For him.
Vincenzo had wanted to expose an attachment. He had wanted Niko to react publicly, violently, emotionally. He wanted the other families to see the shadow king undone by a maid.
He had mistaken love for weakness.
Men often did.
Niko rose.
Alessia reached for him, then winced at the movement.
“Do not go after him like this,” she said.
He looked down at her.
“He had men beat you in an alley.”
“He wanted you angry.”
“He succeeded.”
“Niko.”
His name stopped him.
Not because it was soft.
Because she was not begging him to spare Vincenzo.
She was begging him to be smarter than the wound.
He stepped back to the bed and bent close.
“I will not give him the war he wants,” he said. “I will give him the ending he did not see coming.”
At dawn, Niko invited Vincenzo to breakfast.
The villa looked untouched by the violence of the night before. The floors had been cleaned. The staff moved quietly. Fresh flowers stood in crystal vases. Espresso steamed in porcelain cups.
Only those who knew Niko well would have noticed the difference.
The guards at every exit.
The absence of laughter from the kitchen.
The way Carlo stood behind Niko’s chair with one hand near his jacket.
Vincenzo arrived at eight sharp wearing a navy suit and a smile too relaxed to be real.
“Cousin,” he said, spreading his arms. “I heard there was trouble last night.”
Niko sat at the head of the table.
“There was.”
Vincenzo poured himself coffee without waiting to be offered any. “The maid survived?”
That was his first mistake.
The disappointment was almost invisible.
Almost.
Niko slid a folder across the table.
Vincenzo glanced at it lazily, then opened it.
His smile faded.
Inside were phone records, bank transfers, photographs, and the names of three men who had cornered Alessia in the alley.
Two were dead.
One had talked.
Vincenzo closed the folder slowly.
“You believe street filth over family?”
“I believed you,” Niko said.
Vincenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“You warned me a king cannot afford distractions,” Niko continued. “So I examined mine carefully. Then I examined yours.”
The dining room doors opened.
Two guards brought in Alessia’s father.
He was pale and shaking, but alive.
Vincenzo’s expression cracked for half a second.
That was enough.
Niko stood.
“You bought his debt from a Calabrese bookkeeper,” he said. “You forged the interest. You used him to threaten Alessia. You wanted her to spy on me, and when she refused, you had her beaten badly enough to frighten me but not badly enough to kill her.”
Vincenzo laughed, but the sound had no strength.
“You are making a mistake.”
“No,” Niko said. “I made the mistake months ago when I allowed envy to sit at my table and call itself loyalty.”
Vincenzo’s face hardened.
“You are destroying this family over a servant.”
From the archway, a voice answered.
“No. He is destroying a traitor.”
Alessia stood there wrapped in a dark robe, one hand pressed to her bandaged side. She was pale, but her chin was lifted. Her silver hair fell loose around her shoulders.
Every man in the room went still.
Niko’s eyes flashed with anger and worry.
“You should be resting.”
“You should stop giving orders when
