I Thought the Broken Vase Was the Problem—Then One Yellowed Envelope Made My Daughter and Her Husband Terrified.

Rain began to lash against the windows of the Romano estate as midnight approached. The lockdown was in full effect. Armed guards paced the perimeter, their flashlights cutting through the downpour. Inside, the tension was suffocating. Marco paced the length of the underground wine cellar, his footsteps muffled by the damp stone. He checked his luxury wristwatch for the fourth time. 12:15 AM. From the shadows of the arched doorway, a figure emerged. It wasn't Camilla. "You're nervous, Marco," a smooth, gravelly voice echoed. Marco spun around, reaching for his waistband, but stopped when he saw Enzo, Domenico's right-hand man, stepping into the dim light. "Enzo," Marco breathed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." "And you shouldn't be making encrypted calls to the Moretti family from a burner phone in the guest bathroom," Enzo replied lightly, leaning against a wine rack. He pulled a small black device from his pocket—a signal jammer. "The boss knows, Marco." Marco’s face paled. "Listen to me, Enzo. Domenico is unstable. That piece of paper... it's going to tear the family apart. The Morettis are willing to offer a truce. We can end the bloodshed tonight." "By putting a bullet in Domenico's head?" Enzo asked, tilting his head. "By doing what is necessary for the family," Marco corrected, stepping closer. "Camilla is on board. We have the numbers. Half the men guarding the gates right now answer to me. You can either stand with a dead man, or you can stand with the future." Enzo looked down at the jammer in his hand, then back up at Marco. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "You always were a good talker, Marco," Enzo said softly. Before Marco could react, Enzo raised a silenced pistol and fired a single shot. Marco gasped, clutching his shoulder as he fell back into a rack of vintage reds, the bottles shattering around him in a spray of dark liquid. Enzo walked over, looking down at the bleeding man. "But you talk to the wrong people." Suddenly, Enzo felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the back of his own neck. "Drop it," Camilla's voice hissed from behind him.