Chapter 4 - The Blue Orchid
The Blue Orchid was a neon-lit den of vice tucked behind a legitimate-looking karaoke bar downtown. Heavy velvet curtains muffled the bass of the music, but inside the back VIP room, the atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke, whiskey fumes, and the tension of high-stakes gambling.
Salvatore Rossi tossed a stack of chips onto the center of the green felt table, a smug grin plastered across his scarred face. He was a heavy-set man with slicked-back hair and a penchant for expensive suits that couldn't quite hide his crude posture.
"Fold," one of his lieutenants muttered, throwing his cards down in disgust.
Before Salvatore could rake in his winnings, the heavy oak door of the private room exploded inward. The massive deadbolt splintered, sending wood fragments flying across the poker table.
Two of Salvatore’s bodyguards reached for their shoulder holsters instantly, but they didn't even clear leather. Angelo and Ricky stepped through the doorway with submachine guns raised, their movements precise, synchronized, and terrifyingly efficient.
"Hold it right there, or your brains will decorate that wall," Angelo barked.
Salvatore froze, his cigar hovering inches from his mouth. He looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief as Enzo Marchetti stepped into the room. Enzo wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and stained with a dark, dried streak of Claire's blood.
"Enzo," Salvatore forced a laugh, trying to mask his panic with false bravado. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you finally decide to sell me those docks on the south pier?"
Enzo didn't speak. He walked slowly toward the table, his footsteps heavy and measured. He picked up a crystal whiskey decanter, poured a finger into a glass, and then, without breaking eye contact, poured the entire glass over Salvatore’s expensive silk tie.
Salvatore sputtered, jumping to his feet. "What the hell is wrong with you, Marchetti? Have you lost your mind?"
"You sent two men to 4th Street tonight," Enzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Salvatore’s expression flickered for a fraction of a second—just long enough for a guilty man. "I don't know what you're talking about. Some random burglary—"
Enzo moved with the speed of a striking viper. He grabbed Salvatore by the lapels of his suit, hoisted him off his feet, and slammed him down onto the poker table. Chips scattered like hailstones across the floor. Enzo pressed the barrel of his silver-plated automatic right under Salvatore’s chin.
"You broke into the home of an innocent woman. You terrified a seven-year-old child. And you left her dying on the floor," Enzo whispered, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury. "You made a very grave mistake, Salvatore. You touched what belongs to me."
"I swear to God, Enzo, I didn't know!" Salvatore choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at Enzo's wrists. "We were looking for the financial records—the offshore accounts! We didn't know she had a kid! We didn't know she was connected to you!"
"Ignorance is not an alibi in my court," Enzo replied coldly. He pressed the gun harder. "Where is the flash drive your men stole from her apartment?"
"In... in my coat pocket! Right side! Take it! Just take it!"
Enzo motioned with his head. Ricky stepped forward, searched Salvatore’s jacket, and pulled out a small black flash drive, tossing it to Enzo. Enzo caught it without looking away from Salvatore’s terrified eyes.
"Enzo, please," Salvatore begged, his face turning pale. "We're old associates. We go back—"
"We went back," Enzo corrected him softly. "Until tonight."
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He didn't pull the trigger. Death was too quick, too merciful for a man like Salvatore. Instead, Enzo brought the butt of his pistol down hard on Salvatore’s temple. The mob boss slumped unconscious onto the felt table, blood pooling among the scattered poker chips.
"Angelo, Ricky," Enzo said, turning away and sliding the flash drive into his pocket. "Burn this place to the ground. Send a message to the rest of the West Side crew: anyone who crosses my path again won't even get a warning."
