Chapter 5
Serena entered like a melody of chaos wrapped in elegance. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, her father sat regally in his custom made black wheelchair—matte finish, gold trims, and the family crest carved on each spoke. Beside her, her brother Cameron walked like a shadow—sharp suit, sharper gaze.
The atmosphere shifted, eyes of the other members exchanged uneasy glances, there was a tension that couldn't be seen but was felt. Serena immediately caught the attention of most bodyguards because of her unique appearance and her hair.
“The Santiago family has arrived,” someone whispered.
Eyes turned, Whispers sparked, Some with admiration, some in disgust while others in calculations of their every step. She could feel their eyes on them. A maid show them their table and they sat comfortable.
Across the room seated on a velvet corner booth was the, Don Marcello family, the aging kingpin of the North province, Italy’s oldest blood-bound syndicate. His men wore crimson ties and their signature red carnation pins.
Not far, lounging with a glass of absinthe, was Evelyn "Viper"was her nickname given to her because of her swiftness in doing her job, and from what the rumors say «Her shots are swift and deadly» and not only that she's the head of the Serpent Syndicate. Her black attire slithered like silk, her eyes never blinking. Her people? Pierced, inked, and dangerous.
At the top tier balcony overlooking the hall,was Don Volki Gris« also know as the Wolves».It was a russian gand headed by Volki Gris, a feared mafia Western province known for their cold war tactics and ruthless execution.In white robe shimmered under the chandelier lights, his bodyguards standing behind him.
And finally, lingering at the fireplace with a smirk that could start wars, was Fernando Sanchez,an Italian underground alliance too dangerous to have a single face. They were also sworn rivals with the Santiago family and the rift was literally real.
“Look who we have here,” came a smooth voice, laced with venomous amusement. “Isn’t it Mr. Santiago in person.”
The voice belonged to none other than Calus Sanchez, the first son of the Fernando family. Dressed in a tailored blue suit, his coffee-brown hair brushed neatly back, and his tall figure carrying that usual air of smugness, he looked down at Serena like he thought he was still relevant.
Calus flashed a perfectly polite smile at her father, as if waiting for a reaction—or perhaps an invitation to poke the wound.
Then, slowly, he turned to Serena, eyes gleaming with old stories and unsaid things.
“The beauty itself,” he said smoothly. “Serena… what a pleasure to see you again.”
Serena turned to him with a slow, deliberate smile, her voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm.
“Oh, Calus,” she began sweetly, tilting her head just slightly, “It’s really an honour to witness you finally gather the courage to speak to me. What happened?
She didn’t wait for him to recover, her eyes already flicking down to inspect his suit.
“And blue? Hm. Bold choice. Almost makes you look harmless.”
"And as feisty as always… you make me fall for you again and again, Serena," he said smoothly, flashing her one last arrogant grin before casually turning on his heel and strolling back to his table.
Serena stared after him with a blank expression, lips still curled into that polite, poisonous smile. Her fingers delicately traced the rim of her glass, not bothering to dignify his flirtation with a reply.
Her brother leaned closer. “You didn’t slap him. I’m impressed.”
“I’m wearing heels, Cameron,” she replied softly, “and I don’t waste expensive effort on desperate men.”
She glanced sideways at her father, who, despite years of stoic indifference, was clearly holding back a chuckle.
Calus Sanchez had always made his interest in her painfully obvious—since they were both teenagers attending that cursed neutrality ball in Monaco. He was persistent, charming in that irritating, know-it-all way, and far too aware of his own allure. He played the long game. Always had. And Serena? She played not to be played.
As if Serena Santiago could ever fall for a man who smiled like he already owned her. She set her glass down, eyes sharp now.
“Mark my words,” she murmured softly, mostly to herself, “the only way I’ll ever fall for Calus Sanchez is—”
“Is if he’s lying unconscious at your feet?” Her father offered helpfully.
She turned to him and smirked. “Exactly.”
Across the room, Calus glanced back at her. And Serena, without breaking eye contact, raised her glass. Not to toast. To warn.
Just as Serena raised her glass in silent warning, the atmosphere in the hall shifted.
A sudden stillness swept through the room like a cold gust of wind. Conversations halted mid-sentence, laughter died on lips, and every figure—no matter how feared or powerful—rose to their feet in unspoken respect.
The grand doors opened once more with a quiet groan.
In walked a woman draped in black—not just dressed, but veiled in darkness. Her presence carried weight beyond age or rank. She was elegance forged in iron, even at what looked to be nearly seventy years old. Her silver-gray hair was swept into a regal chignon, and diamonds glittered on her ears like drops of ice.
On either side of her stood two men, mirroring each other—one, a hardened man in his forties with sharp cheekbones and a cold gaze; the other, clearly younger, in his early twenties, with the same dark features but a flicker of youth still clinging to his stare. Father and son, unmistakably, Serena thought.
All three were dressed entirely in black.
The younger man at her right stepped forward with reverence and handed her a golden walking stick, carved with a dragon that twisted up the shaft in intricate detail. The same dragon was tattooed on the exposed collarbone of the older man while on the wrist of the younger man beside her, like a living crest of bloodline and legacy.
She gripped the cane with quiet authority, then paused at the head of the room. Her eyes scanned the sea of mafia royalty before her—not in challenge, but in recognition.
Then, she smiled—a slow, soft curve of the lips that somehow commanded more fear than any scowl could.
When she spoke, her voice was low and worn, yet carried a power that silenced even the ghosts in the hall.
“Contenta de tenerte a todos aquí esta noche,” she said in Spanish «Happy to have you all here».
“This was no ordinary woman”, Serena mumbled softly.
This was Doña Valeria Ross, matriarch of the legendary Dragon's Fang Syndicate, the silent force that brought all this grand mafias together with just a call. Her presence wasn’t just a welcome—it was a warning:
The real game had begun.
The room remained still for a heartbeat after her words echoed into silence.
Then, as if on cue, the chandeliers dimmed slightly, casting golden shadows across the hall, and the soft clink of silver began to fill the air.
Dinner was served.
Dozens of servers in black and white emerged almost soundlessly, weaving through the tables with military precision. Dishes of rare delicacies—stuffed quail, saffron risotto, seared venison, gold-dusted figs—were laid before each guest, accompanied by fine wine from cellars older than most of the heirs in the room.
Despite the elegance, tension still hummed under the surface like a knife waiting to be drawn.
Doña Valeria slowly took her seat at the central high table, her dragon cane resting beside her. Her two companions sat beside her like dark sentinels.
She lifted her wineglass with a gentle hand, her expression unreadable.
“Such beauty tonight,” she said, in english which was calm but sharp. “So many names. So many legacies. But tell me…”
Her eyes drifted across the tables like a silent judge in court, before stopping first on Don Marcello, “Don Marcello... do your sons still quarrel over who gets to inherit your seat—or have you finally chosen which one you'd rather see dead?”
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter swept the room.
Marcello gave a dry smirk, lifting his glass. “Whichever one survives the year, Doña.”
She turned next to the Kaine table, where Evelyn "Viper" Kaine rested her chin on one manicured hand.
“And Evelyn,” Valeria said slowly, “I hear one of your assassins tried to poison a diplomat in Prague last month. Was that an official order… or a personal hobby?”Evelyn simply smiled. “A lady must stay entertained, Doña.”
The room chuckled again—nervously.
Serena watched from her seat, her fingers gracefully cutting through the dish before her, but her eyes never leaving Valeria’s face. She also asked other questions to some familiar guest, then arrive,at her father.
