Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Marble
The grand hall of the Moretti estate descended into total, chaotic violence.
Marco Caruso’s mercenaries tried to establish a defensive line near the grand staircase, but Bruno Vance’s veteran soldiers moved through the ground floor like a machine, clearing room after room with cold, merciless precision.
Dante didn't take cover.
He walked down the center aisle of the hall, his shotgun firing with rhythmic, devastating power. Every shot took down a traitor; every step brought him closer to the man who had torn his life apart.
Marco Caruso scrambled up the marble stairs, pulling a small silver pistol from his belt. He aimed down at Dante's chest.
"Die, you bastard!" Marco screamed, pulling the trigger.
CLICK.
The weapon jammed.
Dante looked up, racked his shotgun, and fired once.
The blast struck the marble banister right beside Marco's head, sending sharp stone shrapnel slicing across Marco's face. The young Caruso heir shrieked in agony, dropping his gun and tumbling backward down the stairs, crashing heavily onto the bloody marble floor at Dante's feet.
Dante stepped forward, putting his heavy leather boot squarely on Marco Caruso’s throat, pressing down just enough to cut off his air.
Marco choked, his hands clawing uselessly at Dante's boot. "Dante... please... it was Tommy! Tommy paid us! The Caruso family just wanted the docks!"
Dante looked down at the heir of his greatest enemy with absolute disdain.
"Tell your father," Dante whispered, leaning down, "that the Moretti family is under new management. And tell him that if a single Caruso steps foot in Brooklyn again, I will burn his empire to the ground."
Dante lifted his boot, swung his shotgun like a club, and struck Marco across the jaw, knocking him instantly unconscious.
He turned toward the back study.
The heavy oak door of his private office was locked from the inside.
Dante walked up to the door, raised his boot, and kicked the lock out of the frame with a single, powerful blow.
The door burst open.
Inside, sitting behind Dante’s heavy mahogany desk, was Tommy Grimaldi.
He was holding a heavy silver revolver with both trembling hands, aimed directly at the doorway. His face was covered in cold sweat, his eyes wide and bloodshot with absolute, wild panic.
"Don't move, Dante!" Tommy shrieked, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Don't come any closer! I swear to God I'll blow your brains out!"
Dante slowly walked into the room. He didn't raise his shotgun. He tossed it casually onto the leather sofa beside the door, standing completely unarmed before his former underboss.
"Shoot me, Tommy," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly soft. "Look me in the eye and shoot me."
Tommy's hands shook violently. "You think you're immortal, don't you?! You think you're La Pietra! But you're just a fool, Dante! You were crying over two empty graves while I took your money, your territory, and your syndicate!"
"You didn't take my syndicate, Tommy," Dante said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the desk. "And the graves weren't empty."
Tommy blinked, confused. "What... what are you talking about?"
"My daughter is alive," Dante said.
The revolver in Tommy's hand dropped an inch. "What?"
"Victoria is alive," Dante repeated, his dark eyes locking onto Tommy’s soul. "Camilla saved her on the cliff. My daughter is safe in New Jersey right now, wearing her mother's silver nightingale."
Tommy’s face drained of every last drop of color. The reality of his failure hit him like a physical blow.
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"No..." Tommy whispered, his teeth chattering. "No... that's impossible... the car exploded..."
"You failed, Tommy," Dante said, stepping right up to the front edge of the desk. "You killed the love of my life, but you failed to destroy her legacy. And now, you are out of time."
