"Not to me."
The brothers sat opposite each other.
A waiter approached with wine.
Vittorio ordered champagne. Alessandro asked for water.
"You've become suspicious of everything," Vittorio remarked.
"I've become old enough to recognize patterns."
"And what pattern have you recognized now?"
"Three companies. Four transfers. Nearly eighteen million dollars. All connected to accounts that should have been closed two years ago."
Vittorio swirled his glass.
"Perhaps the accountant made a mistake."
"Three times?"
"People make mistakes."
"Not with that much money."
The waiter placed a plate before Alessandro.
He barely looked at it.
"Where did the money go?" he asked.
Vittorio sighed.
"You know, Alessandro, Father used to say that you had a gift."
"What gift?"
"Making everyone feel like a criminal."
Alessandro's expression did not change.
"Father used to say you had another gift."
Vittorio looked up.
"What was that?"
"Making criminals feel welcome."
For a moment, the brothers stared at each other.
Then Vittorio laughed.
It was a convincing performance.
Almost.
"Still the comedian."
Alessandro turned toward Luca.
"Get me the original transaction records tomorrow."
"Yes, boss."
Vittorio's smile faded slightly.
"The original records?"
"Unless you object."
"Of course not."
But beneath the table, Vittorio's hand tightened around his phone.
He sent a single message.
NOW.
Across the restaurant, a young woman carrying a silver tray stepped out of the service corridor.
Her name was Elena Rossi.
She was twenty-six years old, with auburn hair tied beneath a white headband, pale skin, and green eyes that seemed too observant for someone whose job required her to remain invisible.
She wore the Belladonna's standard uniform: a burgundy jacket, white shirt, black skirt, and a small apron tied at the waist.
Nobody at the club knew that Elena had once studied nursing.
Nobody knew that she had spent three years working in a hospital emergency department before her younger brother's medical bills forced her to abandon her training.
And nobody knew that she had taken the job at the Belladonna for one very specific reason.
She was looking for a man.
A man who had disappeared from her life eleven years earlier.
A man whose name was connected to the death of her father.
Elena had never expected to find him sitting at a table with the most powerful crime family in New York.
She had certainly never expected to watch him collapse.
"Table seven needs another bottle," her supervisor, Mrs. Bell, instructed.
Elena nodded.
"Understood."
"And keep your eyes down tonight. The Morettis are entertaining important guests."
"I know."
Mrs. Bell stopped.
"You know?"
Elena immediately corrected herself.
"I mean, I understand."
The older woman studied her for a moment.
"Good. The last girl who stared at Mr. Moretti lost her position."
Elena picked up the bottle.
"I won't stare."
She walked toward the private dining room.
As she approached, she heard Vittorio speaking.
"Everything has been arranged. You won't have to worry about Naples again."
Alessandro answered quietly.
"I'll decide what I worry about."
Elena lowered her eyes and began pouring the wine.
That was when she noticed the glass.
Alessandro's water had been placed beside his right hand. The waiter who had served him had already moved away.
Elena knew the restaurant's service routine.
She also knew that no member of the regular staff had brought that glass.
It had arrived from the private bar.
And the bartender who had carried it had been replaced three days earlier.
She looked toward the bar.
The new bartender was watching Alessandro.
Not casually.
Not professionally.
He was waiting.
Elena's stomach tightened.
She remembered the same expression from the hospital.
People who knew something terrible was about to happen often looked strangely calm.
She leaned slightly toward Alessandro.
"Sir?"
He turned his head.
"Yes?"
She kept her voice low.
"Would you like another glass?"
He glanced at the water already in front of him.
"No, thank you."
She hesitated.
Then she noticed a small mark beneath the rim.
A thin, almost invisible residue.
Her eyes moved toward Vittorio.
He was watching her.
Not the water.
Her.
Elena straightened.
"Of course, sir."
She walked away.
She had taken only three steps when she heard a sharp metallic sound behind her.
A glass struck the floor.
Then someone shouted.
Alessandro's chair moved backward.
His hand grabbed the edge of the table.
His face had lost its color.
For a second, he remained upright, struggling to understand what was happening.
Then his body collapsed sideways.
The room erupted.
"Mr. Moretti!"
Luca pushed his chair back so violently that it struck the wall.
Enzo stood.
Vittorio remained seated.
Elena dropped her tray.
She was beside Alessandro before anyone else could reach him.
"Move!"
Luca reached for his shoulder.
"Get away from him!"
"He's having a medical emergency!"
"I said move!"
Elena looked directly at him.
"Then help me instead of threatening me!"
Luca froze for half a second.
That was enough.
She lowered Alessandro carefully, supported his head, and checked his breathing.
His pulse was weak.
His skin was cold.