Chapter 8

The drive back to the Santoro mansion is jarring. All Vanessa can think about is how her conversation with Don Victor is going to go. What will he do to her? Will he lose his shit? How will he punish her for failing her mission? This has never happened before. She's never been this sloppy. Every target she's ever had, she's hit, with direct bullseyes... and now, not only did she fail, but she left her target alive...

Vanessa stares out the window, her grey eyes cold and focused as they stare at the Santoro estate. She doesn't say a word despite her thoughts racing, but there's a tightness in her chest that betrays her. She's lived here for the past 15 years, since Victor found her at the age of 8. It's always felt like home, but tonight, the mansion feels different—darker, heavier, like it knows she’s failed.

The car slows to a stop at the entrance, bringing Vanessa's attention back to the present. The car parks right in front of the mansion, and both Vanessa and Dario step out of the car. Dario helps Vanessa with her bags and carries them out of the car. Vanessa sighs to herself as her eyes land on the mansion in front of her, her attention eventually landing on the two men standing by the enormous oak doors of the Santoro mansion.

As they step forward, the two men seem to straighten as both Vanessa and Dario step out, their eyes sweeping over Vanessa's appearance. Usually, she gets herself cleaned up after a job and comes back to the house looking fresh as a daisy, but this time around, she had no time for that, and she knows because of the decision she's made to come straight here, questions will be raised...

Vanessa doesn't acknowledge them. She's used to the men in this house constantly staring at her. She's the only hitwoman employed in the Santoro family, and most of them are scared of her, not only because Victor treats her like his own daughter but because she is incredibly skilled, and deadly. She has authority, and they all recognise it.

Vanessa walks forward with Dario just as they open the doors for both of them, Dario nodding at them just as they do the same, right before Vanessa and Dario walk through the doors.

Inside, the familiar scent of the mansion envelops her. Leather, cigar smoke, and a powerful masculine scent that seems to linger in the entire house. The foyer stretches before her, its marble floors gleaming under the light of a massive crystal chandelier. The walls are lined with dark wood panelling, oil paintings of Italian landscapes and Victor’s favourite pieces of 'art' hanging on the walls. Images of power, of conquest.

At the centre of the room, a grand staircase spirals upward, its railing wrought from iron and carved with intricate patterns of vines and thorns. Vanessa’s gaze shifts toward the staircase, where she knows Victor’s office waits at the end of the second-floor hallway.

“Come on,” Dario says softly, his voice pulling her back to the present, making her look up at him, finding that he has stopped in front of her.

She nods as a quiet breath escapes her lips, following after him, her body tense, her mind racing. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last.

The hallways are as quiet as a tomb, the thick carpet muffling their footsteps. It’s late, and the house feels almost lifeless, save for the faint sounds of Victor’s men moving somewhere in the distance.

Vanessa’s fingers tighten around the strap of her bag as they pass the dining room, where a long table stretches beneath an ornate chandelier. She can almost picture the dinners Victor held there, the conversations laced with veiled threats and false smiles. She was always at his side during those nights, the obedient soldier, the daughter he’d moulded from the ashes of her broken family.

The thought sends a wave of nausea through her.

“Vanessa,” Dario says, his voice cutting through her spiralling thoughts.

She glances at him, his dark eyes searching hers.

“It’s going to be fine...” he says, his voice low and steady. “Victor trusts you.”

She doesn’t answer. She can see the tension in Dario’s jaw, the faint crease in his brow. He’s worried, even if he won’t admit it.

They turn a corner, passing the room Victor uses for interrogations. Vanessa catches a glimpse of the steel table inside, the stains on the floor that no amount of cleaning can erase. She forces herself to look away.

“You don’t have to do all the talking,” Dario says, his voice softening. “I’ll be there. I’ll back you up.”

Vanessa lets out a sharp breath. “You think that’ll make a difference if he’s pissed?”

Dario’s silence is answer enough.

"Besides, I don't need you to defend me. I can handle this myself..." She says stubbornly and this time, Dario doesn't respond. Despite how much he wants to look out for Vanessa, he knows she's tough as nails, and it's usually difficult to change her mind once she's made it up.

They finally reach the double doors of Victor’s office at the end of the hall. The dark wood doors are massive, carved with intricate designs of twisting vines and sharp thorns, much like the staircase railing. They’re meant to intimidate, to make anyone standing before them feel small.

Dario stops in front of the doors, turning to face her.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his hand brushing her arm. “You’ve been through worse than this. Just tell him what he needs to hear, and it’ll be fine...” He encourages her.

Vanessa meets his gaze, her grey eyes hard and guarded. “I know how to handle him, Dario...”

“I know you do,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone...”

For a moment, something flashes in her chest. Nervousness. She nods once, brusquely, and Dario steps back, his hand dropping to his side.

He knocks twice on the door, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway.

A voice calls out from within, low and commanding. “Enter.”

Vanessa’s stomach twists as Dario pushes the doors open, revealing Victor Santoro’s office.

The room is a monument to power. The walls are lined with bookshelves, each one filled with leather-bound tomes and framed photographs of Victor with politicians, businessmen, and other powerful figures. A massive desk sits at the centre, its surface pristine except for a single glass of whiskey and a gold-plated revolver. Behind the desk, Victor leans back in a high-backed leather chair, his sharp eyes glinting like a predator sizing up its prey. Victor is a handsome man, hated and respected by men and loved and desired by women. He's a man in his late 40s, with dark hair, streaks of grey running through them and bold Italian features. A thick beard, dark, full eyebrows and a gaze that could kill.

The light from the chandelier above casts shadows across his face, deepening the lines of his jaw and making him look even more terrifying than he already is. He’s dressed impeccably, as always—a tailored suit, dark and crisp, with a blood-red tie that seems to echo the menace in his gaze.

Victor doesn’t say anything as Vanessa and Dario step into the room, instead his gaze glances between the two of them momentarily right before it focuses specifically on Vanessa, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Vanessa forces herself to stand tall, her hands steady at her sides as she steps into the room beside Dario. She doesn’t let him see the storm raging inside her...

“Vanessa...” Victor finally says, his voice smooth and raspy as he stares back at her... “I’ve been waiting for you...”