Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Every man in the room reached for their weapons, chairs scraping violently against the marble floor.
Standing in the doorway was Leah, dressed in a sharp black suit Teresa had provided, her hair pulled back, eyes blazing with cold determination. Around her neck, the silver ring glinted under the crystal chandeliers. Beside her stood Teresa, carrying a thick leather folder and holding a silenced pistol lowered at her side.
The room went dead silent.
Hector dropped his glass of scotch. It shattered on the floor, amber liquid soaking into the Persian rug. His face turned gray.
“You…” Hector stammered, pointing a shaking finger at Leah. “You’re dead! The poison—” He caught himself instantly, but it was too late.
The word hung in the air like a cloud of toxic gas.
Viktor stood up slowly from his chair. The hollow, defeated look on his face vanished, replaced by an terrifying, absolute fury.
“What poison, Hector?” Viktor asked softly, his voice deadlier than a drawn gun.
Hector swallowed hard, sweat suddenly breaking out on his forehead. “I… I meant the report! The guards said she was dead!”
Leah stepped forward, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. She did not look like a frightened waitress from Callahan’s Diner anymore. She looked like a Torrio.
“I’m very much alive, Uncle Hector,” Leah said, her voice ringing clearly across the grand hall. She took the leather folder from Teresa and slammed it onto the oak table in front of the oldest Capo present, Don Carmine.
“In that folder,” Leah announced, “are the medical records from County General dated twenty-three years ago. It shows that Hector Torrio paid Doctor Robert Vance forty thousand dollars to falsify my mother’s death certificate, to declare her unborn baby dead, and to hide her in a charity ward until she passed away.”
Don Carmine opened the folder, his old eyes scanning the yellowed documents and signed affidavits. His brow furrowed in disgust.
“There is also a certified DNA test completed four hours ago,” Leah continued, looking straight at Viktor. “Proving a 99.9% biological match between Viktor Torrio and myself.”
Viktor looked at the papers, then up at Leah. Tears welled in the mob boss’s eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He looked at Hector.
“You stole my wife,” Viktor whispered, walking slowly down the length of the table toward his uncle. “You stole my daughter. You made me live twenty-three years in a hell of your own making.”
“Viktor, listen to me!” Hector panicked, backing away until his spine hit the mahogany wall. “I did it for the family! Mariana was a distraction! You were soft! You were going to ruin everything we built!”
“You didn't do it for the family,” Leah interjected coldly. “You did it because you were second best. You were always in my father's shadow, and you were too cowardly to take the crown in an open fight.”
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Hector’s eyes snapped with pure, unadulterated hatred. Realizing he was ruined, that the Capos were staring at him with cold disgust, he snapped. He reached inside his jacket, pulling a snub-nosed revolver, aiming it straight at Leah’s chest.
“If I go down,” Hector screamed, “the girl dies!”
