"What?! Avalina Facci is dead? My son actually killed that bitch?!"
"Yes, Don Ricci. Here is the verified footage of Avalina Facci being interrogated and executed." The lieutenant stepped forward and presented a sleek metal drive.
Old Ricci snatched it, plugging it directly into his tablet. As the video played—showing the bloodied, unconscious woman hanging in chains and taking a fatal blow—a manic grin stretched across his weathered face.
"At last... Ricci blood is avenged! My eldest son's soul can finally rest." He looked up, eyes gleaming. "Where is Richard? Why hasn't he returned to celebrate?"
"The Young Master is coordinating with the neutral syndicates, Sir. He sent this footage across the underworld to prove the Facci reign is over. He said her body will be delivered here for public display by evening. Until then, his orders are to welcome every guest—even the Facci defectors—to toast her fall."
"Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!" Old Ricci laughed, raising his arms. "Prepare the grand ballroom! Let's throw a funeral banquet the underworld will never forget. With Avalina in a body bag, the Facci organization will dissolve before midnight."
The Facci Estate
"Butler Jess... our Young Miss... she's..." Head Maid Anna choked on her words, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "She's dead!"
Anna had looked after Avalina since the day the girl was brought to the estate, loving her like her own daughter. The grief was tearing her apart.
"Calm yourself, Anna. Explain. Now." Butler Jess's voice was steady, but an icy tremor ran beneath it.
Jess had seen Enola arrive as a broken, traumatized child sixteen years ago. He remembered driving late Don Arnold through Country D on an overseas venture when their headlights caught a small, bleeding figure crawling along the asphalt.
A nine-year-old girl, her flesh badly burned, gasping for breath: "P-please... help me."
Arnold Facci had been a cold, ruthless businessman. "Why should I? What could a dying gutter rat possibly offer the Facci name?"
"Anything," she had whispered through cracked, bleeding lips. "Take my life... give me power."
Intrigued by the terrifying defiance in a dying child's eyes, Arnold struck a bargain: three years of medical care and basic survival. If she proved useful, she stayed; if she failed, she would be dumped back onto the street.
She didn't fail. Within two years, Enola White ceased to exist, molded into Avalina—a prodigy who outworked and outfought every soldier in the organization. By sixteen, Arnold formally adopted her. While his biological son, Francis, indulged in luxury and petty vices, Avalina forged the Facci syndicate into Europe's undisputed ruler.
"Someone delivered this drive with a letter," Anna sobbed, holding out a black storage device. "The video... it shows Richard Ricci executing her."
Butler Jess plugged the drive into his terminal. He watched the gruesome clip with absolute silence.
Then, the tension vanished from his shoulders. A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips.
"Wipe your tears, Anna."
Anna blinked, bewildered by his calm reaction. "Butler Jess?"
"If our Young Miss wanted a funeral, then a funeral banquet is exactly what we'll attend," Jess murmured smoothly, straightening his suit. "The rats have finally crawled out of their holes. It's time we go see which ones deserve to be put down."
The Ricci Estate — Grand Ballroom
The atmosphere inside the Ricci mansion felt less like a funeral and more like a triumphant coronation.
Underbosses, syndicate heads, and high-profile tycoons filled the hall, champagne flutes in hand. Many had previously sworn fealty to the Facci flag. But with Avalina reported dead and Arnold's incompetent biological son, Francis, as the next in line, the vultures had wasted no time switching sides.
Most shocking of all was the presence of Francis Facci himself, flanked by three senior Facci elders.
Old Ricci stood at the head of the grand staircase, tapping his crystal glass with a silver spoon. The room fell into respectful silence.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Old Ricci projected, his voice booming across the chandeliers. "Today, we celebrate the permanent end of a tyrant. Avalina Facci was nothing more than an arrogant, overhyped puppet elevated by a senile old man. She stole what rightfully belonged to the true heir, Francis Facci, and brought unnecessary blood to Italy."
A chorus of sycophantic applause echoed through the room.
"My father was blinded by that viper!" Francis Facci sneered, raising his glass. "Handing the entire empire to an outsider while pushing aside his own blood! I am glad Richard put a bullet in her skull. The Facci family is finally free of that parasite."
"Well said, Young Master Francis!" piped Arnelli Wilson, one of the eldest directors on the Facci board. "We spent years walking on eggshells around that brat. The Ricci family has our full backing to restore the traditional balance."
"Peace and prosperity are finally restored," added Robert Geffard, another senior traitor.
Old Ricci beamed, reveling in the humiliation of his former rivals.
"Since my boy Richard was the one who rid us of this pest," Old Ricci declared, his chest swelling with pride, "the Ricci family claims custody of her corpse. We will preserve it in a glass case at our headquarters—a permanent monument to the fate of any dog who defies us!"
He was already planning to showcase her body as the most shameless, heartless woman in Italian history—going so far as to conceptualize a private museum dedicated solely to defaming her legacy.
Roars of drunken laughter and cheers erupted across the ballroom.
Right as the celebration reached its peak, the double oak doors of the ballroom blew inward with a thunderous crack.