QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 166: Hiding

Chapter 166 - Luciano POV

"Stop those stupid assassination attempts."

The voice is unmistakable. Sharp, quiet, and brimming with violence held on a leash. I turn, already knowing who I’ll see.

Daphne.

She stands there in the corridor like a black swan in a sea of grey marble—graceful, dangerous, composed. Her eyes are cold. Not the hysterical fire I expected. This is worse. Much worse.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I reply smoothly, slipping my hands into my pockets. "Many people dislike those who float around pretending to be more than they are. Could be anyone trying to knock you down a peg."

I smile mildly.

"I’m sure you noticed that earlier."

Her mouth tightens. "I’m sure you had no hand in it," she says dryly.

"What can I say?" I sigh. "We simply share the same views. You could still pack the suit, don a wedding dress. It’s not too late, little sister."

"I’d rather die."

"That’s also fine by me," I say, my smile widening.

She doesn’t flinch.

"I’m telling you to stop," she says. "Or I will retaliate. And right now, with Valentino still missing and likely tangled up in some very unsavory alliances, another flare-up will bring full-scale war. One you can’t afford. Not even you want that, brother."

I clench my jaw.

She presses on. "Don’t act tough. You know what I’m capable of. That’s why you staged that little farce—splitting me from Raffaele. You know that together, we’re a threat. If anything happens to my beloved, I promise you—Valentino’s betrayal will look like child’s play."

I meet her gaze. There’s no bravado there. Just certainty.

That’s the thing with Daphne. She never threatens in anger. Only in precision.

"When I’m Don, my first order will be you," I say, voice low and trembling with rage.

She tilts her head slightly, one brow lifting. "If you’re Don."

I watch her go, and for a moment, something coils deep in my chest. Not fear, not yet.

But unease.

The goal was to shake Raffaele’s camp. To turn his allies against him. To whisper enough doubt into the ears of men who pride themselves on image, on structure, on propriety.

And in that, I’ve already won.

***

Valentino jr POV

Ha. They’ll never find me here.

The air in Mexico is hot and dry, nothing like the coastal winds back home, but it feels good against my skin. I sit beneath the shade of a rundown veranda, cigar in hand, watching the dust swirl on the unpaved road outside my hideout. A drink sweats in the heat beside me. I take a slow drag and grin.

Let them scramble. Let them rot.

I betrayed the Castellanos, and I’d do it again. What do I owe them? A last name? A seat at the kids’ table? Decades of being treated like a stain on the bloodline? Please. freewёbnoνel.com

The explosion at the estate was just the beginning. I made sure to leave just enough clues, just enough misdirection, for them to tear each other apart looking for me. And while they’re distracted, I’m building something better. Something newer. I’ve already begun forming alliances with men who hate Castellano more than I do. Arms dealers. Mercenaries. Opportunists. They don’t care about old family names or blood oaths. All they want is chaos and a profit margin.

Perfect.

My plan is simple: let them burn. And when the dust clears, I’ll walk back in like a messiah. I’ll extend a hand to the survivors, the lost, the scattered. I’ll give them a new flag to rally behind—and it’ll be mine.

I raise my glass in the direction of the invisible horizon.

"To new beginnings," I murmur.

Then I laugh.

Loud and deep, like this is the funniest thing I’ve heard all year.

Because honestly? It kind of is.

All that family pride, all those blood-oaths, and look at me now—living my best life sipping tequila in the heat of Mexico with a view of the sea and no responsibilities.

They think I ran like a coward and got caught up in the flames of my own mess.

Good. Let them.

Because while they’re all busy fighting over who gets the throne, who gets the title, who gets to call themselves Don—I’m laying low, gathering strength, and watching everything unravel from afar.

The men I’m staying with are not Castellano. They’re something else. Not bound by old-school mafia codes or bullshit rituals. No crests, no oaths. Just power. Ruthless, unforgiving power. And money.

So much money.

One of them, Morales, has taken a liking to me. He respects ambition. Says I remind him of himself when he was younger. The way I handled the estate explosion? "A beautiful act of war," he called it.

He says he can get me what I need.

Guns. Muscle. Logistics.

All I have to do is help him burn the Castellano name to the ground, like that will be hard.

I stretch out on the chair by the pool, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of my nose, and watch the horizon.

"Señor Valentino," one of Morales’ men says behind me. "There’s word from the capital. Luciano’s forces are clashing with another faction."

I grin lazily.

Of course they are.

Divide and conquer, right?

And when they’re both weak enough—when Luciano’s pride and Raffaele’s hesitation have drained them dry—I’ll make my grand entrance. Smooth, bleeding charisma. The perfect heir reborn.

They’ll never even see it coming.

I toss back the last of my drink and let the burn coat my throat, delicious and sharp.

Here I’m surrounded by people who know how to respect power. They listen when I speak. They don’t ask questions. They don’t care about bloodlines or marriage contracts. They care about results.

And I deliver.

When the time is right, I’ll return. I’ll sweep in after everything is ash and ruin. I’ll offer help, rescue, stability. They’ll call me a savior. A phoenix rising from the family’s disgrace.

To take the throne. To remind everyone who the true Castellano heir should’ve been.

Me.

Valentino fucking Jr.