Transaction day to a Mafia Don was either bloodshed or celebration. Sometimes both.

Today’s transaction was between the Morano empire and the D’Amicos.

It had taken months of relentless negotiation to make it happen.

The deal? The return of a villa the D’Amicos had seized during their last war with the Moranos ten years ago. Zara had pulled every string possible to reclaim it, and after endless back-and-forth, Salvatore had agreed—at a ridiculous price. Not just money, but also a one-time passage across their border for some goods he was expecting.

It was practically robbery. Almost cheating. But Zara yielded. That villa wasn’t just stone and glass—it was her mother’s favorite home and her father’s dying wish. Its cost could never rival its meaning.

“If the D’Amicos decide to smuggle drugs, you know we’ll be the ones held responsible, right?” Michael’s voice boomed across the hall.

Zara ignored his thunder. She and her men had arrived early—her habit with any deal involving the D’Amicos. Ever since their betrayal, she made it a rule: survey the ground first.

“The greater the risk, the greater the benefit,” was her sole response.

Moments later, engines roared outside. Zara glanced at Luca beside her, his hand resting steady on his gun. Her eyes shifted to her men lined behind, then to Michael. One thought cut sharp through her mind:

*Who invited him?*

“Uncle,” her voice rang sharp, “in my transaction, everyone stays behind me.”

She let the silence drag, then added coldly, “Everyone that isn’t on the opposing side.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. Footsteps echoed closer—the D’Amicos were here.

He stepped toward her anyway, slow and deliberate. Zara’s black eyes tracked him like a vulture ready to strike. It wouldn’t take much to end him here and blame it on their rivals. Mercy wasn’t a luxury she felt like offering today.

“As you wish, Donna,” he finally said, letting the title drip mockingly from his tongue.

“Stay behind the boys. This isn’t a chit-chat session.”

Her insult landed where she meant it to. When he finally obeyed, Zara turned away, drumming a slow rhythm on the table with her fingers. She counted footsteps—fifteen, maybe twenty men. No whispers, no hidden rustles.

And then he came.

Salvatore D’Amico entered like a storm cloaked in silence. His aura dominated the air, but Zara didn’t flinch. He wore a glistening black Armani suit, his wavy hair tied back neatly. His steps carried majesty, and his electric-blue eyes—cold and sharp—fixed on her with wicked amusement.

*Did you enjoy my gift?* they seemed to mock.

She held his gaze in defiance.

*Await my revenge.*

“Donna Morano,” he whispered when close enough.

Courtesy demanded she rise. She did, taking the hand he offered. His eyes roamed her, his mind involuntarily comparing her to the memory of yesterday. She had donned aWhite suit, tailored slim to her curves. Dark hair swept in an elegant updo framing her face making her look almost innocent, *Almost*.

“Don D’Amico,” she returned coolly and in contrast to yesterday where she had faltered, her hand cold, her voice edged with strain. Today her hand was steady, warm and her voice calm—too calm for someone staring down war.

He noted the difference, curiosity flickering. *What had shaken her yesterday, greater than he could shake her?*

“You’re late,” she said flatly.

“You were early.”

“I was. But you are still late.” she maintained, her eyes flickered to the watch sitting comfortably on his wrist.

Her irritation sharpened the air. Salvatore allowed himself a small smile. “Your instincts are sharp.” he started, savouring what was to come

“I had a prior engagement,” he trailed off, enjoying the way she scrutinized him.

'She is good.' she may be an enemy but she is a worthy one.

And then he dropped it.

“I’m afraid the deal is off.”

The atmosphere shifted violently. Fingers tensed on triggers. Men held breaths, waiting for the first order

Zara’s voice came soft, dangerous: “Why?”

She was barely holding in her rage.

'How dare he?'

“I got a better offer.”

Her teeth sank into her lip as she swallowed fury.

'A better deal?'

She should be rational, this is a transaction and negotiation wasn’t over until she said it was.

“By whom?”

“By me,” Michael’s voice cut through, smug and dripping pride. He stepped forward, chest puffed.

“The goods belong to the highest bidder, Zara.” His smirk widened. “And since this is *my* transaction now… I suppose I can stand in front, can’t I, Donna?”

Mockery dripped from his tongue, triumph glowing in his eyes.

Zara’s chest burned, anger rising like acid. This traitor—this greedy fool—was the man she might have to entrust Matteo’s safety to? The thought nearly choked her.

“What did he offer you?” she asked Salvatore, voice cold steel.

Enjoying the drama, he recited almost singing it.

“In exchange for my unwavering support and the villa, I get five percent of the Morano empire, an access card to your border, and…” his grin widened, “… Michael Morano's only daughter, your cousin, Evelyn’s hand in marriage.”

The hall grew deathly still.

Zara’s blood boiled. Michael was handing their enemy a seat at their table—inviting Salvatore into their veins. With D’Amico support, it was only a matter of time before her uncle rallied an army against her.

But she wasn’t about to bow.

*If Michael wanted a war, she’d give him one. And unlike him, she was willing to stake it all.*