Chapter 6 - The Setup
"You always were too curious for your own good, cousin," Marco said, his voice terrifyingly calm in the still night air.
Behind him, two armed men in dark suits stepped through the rusted gate, blocking the only exit. Their weapons were raised, sights locked on me.
I didn't move. The Pelican case hung heavy in my left hand. My right hand rested loosely inside my coat pocket, inches from my own weapon, but I knew three men with guns drawn had the clear advantage.
"How long have you known, Marco?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice even to stall for time.
Marco chuckled—a dry, lifeless sound. "Since the day Gabriel tried to download the ledgers. He was a good dog, Matteo, but he was too loyal to you. He thought you were a god. He didn't understand how the real world works. Money makes the world spin, not ancient concepts of honor."
"You killed him," I said, step by step moving my weight to my back foot. "He took bullets meant for me."
"He was supposed to die alone," Marco sneered. "The shooters were sloppy. You weren't supposed to be in the line of fire that night. But Gabriel... stupid, heroic Gabriel... threw himself in front of you. He saved your life and ruined my timeline."
"So you took it out on his family," I said, feeling the icy coldness in my blood settle into a terrifying clarity. "You starved his widow. You made his three-year-old daughter eat half a loaf of bread and drink watered milk while you bought tailored suits with their money."
Marco’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "She was a liability! Every time I looked at Elena Russo, I saw Gabriel’s eyes. Keeping her poor, tired, and desperate kept her weak. A weak woman doesn't hire lawyers. A starving woman doesn't ask where her husband’s pension went. She just works and survives."
"You're a disease, Marco," I said softly.
"I am a realist!" Marco shouted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "You've gone soft, Matteo! Building foundations, paying widows, keeping peace with the Commission—you’re driving this family into obscurity! I built the infrastructure that keeps us rich!"
"By stealing from orphans," I said.
Marco raised the gun higher, aligning the sights with the center of my forehead. "Drop the case, Matteo. Hand it over, and maybe I’ll make your end quick. We'll tell the Commission that the Morettis finally got you. I'll take over as Boss by morning."
I smiled. It wasn't a smile of pleasure; it was the terrifying, hollow grin of a man who had already accepted his fate and prepared for war.
"You always underestimated Leo, Marco," I said softly.
Marco’s eyes flickered with sudden doubt. "What?"
A low, muffled thwack-thwack echoed through the foggy garden.
The two men standing behind Marco collapsed instantly into the damp grass, blood pooling from clean execution shots to their heads.
Marco spun around in sheer terror, his gun wildly searching the dark willow trees.
Before he could pull the trigger, I lunged forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. I grabbed his gun arm, twisting it upward with brutal force. A sharp snap echoed through the night as his wrist broke.
Marco screamed in pain, dropping the pistol onto the cobblestones.
I grabbed him by the throat, slamming his heavy body against the brick wall of the greenhouse. Glass shattered above us, raining down in small, sparkling shards.
"You thought you were the hunter, Marco?" I growled into his ear, my grip tightening around his windpipe until his face turned purple. "You were just a rat eating crumbs in my house."
Leo stepped out of the shadow of the weeping willows, a silenced rifle resting against his shoulder. He looked down at the two dead men on the ground, then up at me.
"The perimeter is secure, Boss," Leo reported calmly. "The rest of Marco's loyalists in the city have been picked up. We have all of them."
Marco gasped for air, his hands feebly clawing at my fingers locked around his neck. "Matteo... please... family... we're family..."
I looked into the eyes of the man who had murdered my best friend and tortured a mother and child for four years.
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"Gabriel was my family," I whispered. "You are just a corpse that hasn't stopped talking yet."
I slammed my fist into his temple, knocking him unconscious, and let his limp body crumble into the mud.
