Chapter 9 - Checkmate
Sal Marcone was older than I expected—silver hair slicked back, wearing an expensive white linen suit that looked entirely out of place in the blood-stained room. A jagged scar ran from his ear down to his collarbone.
“Well, well, well,” Marcone smiled, his voice smooth and oily. “The great Dominic Moretti. You build a fortress of stone and steel, and yet the back door is always open if you know the right rats to pay off.”
Dominic stepped into the room slowly, his gun raised, safety clicked off. His bodyguards fanned out behind him, weapons trained on Marcone and his three remaining enforcers.
“Let her go, Sal,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “This is between you and me.”
“Is it?” Marcone chuckled, pressing the barrel a fraction closer to my mother’s temple. She let out a muffled sob, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at me. “You bring some random waitress into your home, parade her around like a queen, and expect me not to notice? You’re getting soft, Dominic. You’re building a family again. And you know what they say about glass houses.”
“If you harm a hair on her head, I will dismantle your entire empire brick by brick,” Dominic warned, taking a slow step forward. “I won't just kill you, Sal. I’ll salt the earth where your family name is buried.”
Marcone’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered, laughing darkly. “I’d love to see you try. But first... we need to make a trade.”
“Name it,” Dominic said without blinking.
“The docks in South Chicago. Sign over the shipping rights by sunrise, and hand over the boy,” Marcone demanded. “Do that, and the old lady walks.”
I looked at Dominic. If he gave up the docks, he lost his primary revenue stream and half his territory. He would be vulnerable, weak, and at Marcone’s mercy.
And if he didn't... my mother would die right here on the floor.
My chest tightened. The familiar, suffocating panic of the hospital room four years ago came rushing back. Not again. I won't watch another person I love die while I stand there helpless.
I looked at Viktor, who was standing just behind Dominic, his finger twitching on the trigger of his submachine gun, waiting for a single nod from his boss.
Then I looked at Marcone.
I took a slow step forward, lifting my hands to show I was unarmed.
“Take me instead,” I said.
Marcone’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. “What did you say?”
“Let my mother go,” I repeated, my voice steadying as a cold, desperate resolve settled over my bones. “I’m the one who saved the baby. I’m the one Dominic brought here. Trade her for me. I’m much more valuable to him than an old woman.”
Dominic snapped his head toward me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Elena, shut up. Don't you dare.”
“You want to hurt him, Marcone? Breaking his new favorite toy will hurt him a lot more than an empty shipping dock,” I said, locking eyes with the mafia boss.
Marcone grinned, a sickening, predatory expression. “You know what? I like your style, sweetheart. A woman with real teeth.”
May you like
He jerked his gun away from my mother’s head, gesturing with his head to his enforcer. “Grab her.”
As the enforcer lunged forward to grab my arm, Dominic roared like a wounded animal—and pulled the trigger.
