Chapter 7 - The Mastermind RevealedThe screech of tires outside signaled the arrival of reinforcements—not the mercenaries, and not Marco's men, but a fleet of sleek black town cars that pulled up in front of the diner, their headlights cutting through the rainy New York fog.
Heavy doors slammed in unison. The sound of dozens of footsteps approaching the shattered front entrance made my heart jump into my throat all over again.
Moretti straightened up, pulling a fresh jacket from behind the counter that one of his men must have left months ago. He slipped his arms into it, wincing as the movement pulled at his freshly stitched shoulder. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold-plated cigarette lighter, and snapped it open and shut.
"Elena," Moretti said, his voice dropping its sarcastic edge, turning cold, formal, and commanding—the voice of a true mafia kingpin. "Tonight, your life changed forever. Those men weren't random thugs. They belonged to the Falcone family—our primary rivals across the river. And the man who ordered this hit..."
The front doors were pushed wide open.
Marco stepped inside, flanked by half a dozen armed syndicates in dark suits. But Marco wasn't holding a weapon. He was holding a leather briefcase, and behind him walked a man I had never seen before—an older man with silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an expensive cashmere coat that looked like it cost more than my entire life savings.
Moretti's eyes narrowed. "Salvatore."
The older man stopped amidst the broken glass and shattered pastries, a cold, elegant smile touching his lips.
"Dante," Salvatore said smoothly, his voice rich and cultured. "I told you, the North River docks are too heavy a burden for one man to carry. It's time to step down."
Moretti stepped forward, placing himself protectively between Salvatore and me. "You sent those mercenaries, Salvatore. You broke the Commission's code."
"The code died the moment you started letting street-level waitresses into our business," Salvatore replied, his eyes finally shifting from Moretti to me. He tilted his head, studying me with chilling curiosity. "And who is this? The little girl who patched you up? How charming. A regular Florence Nightingale of the slums."
I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. "Get out of my diner."
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Salvatore chuckled softly. "Your diner, my dear? This building was foreclosed on three months ago by a shell corporation. A corporation owned by the Moretti family." Salvatore glanced at Dante. "Isn't that right, boss?"
Moretti didn't answer. He just stared at Salvatore with murder in his eyes.
