Chapter 5 - The Ultimate Betrayal
The Grand Ballroom of the Crimson Chandelier was a sea of velvet, gold, and blood-red roses. Hundreds of New York’s elite—the clean faces of dirty money—chatted over champagne while a string quartet played a haunting melody.
I had slipped in through the service entrance, wearing a stolen black waitress uniform. My hair was pinned up, and I kept my head down, carrying a tray of empty champagne flutes.
And then, I saw him.
Berto.
He looked magnificent and deadly. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his hair slicked back, his expression a mask of cold stone. He stood at a high-top table in the center of the room, surrounded by several older men in expensive suits.
One of them was Emilio Marcone, the patriarch of the rival family.
And standing right beside Berto, whispering in his ear, was someone I recognized.
Leo.
Berto’s trusted head of security.
I froze, hiding behind a marble pillar. I watched as Leo slipped a small manila envelope into Emilio Marcone’s hand.
“The security routes are clear,” Leo whispered, his voice carrying over the soft music to where I stood. “Once the signing is done, Castellano’s personal guards will be out of position. You can take him in the alley.”
My blood ran cold.
Leo was the mole.
He was the one who had leaked my address. He was the one who had orchestrated the ambush at the harbor.
I had to warn Berto. But as I stepped forward, a hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around.
David.
“Well, look at you,” he sneered, his eyes scanning my waitress uniform. “A resourceful little rat. I was wondering how you got out of the basement. But it doesn’t matter. You’re just in time for the show.”
He shoved a gun into my ribs, hidden beneath his suit jacket. “Walk. To the table. One sound, and I blow your spine out.”
We walked toward the center of the room. As we approached, Berto’s eyes locked onto me.
For a fraction of a second, a flash of pure, unadulterated relief crossed his face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.
“Ah, Berto,” Emilio Marcone smiled, gesturing to me and David. “Your lovely secretary has arrived. Quite a lively one, this one. Now, let us conclude our business.”
Emilio slid a contract across the table. It was the deed to the Brooklyn docks and the offshore accounts—Berto’s entire empire.
“Sign,” Emilio said. “And you both walk out of here alive.”
Berto picked up the gold pen. He looked at me, his eyes telling me everything his mouth couldn't.
Trust me.
“There’s just one problem, Emilio,” Berto said, his voice smooth and relaxed. He tapped the pen against the table.
“And what is that?” Emilio frowned.
“I don’t like traitors,” Berto said.
In a flash of movement too fast for the human eye to follow, Berto didn't sign the paper. He drove the sharp gold pen directly through Leo’s hand, pinning it to the mahogany table.
Leo screamed in agony.
At the same instant, Berto reached under his jacket, pulled his gun, and shot the two guards standing behind Emilio.
Panic erupted in the ballroom. Screams echoed as the wealthy guests scattered like rats.
David panicked, raising his gun to shoot Berto, but I didn't let him.
Using my signature clumsiness, I threw myself backward, slamming my elbow into David’s throat. He choked, stumbling back, and I grabbed the heavy silver champagne bucket from the nearest table, swinging it with all my might into his face.
CLANG!
David fell to the floor, unconscious, his nose shattered.
“Anna!” Berto yelled, grabbing my waist and pulling me behind the heavy oak bar as bullets began to fly from Emilio’s remaining men.
“Leo is the mole!” I yelled over the gunfire.
“I know!” Berto shouted back, reloading his weapon. “I’ve known since yesterday. That’s why the files you dropped were fake, Anna. I planted them. I knew he’d leak them.”
I blinked, wiping a splash of champagne from my face. “You... you planted them? You let me think I ruined your life?”
“I had to make it look real,” Berto said, a small, genuine smile breaking through his fierce expression. “And you are a terrible liar, my love.”
May you like
My love.
My heart skipped a beat, completely ignoring the gunfight happening three feet away.
