Page 121 of Stricken

"Be quiet," I order Giuliana and the cook as we start leaving the kitchen and sneak into another hallway connecting us to the part of the house where the office is located.

We meet two guards but the Hellhounds put them down so fast they don't have time to remember they have walkie-talkies to communicate.

Bodies stashed in the utility room, we continue moving.

When we reach the door to Tony's office, Seven and Marco disable another guard standing there.

Fuck, Salvatore has really turned this place into a military compound. He's got a guy on every corner.

I pause with my fingers hovering over the knob. Behind this door, there are snippets of conversation happening. Tense. Words Clipped. Tones heightened.

Vlad squeezes my hand quickly, his voice a whisper in the dark. "We'll be fine. No matter what we encounter."

Somehow, I wonder if bywehe means just the two of us, but psychoanalyzing our relationship isn't the time now. "Yes." I agree, drawing strength from his companionship in all this.

With a resolute breath, I turn the knob and step inside.

The office is lit by several candles. The curtains on the windows are shut and the presence of the storm is only heard and felt but not seen. The glow of the fireplace throws eerie shadows that jerk across the room's walls and furniture. Uncle sits behind his desk, his face gaunt and pale, his once-vibrant eyes dulled by whatever illness he's been hiding from everyone.

Beside him, Salvatore stands, his face seems too smug for someone who's been cast out. He's not supposed to be here. He fucked up. Yet here he is. Again we're dealt a shitty hand.

Claudio sits off the to side, expressions unreadable.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tony demands, his voice weak but stern.

Vlad's men move swiftly, fanning out, surrounding Salvatore.

I tune out his whining and step forward, my heart in my throat, my eyes meeting Tony's hard gaze.

"Uncle," I begin. "You know I'm not the one to beat around the bush. Why did you allow this piece of shit back into your house?" I gesture at my cousin, who hasn't stopped cursing.

"Come again?" Tony grits out, his fist on the desk tightens visibly.

"First he steals our own merchandize to undermine our operations. Now he's planning your murder but you choose to welcome him back."

Salvatore scoffs, his face contorting with disdain. "Lies! Father, you can't possibly believe this nonsense."

Tony's gaze shifts between us, confusion and disbelief warring in his eyes. "Nicola, explain yourself."

I look directly at Salvatore. "We have evidence that you ordered a hit on Uncle." There's no evidence. Just hearsay. But I'm ready to bluff my way through this if it means I can prevent the inevitable. "Fucking traitor."

Salvatore attempts to physically attack me but he's held back by two of Vlad's men. "This is absurd! Dad, you can't possibly believe these baseless accusations. I would never—"

"You're a fucking coward who can't even take responsibility for what he plans on doing."

"Enough!" Tony's voice silences us both. He slams his fist on the desk, then turns to Vlad, who stands silently in the dark corner of the room alongside Ivan. "Is this what you've been telling my nephew, Mr. Solovey? The nonsense about my own son wanting me dead."

Vlad doesn't move from his spot. "It's not nonsense, Mr. Morelli. It's the truth. We have proof of Salvatore's betrayal. You can believe it or not. Your decision. But just know if you choose the lesser evil, your family will flourish. And if you let your pride get the best of you, your family will never be the same. So you better choose wisely."

Tony's eyes narrow. Shock and heartbreak start to appear on his face. And I think it's the first time I witness my uncle showing a wide range of emotions in a precarious situation like the one we're in. He opens his mouth to speak, but a sudden explosion of what is unmistakably gunfire sounds somewhere in the house, drowning out his words.

Vlad reacts instantly, his voice commanding two of his men to investigate.

They swiftly exit the room.

The rest of us remain frozen, our eyes locked on the door, waiting for any sign of the impending threat. Ivan already has his gun out.

Claudio has been keeping to himself since we arrived. He's not known for being talkative in general and he's awfully quiet even now. His beady eyes jump from person to person, watching, like he's waiting for something.

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