Chapter 7 - The Brother’s BetrayalThe name dropped into the quiet room like a lead weight.
Dante Bianchi.
Even from my sheltered corner of the world, serving drinks at the Lantern Room, I had heard the whispers. While Roman ran the legitimate real estate holdings and the public face of the Bianchi empire, Dante managed the docks, the shipping lanes, and the darker, more violent arteries of the family business. They were supposed to be an unbreakable partnership—two halves of a criminal dynasty that ruled Northern California from the shadows.
“Your own flesh and blood?” I whispered, my fingers still pressing firmly against the fresh gauze over Roman’s torn stitches. “He’s the one who put that knife in your side?”
“Dante never liked sharing the crown,” Roman replied, his voice raspy and laced with a bitter, cold fury that sent a shiver straight down my spine. He leaned his head back against the shredded sofa, wincing as I secured a fresh strip of medical tape across his abdomen. “He thought my focus on legitimate investments made us weak. He wanted war with the syndicate out of Seattle. I said no. So, he decided to host a coup.”
“And you just walked right into his trap?”
“I walked into a meeting expecting a negotiation,” Roman corrected, his dark eyes snapping back to mine. “I didn't expect my own chief of security to slip a blade between my ribs while Dante watched from the shadows.”
“Which means Sal wasn't in on it,” I realized, piecing the puzzle together.
“No. Sal is loyal to the crest, not to Dante’s delusions of grandeur. Which is why Dante cut the communication grid for this entire block—he didn't just want to assassinate me; he wanted to isolate me so completely that when my body was found here, everyone would assume I died running from a low-level turf war.”
I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head as I sat back on my heels, wiping a smudge of blood from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“And here I thought my biggest problem this week was coming up with rent money for a landlord who’s fifty grand in debt to you.”
Roman’s lips twitched upward into a faint, grim smile. “Your rent is officially waived, Nora. Permanently.”
“Gee, thanks. Killer perk for getting my apartment turned into a war zone.”
Before Roman could retort, a sharp, rhythmic tapping echoed from the window facing the alleyway.
We both froze.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the heavy metal flashlight from my tool drawer, while Roman raised his Walther with his right hand, using his left to push himself slowly up from the floor.
We crept toward the kitchen window, moving through the debris of plaster and shattered furniture. Roman motioned for me to stay to the side while he eased the blinds back an inch with the barrel of his gun.
Peering through the glass into the pitch-black alleyway below, illuminated only by the amber glow of a distant streetlamp, was a towering figure in a tailored black overcoat.
Sal.
He was alone, holding a heavy duffel bag in one hand and scanning the fire escape with frantic, calculating eyes.
Roman tapped twice on the window glass.
Sal’s head snapped toward our window. He spotted Roman through the blinds, let out a massive sigh of relief that fogged the glass from the outside, and immediately scrambled up the metal rungs of the fire escape.
A moment later, Sal climbed through the broken kitchen window, scattering glass shards across the floor. He dropped the duffel bag with a heavy thud, his eyes wide and wild.
“Boss! Thank God,” Sal breathed, clutching his chest. “The entire block’s grid is jammed. I had to bypass three of Dante’s enforcers down on Market Street just to get close. They’ve locked down every exit out of the district.”
“Dante made his move too early,” Roman said coldly, sliding the magazine of his Walther out to check his remaining rounds with a practiced click. “He thinks I’m bleeding out in a ditch somewhere.”
“He’s calling a family council at the waterfront warehouse in two hours,” Sal said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “He’s telling the capos that you vanished, and he’s stepping in as the sole head of the family. If we don't counter-strike before sunrise, the whole organization will fall into his hands.”
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Roman turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine across the wreckage of the kitchen.
“Then we crash his meeting,” Roman said.
