
"He broke the blood law," Nico whispered, his hands gripping the armrests so hard the polished leather groaned. "My father would have executed him in the town square."
"And tomorrow, you will finish what your father started," Adeline said, kneeling beside him once more. "Can you stand?"
Nico looked at her, the doubt of eight months battling against the fierce, unshakeable fire in her eyes. "With you?" he asked quietly.
"With me."
Adeline held out her arms. Nico reached forward, wrapping his powerful hands around her forearms. With a deep, shuddering breath, he engaged his core, felt the white-hot electric spark shoot down his rehabilitated spinal nerves, and pushed.
His knees wobbled, shaking under the sudden rush of two hundred pounds of lean muscle. His teeth ground together in silent defiance of the gravity that had kept him prisoner. But slowly, inch by excruciating inch, Nico Alfieri rose from the leather chair.
He stood at his full height—six feet two inches of menacing, unbroken power—looming over Adeline in the dim light of the study.
Adeline looked up, her breath hitching at the sheer presence of the man. For the first time, she saw him not as a patient to be saved, but as the monarch he was born to be.
May you like
Nico looked down at his own boots planted on the floor, then down at Adeline. A low, ragged laugh escaped his chest, vibrating through the small space between them.
"Twenty-four hours," Nico said, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper that sent a shiver straight down Adeline’s spine. "Tomorrow night, Adeline, we take back the city."
