The air in Il Destino grew so thin you could hear the hum of the neon sign outside. Rico Moretti's hand was locked around the grip of his customized Sig Sauer hidden inside his jacket. One wrong move, one sudden twitch from this random waitress, and she would find out why they called him the Butcher of Brooklyn.

"Boss, the investors from Chicago are still—"

"I said clear them!" Rico roared, smashing an empty wine glass against the brick wall. Shards flew everywhere.

Marco, the manager, didn't need to be told twice. He began ushering the terrified patrons toward the exit, tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the bloodbath he knew was coming. Within three minutes, Il Destino was entirely empty, save for the flickering candles, Rico, Dante, Clara, and little Leo, who had finally fallen fast asleep against Clara’s shoulder.

Rico walked slowly toward the private VIP lounge in the back, motioning for Dante and Clara to follow. His mind was a hurricane of fractured memories and brutal realizations.

"Sit," Rico commanded, pointing to a leather armchair.

Clara shifted Leo carefully, adjusting him so he wouldn't wake, and sat down. She kept her posture rigid, defensive, ready for a bullet. She knew she had just signed her own death warrant by revealing her identity, but a part of her was tired of running.

Rico poured two glasses of neat scotch, sliding one across the mahogany table toward her. She didn't touch it.

"You're telling me that Elena wasn't my wife?" Rico asked, his voice disturbingly calm as he stared into his amber drink.

"She was your wife on paper," Clara corrected bitterly. "A marriage arranged by your father to broker peace between the families. But she hated you. She hated what you stood for. The night she supposedly died in a crossfire, she was trying to flee with Leo to protect him from your enemies—and from you."

Rico slammed his glass down. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim. "That's a lie! I loved her. I hunted down every last rat who laid a finger on her car!"

"You hunted the wrong men," Clara retorted sharply. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, laying it carefully on the table. "Everything is on here. Bank transfers, encrypted comms, and flight logs. Your inner circle didn't protect you, Rico. They used you. And Dante was right there when they pulled the trigger."

Dante stepped forward, his hand dropping to his sidearm, his face draining of color. "Boss, she's lying. She's trying to turn us against each other. It's a setup!"