Page 167 of Wounded King

I nod once. "Excellent point."

We don't tell him yet about what Margarita said. Not about Leonardo or his bloodline. I'm sure he already knows. If Donna Margarita told him she was his mother, she would have told him the rest of the sordid story too, but I think we said enough for now, until we know for sure if he's the kind of man who builds walls, or one who digs tunnels.

The conversation shifts, turns to business, territory, and logistics. The usual. There's still plenty of blood to wash away, but for tonight, we're keepingit civil.

Later, we move down to the casino level, where Enzo has reserved a private poker room. It's the usual crew, New York men in tailored suits, trying not to look like killers. Whiskey flows. Cards snap against felt. There's laughter, stories, and a few insults traded like chips. Then the air shifts.

Enzo walks in with a tall, dark-haired man in a slate gray suit. The room doesn't go silent, but it stutters.

Enzo introduces him. "This is Massimo Manetti."

The Vegas boss.

"Gentlemen." He nods at us. "I've heard a lot about New York," Massimo says, in a deep, gravel-smooth voice. "Looking forward to seeing if the legends live up to the hype."

Toni leans back, smiling coolly. "Depends which stories you heard. Some are true. Some are just good press."

Enrico deals the next hand. "Either way, we brought cash. Hope you brought your poker face."

"Oh, I brought my poker face," Massimo grins dangerously, stacking his chips like a man who's already decided how this night ends. "But I didn't come for the cards. I came to see who flinches first."

Enrico chuckles low, unimpressed. "Careful, Massimo. New York doesn't play by Vegas rules."

Massimo leans forward slightly, eyes cold. "Good. I'm tired of playing by rulesI didn't write."

The table goes quiet for a beat, then the game unfolds, bluffs, tension, shots poured like peace offerings. Beneath the surface, alliances stretch and shift. The Vegas family is powerful, but they play a different game. One we're only starting to understand.

But tonight isn't about power plays.

Tonight is about legacy. Loyalty. Brotherhood.

Because soon, the cards won't just decide the game?—

They'll decide who lives and who dies.

And when the final hand is dealt, we'll all find out who was bluffing.

For now, we drink.

We play.

We wait.

But war is coming.

And we won't be playing for territory?—

We'll be playing for thrones. And blood will crown the winner.

Carlos is dead.

Ledyanoy Prizrak is dead.

Margarita is dead.

But their ghosts? They're still verymuch alive.

Their shadows stretch long and wide across this city, across all of us.

And Raffael?

He's still standing in the doorway between past and power.

We don't know which side he's chosen, or if he's already building one of his own.

THE END