Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Old OrpheumThe old Orpheum Theater stood like a rotting monument to forgotten glamour on the edge of the theater district. Its marquee flickered with dead bulbs, casting jagged shadows across the rain-slicked pavement.
Matteo’s convoy of three black SUVs didn't park; they blocked the alleyways, cutting off any escape routes. The doors clicked open in unison, and four armed guards stepped out into the damp night air, their coats sweeping over concealed shoulder holsters.
Sophie adjusted the collar of her heavy wool coat, hiding her swollen belly. She stayed close to Matteo as they walked up the crumbling stone steps.
"Stay behind me," Matteo commanded quietly, his hand resting on the small of her back. "No matter what you hear. No matter what you see."
The heavy oak doors creaked open, releasing a smell of dust, old velvet, and decaying plaster. The interior was pitch black except for a single shaft of amber light cutting through the dust motes from the crumbling ceiling dome.
Standing center stage, illuminated by that single spotlight, was Kyle Mercer.
And standing beside him, leaning casually against a velvet-backed chair, was a man older than Kyle, with silver-streaked hair and cold, calculating eyes that mirrored the worst parts of the Duca family’s history.
Arthur Vance. The patriarch of the city's second-most powerful syndicate, and Matteo’s most bitter, unyielding rival.
"Well, well, well," Arthur’s voice echoed through the hollow, empty hall, bouncing off the ornate golden balconies. "The great Matteo Duca, walking right into the lion's den over a pregnant coffee pourer. Who would have thought the ice king of Boston had a soft spot?"
Kyle stepped forward from the shadows, sneering, his previous humiliation at the cafe completely replaced by a venomous, triumphant grin.
"Tell him, Sophie," Kyle mocked, spreading his arms wide. "Tell your precious mafia husband who I really am to you. Tell him why you were still begging me to take you back three weeks before you signed those fake courthouse papers!"
Sophie felt the air leave her lungs. The room began to spin.
May you like
Matteo didn't flinch. He didn't look back at her. He just took one slow, deliberate step forward onto the creaking wooden boards of the stage.
"Speak," Matteo told Kyle, his voice dangerously soft. "And make your last words worth remembering."
