Chapter 8 - The Ultimate BetrayalThe revelation hung in the air like poison gas.
"You own the building?" I whispered, looking at Moretti. My chest felt hollow, carved out by a sudden, sharp wave of betrayal. "You knew who owned this place the whole time?"
"Elena, I didn't know you were working here," Moretti said quickly, his voice losing its cold edge as he turned to look at me. "When my driver brought me down this block tonight, I picked this diner because it was isolated. I had no idea..."
"You lied to me," I interrupted, my voice trembling not with fear, but with a fierce, burning anger. "You walked into my life, bled all over my floor, got my restaurant shot to pieces, and all the while you're the landlord of the very hole I've been breaking my back to pay rent for?"
Before Moretti could answer, Salvatore raised a hand, signaling his men to fan out across the room.
"Save the romantic drama for a movie, Dante," Salvatore sneered, pulling a small silver pistol from his coat pocket. "Tonight, the North River syndicate changes hands. And since Miss Vance here knows far too much about our little family reunion, she gets to be part of the collateral damage."
Marco, who had been standing silently behind Salvatore, suddenly shifted his position. He didn't pull a gun on Moretti. Instead, he stepped to the side, unclipped a heavy radio from his belt, and looked straight at Salvatore.
"The package is secured," Marco said into the radio.
Salvatore smiled. "Good work, Marco. I always knew you were smarter than you looked."
Moretti stared at Marco, his face twisting in absolute disbelief. "Marco? You? After twenty years?"
"Times change, boss," Marco said coldly, refusing to meet Moretti's eyes. "You got soft. You started caring about neighborhood debts and diner waitresses. The syndicate needs a king who looks forward, not backward."
"Traitor," Moretti hissed, lunging forward, but two of Salvatore's guards grabbed him from behind, forcing him to his knees amidst the broken glass.
May you like
Salvatore raised his pistol, pointing the barrel straight between my eyes. "Any last words, Elena? Or are you going to curse me out in Italian, too?"
I didn't flinch. I looked past Salvatore’s pistol, straight into Marco’s eyes, and whispered the words my grandmother had taught me for the absolute worst day of my life.
