Chapter 7 - The Betrayal Within
The quiet aftermath of the charity gala didn't last. In the mafia underworld, peace was merely the interval between wars.
Three nights after the gala, I was in the estate’s ground-floor kitchen, boiling water for chamomile tea to help Maria sleep, when I noticed the back service door leading to the garden was slightly ajar.
A cool autumn breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves.
Frowning, I wiped my hands on a dish towel and walked over to latch it. Just as my fingers reached the brass handle, a muffled sound from the shadow of the stone patio outside caught my attention.
“...the eastern warehouse perimeter is clear at midnight. Move the shipment then, and make it look like a rival hit. Antonio won't know who struck him until his accounts are empty.”
My breath hitched. I pressed my back flat against the stone wall beside the door, peering cautiously through the narrow gap between the heavy oak and the frame.
Standing in the moonlight on the patio was a figure in a dark trench coat. Even in the dim light, I recognized the silhouette and the distinctive silver cuff links.
Dante. Not Dante Moretti—Dante DeLuca, one of Antonio’s most trusted capos and financial advisers, a man who had dined at this very table every Sunday for five years.
A traitor.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I backed away slowly, desperate to get back to the main hallway and find Vane, but my heel caught the edge of a copper pot resting on the floor.
Clatter.
The sound was deafening in the quiet kitchen.
Outside, the whispered conversation stopped instantly. Heavy, hurried footsteps approached the door.
Panic surged through my veins. I didn't think—I bolted out the opposite side of the kitchen toward the grand staircase, sprinting up the steps with my lungs burning.
“Someone’s in the house!” a harsh voice hissed from the kitchen doorway.
I hit the second-floor landing and raced down the dimly lit hallway toward Antonio’s study. The heavy oak door was slightly open. I threw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me and throwing the deadbolt just as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and slammed against the exterior wood.
“Sophie?”
Antonio’s voice came from the private office attached to the study. He stepped out from the inner room, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, holding a legal document in one hand. His dark eyes instantly locked onto my pale, terrified face.
“Sophie, what is it? What happened?” he demanded, closing the distance in two long strides and grabbing my shaking shoulders.
“Dante,” I gasped, clutching his forearms for support. “Dante DeLuca. He’s working with someone. I heard him on the patio talking about the eastern warehouse perimeter... he’s setting you up for midnight!”
Antonio didn't look surprised. In fact, a dark, heavy resignation settled over his features, as if a terrible suspicion had just been brutally confirmed.
“I suspected as much,” Antonio muttered grimly, his jaw clenching. “Dante has been handling the offshore accounts for months. If he leaks the warehouse codes tonight, our entire cash reserve gets intercepted by the syndicate tribunal in Chicago.”
“We have to stop him!” I urged.
“We will,” Antonio said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, cold register of an executioner. He walked over to his desk, pulled a heavy steel key from his pocket, and unlocked a floor safe hidden behind a mahogany panel.
He didn't pull out a gun. He pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and a heavy ledger bound in black leather.
“Vane!” Antonio barked into the intercom.
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“Boss?”
“Lock down the estate perimeter. Nobody leaves. And bring Dante DeLuca to the study immediately. Tell him I want to review the midnight ledger with him.”
