Chapter 2: The Price of Vengeance

Elena Russo had never felt the weight of responsibility like this before. Sitting in the leather chair behind her father’s old mahogany desk, she felt both the burden and emptiness of his absence. The office, once a hive of activity where her father commanded respect and fear, was now a hollow reminder of what had been lost. Dust had begun to settle on the shelves lined with books no one read and relics of a time when the Russo name meant something in San Michele.

The soft hum of the rain outside the mansion was the only sound in the room until the heavy oak door creaked open, revealing Vito Moretti. His face was grim as always, but today there was a tension behind his eyes, something Elena couldn’t quite place.

“Vito,” she said without looking up, her fingers tracing the edge of the desk. “What do they say?”

“They’re waiting,” Vito replied, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “The men need direction. And with Santini moving in on our territory, we don’t have the luxury of waiting much longer.”

Elena clenched her fists. The men—the soldiers who had once followed her father without question—now looked at her with doubt in their eyes. They whispered behind her back, wondering if she had the strength or the ruthlessness to lead them. She had heard the murmurs: She’s just the boss’s daughter, not the boss.

“They’ll follow me,” she said, her voice low but firm.

Vito walked around the desk and leaned against the windowsill, folding his arms. “They’ll follow you once you show them you’re serious. Once you prove you can take control of this mess.”

Elena’s eyes flashed as she stood, crossing the room to stand beside him. “And how do you suggest I do that? By taking out Marco Santini? He’s the reason my father’s dead.”

Vito shook his head. “You don’t just go after Santini. Not yet. He’s too well-guarded, too smart. You need to weaken him first, take away his resources. The Santini family’s power doesn’t just come from guns and drugs, Elena. It’s built on alliances, the same way your father’s empire was.”

Elena’s jaw tightened at the mention of alliances. Her father had always been good at playing the game of loyalty, striking deals in the shadows, making friends where enemies could be turned. But those days were gone. Now, it seemed every hand extended toward her was either waiting for a payout or holding a knife behind its back.

“What do you know about these alliances?” she asked, pacing the room. Her mind was working, connecting pieces she didn’t yet fully understand.

Vito watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing. “I know Marco’s made some moves we didn’t expect. There’s talk of him working with the Neretti—a smaller crew, but dangerous enough. They control a lot of the arms shipments coming in from overseas. If Santini’s aligning himself with them, it means he’s planning something big.”

Elena stopped pacing, turning to face him. “What kind of shipments?”

“Arms. Weapons. And not just the kind you can buy on the street. Military-grade. We’ve heard whispers about connections with Valeria.”

The name sent a chill down Elena’s spine. Valeria—the war-torn country just across the border. For years, it had been embroiled in a brutal civil war, and now the chaos was spilling over into San Michele’s streets. Her father had always warned her about getting involved in international conflicts; it was too messy, too dangerous. But clearly, Marco Santini didn’t share that concern.

“So Santini’s gearing up for something bigger than just a turf war,” Elena said, her voice quiet as the pieces started to fall into place.

Vito nodded. “It looks that way. And if he gets those weapons into the city, it’ll give him the upper hand. The other families will start to fall in line behind him.”

Elena walked back to the desk, her mind racing. This wasn’t just about avenging her father anymore. It was about survival—her survival, and the survival of the Russo family. If Santini gained control of those arms shipments, he wouldn’t just own a piece of the city; he would own all of it.

“Then we need to cut off his supply,” she said, her voice steely with determination. “We need to get to those weapons before he does.”

Vito’s eyebrows raised slightly. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Elena sat down behind the desk, leaning forward, her eyes cold and calculating. “We use the same alliances that my father built. Santini isn’t the only one who knows how to make deals. I want you to reach out to Alessandro Ricci.”

Vito frowned. “Ricci? He hasn’t been involved in anything major for years.”

“He’s quiet, yes,” Elena agreed, “but he still controls the docks. Nothing comes into this city without him knowing about it. If we can convince him to shut down Santini’s shipments, or even better, reroute them to us, we can hit Santini where it hurts.”

Vito leaned back, considering her plan. “It’s risky. Ricci doesn’t play favorites. He’s a businessman. You’ll need to offer him something valuable.”

“I’ll offer him control of the East End docks,” Elena said, her tone firm. “My father was planning to expand there, but I’ll let Ricci have it. In exchange, he cuts off Santini’s supply lines.”

Vito studied her, a glimmer of something like admiration in his eyes. “Your father wouldn’t have given up territory that easily.”

Elena met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not my father. But if I have to sacrifice a piece of territory to save the rest of the empire, I will.”

There was a pause, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Finally, Vito nodded. “I’ll set up the meeting with Ricci. But remember, this is just the first step. Taking on Santini isn’t going to be quick or easy.”

“I know,” Elena said, her voice low but resolute. “But this is my city, Vito. And I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers.”

Vito straightened, pushing himself off the windowsill. “We’ll get through this, Elena. But you have to be smart. You can’t just rely on muscle—you need strategy. And you need to trust the right people.”

Elena’s eyes flickered with something like doubt, but she pushed it aside. She had no choice but to trust Vito—for now. He was her father’s most loyal advisor, the one person who had stood by her side since Antonio’s death. But even loyalty had its limits, and Elena knew that in the world she now lived in, trust was as fragile as glass.

As Vito turned to leave, she called out to him. “One more thing.”

He paused, glancing back at her.

“I want eyes on Santini at all times. I don’t care how much it costs or who you have to pay off. I want to know where he is, who he’s meeting, and what he’s planning. If there’s a weakness, I’ll find it.”

Vito nodded. “Consider it done.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, Elena was alone once more, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her like the storm outside. She glanced at the framed photograph on the desk—her father, standing tall, with her as a little girl beside him. Antonio Russo had been a giant, a man who had commanded both fear and respect.

But now, it was up to her.

And she would make sure that the Russo name didn’t fade into history.

The city of San Michele belonged to her. And she was willing to pay whatever price it took to keep it.

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