Page 20 of Dark Mafia Vows

“Mr. Bianchi,” one of the older creditors speaks up, his voice shaky but firm. “Is this true? Are we really at risk of losing our investments?”

Lorenzo’s facade crumbles further, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I can assure you, we’re working on a resolution,” he stutters.

He must think these men are fools. His shaky tone and the doubt in his eyes betray him.

“Working on a resolution?” I echo, feigning concern. “You mean working on a way to keep your family’s name from being dragged through the mud? That’s rich, Lorenzo, even for a man like you.”

The chaos escalates as the voices become louder, turning into full yelling.

“Give us our fucking money back! We made the mistake of investing in this cursed company,” a random man boomsacross the room. Soon, the hall erupts with different shouts and demands.

“You’ve mismanaged our investments!”another adds.

“You scammer! You’re an embarrassment to the legacy your father left.”

I grit my teeth at the mention of Lorenzo’s father, but I don’t let my mask slip. Instead, I smirk as the clicks increase furiously, capturing the spectacle for the evening news.

Lorenzo is clearly panicking at this point, unable to calm any of the creditors down. Journalists are typing furiously on their laptops. Photographers are taking pictures that will circulate across the internet before the day ends.

I stand back, arms crossed, a sinister smile etched on my face as I watch the display. This is what I wanted—a front-row seat to Lorenzo’s downfall. The people who once held power over me are now powerless, trapped in a web I carefully curated myself.

As the uproar continues, I lock eyes with Lorenzo, who looks like a cornered animal. His breath quickens and his nostrils flare as he glares at me.

I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. The Bianchi’s brought this upon themselves. I just helped hasten up the process of their doom. A smile graces my lips as I savor the moment. I don’t care that pictures are being taken or that several stories and narratives will explode on the news by the time I leave here.

This wasn’t just about business. This was personal. He never saw it coming, never realized that every handshake, every deal he made, was pulling him deeper into the web I was spinning. And now? Now, he’s exactly where I want him. Desperate. Vulnerable. Helpless.

His expression shifts to full-blown rage, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off him.

“Get out!” he shouts, his voice cracking. “You have no right to be here!”

“On the contrary,” I reply calmly and loudly over the voices. “I have every right. I’m here to collect what’s owed, and trust me, I won’t be leaving empty-handed.”

He tries to storm towards me, but a few men hold him back, grabbing his shirt, tie, hand, or any surface of his body they can find.

And my job here is done.

Before I turn to leave, I flash him a wicked grin, the kind that promises more chaos to come. “See you at the top, Lorenzo. Or, you know, whatever’s left of this when I’m done with you.”

As I step out of the hall, the noise behind me fades, replaced by the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The thing about betrayal is, it teaches you how to win.

I remember when we were kids, how we plotted and schemed against our enemies together. We dreamt of building empires together one day, sketching plans for skyscrapers on old exercise books.

Now, I’m the architect of his downfall, and every step I take feels like a victory. The Bianchi legacy, once so secure, is now crumbling, and I’m here to ensure it falls completely.

After all, the Devil doesn’t just plant the seeds of destruction. He watches them grow—and he enjoys every second of it.

9

GINEVRA

Asmall sigh of disbelief escapes my lips as I stare at the bold, red letters on the sign ahead. SOLD.

The word glares back at me, mocking the dream I had so carefully crafted. My breath catches, and I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

Just last week, I was buzzing with excitement, my mind alive with visions of what I’d turn this space into—a vibrant hub for my bakery business. I could almost smell the buttery, sweet aroma that would fill the air, see the colorful walls, the glass cabinets filled with delicate pastries, the shelves stocked with baked treats.

But now, it’s gone. All of it.

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