Chapter 6 - The Traitor RevealedThe fire crackled in the hearth, throwing long, dancing shadows across the Persian rug.
Paulie Greco didn't look like a sixty-eight-year-old adviser anymore. In the amber glow of the fire, his shoulders squared, his posture shifting from submissive servant to something cold, calculating, and lethal.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Angelo's boy," Paulie said softly, his voice losing its raspy tremor, replaced by a smooth, chilling clarity.
Tommy burst through the study doors from the hallway, his face pale, his gun drawn and pointed directly at Dario’s chest.
"Don't move, boss," Tommy whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I really am. But Paulie showed me the new ledger. The syndicate is shifting to the cartels, Dario. You’re fighting a losing war trying to keep clean books in a dirty city."
Dr. Clara Vance gasped, pressing herself flat against the bookshelf, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Dario didn't look at Tommy. He didn't look at the gun barrel aimed between his eyes. He sat completely still, his fingers resting casually on the edge of the mahogany desk, right beside the laptop.
"So it was you, Paulie," Dario said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "Forty years of service. You held me when my mother died. You tied my tie for my first board meeting. And you sold my father out to the South Boston dock syndicate for a cut of the smuggling routes."
"I didn't sell him out, Dario—I promoted him out," Paulie corrected smoothly, taking a slow step into the room. "Your father was a dinosaur. He wanted to run a criminal enterprise like a neighborhood grocery store, handing out favors and keeping old codes. The world moved on. The cartels don't want honor; they want volume. And Angelo stood in the way of progress."
Paulie glanced down at the massive black mastiff lying quietly by the fire.
"We thought we got rid of the dog that night too," Paulie continued, narrowing his eyes at Nero. "Tommy swore he put him down in the back alley. But mutts like that... they don't know when to die, do they?"
"No," Dario said softly. "They don't."
Paulie raised his hand, gesturing to Tommy. "Get the laptop, Tommy. Wipe the drive. And then put two bullets into the girl. As for Dario... well, the official report will write itself. A tragic domestic dispute between a grieving son and his father's legacy."
Tommy stepped forward, his boots crunching on the floorboards, his pistol steadying as he aimed directly at Dario’s forehead. "Nothing personal, boss. Just business."
"Business," Dario repeated.
A strange, humorless smile touched the corners of Dario’s lips—a smile so cold it made Tommy’s finger hesitate on the trigger.
"You really think my father was stupid enough to leave the only copy of the ledger on a single drive inside a dog, Paulie?" Dario asked softly.
Paulie stopped mid-step. His eyes narrowed sharply. "What did you say?"
"My father wasn't a dinosaur," Dario said, standing up slowly from his chair. "He was a paranoid, calculating bastard who taught me how to read every micro-expression, every twitch, every lie. He knew you were slipping years before he died."
Dario pressed a single hidden key on the side of the mahogany desk.
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From deep within the mansion's walls, a low, mechanical hum echoed through the hallways. Outside, the heavy iron security gates of the estate slammed shut with a resounding metallic crash.
"What did you do?" Paulie barked, his calm facade finally cracking into raw panic.
