Page 8 of Silent Night With Alessio

I pick up the case, open it, and take the ring out. The cool weight settles in my hand. The diamonds gleam, polished to perfection, just as they should be. It looks flawless, ready for the big day in a few short weeks.

I’m about to say so when something catches my eye.

And suddenly, my blood runs cold.

This isn’t the ring.

It looks like it. Feels like it. But the engraving is wrong. My mind snaps back to the first time I saw it…a phoenix, clearly etched into the band. But this... this has some kind of chicken?

A cold lump forms in my throat.What the hell happened?

The silence hangs thick in the air. Massimo’s gaze lifts to me.

“Everything check out okay?” he asks, his tone sending a chill through me.

I swallow. “Boss... something’s wrong. This ain’t the ring.”

Massimo blinks, his eyes narrowing. Without a word, he extends his hand, and I place the ring in his palm.

He studies it for a long moment, as though willing it to make sense. Then his voice cuts through the air, dark and sharp. “A fucking chicken?”

His eyes harden as they fix on me. “What the fuck is this, Alessio?”

“Someone must’ve switched it on the way here,” I say, barely keeping the defensiveness out of my tone.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you hand it off to someone?”

“Actually... I didn’t pick it up myself,” I admit, hating the words as I say them.

Massimo stands slowly, but the anger in his eyes is anything but slow. “You didn’t pick it up... I told you to handle this, and you’re telling me you had it picked up?”

I know I need to explain, and fast. “Boss, something came up. I got a call about a hit on our supply trucks. I went straight there the second I heard. I would’ve picked up the ring myself if it hadn’t been for that.”

Massimo’s gaze sharpens. “What hit?”

“Scouts said the supply trucks got hit, but when I got there... it was just some drunk driver.” The words come out, but even as I say them, a suspicion begins to form.

The driver… maybe he was in on it. A decoy to pull me away from the ring and buy someone time to switch it.

And suddenly, everything snaps into place.

Massimo nods, and I can see it on his face. He’s thinking exactly what I am. A staged hit on the trucks, a fake ring in its place… something’s up, and whoever pulled this off knew what they were doing.

He rubs a hand over his forehead; the cigar tucked between his fingers, smoldering as he massages his temples.

“Who the hell could’ve pulled this?” he mutters, his voice low and edged with menace.

There are too many enemies crawling out of the woodwork these days. With the Vitales bearing down on us so viciously, even our petty rivals have started to get emboldened and so we can’t even tell for sure who is doing what.

Massimo takes a slow drag from his cigar, the smoke curling around his face as he considers my words. “Who’d you tell to pick up the ring?” he asks, his eyes piercing.

“Mario,” I say, and as soon as his name leaves my lips, I feel a pang of doubt. Could he be part of this?

Before I can dwell on it, Massimo presses a red button on his desk, his hand calm and deliberate. Moments later, Gennaro steps in, looming in the doorway, his usual grim expression etched on his face. Gennaro’s the guy you don’t want to piss off, strong as an ox, and twice as mean.

“Gennaro,” Massimo says, his voice cold, “find Mario and bring him here.”

Gennaro gives a single nod and slips back out, his movements smooth, efficient. He’s a bloodhound on the trail, and Mario’s got no idea he’s the scent.

---