Chapter 9 - Blood and Loyalty
The air in the penthouse felt like it had been sucked out of the room. The lingering smell of gunsmoke hung heavily between the shattered pillars and splintered doors.
Rico’s grip on his Beretta didn't loosen, but the muzzle slowly shifted from the fallen intruder on the floor to the woman standing behind him. His eyes—cold, betrayed, and deadly—pierced right through Clara’s soul.
"You lied to me," Rico said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "You walked into Il Destino, you quieted my son, you played the poor, overworked waitress from Queens... while you were actually the daughter of my primary enemy in Chicago."
"I didn't know!" Clara cried out, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she hugged trembling Leo closer to her chest. "I ran away from Chicago two years ago, Rico! I cut ties with my father! I changed my name, I changed my life, I wanted nothing to do with the mob! I swear to God, I didn't know Vincent was looking for me!"
Vincent Russo laughed coldly, raising his silenced pistol. "Oh, save the melodrama, little sister. Dad wants you back in Chicago. And as for you, Mr. Moretti..." Vincent sneered at Rico. "It looks like your little domestic pet was a Trojan horse all along. Drop your weapon, or I put a bullet through your precious new girlfriend's head."
Dante appeared down the hall, wounded in the shoulder with a dark stain spreading across his tactical shirt, but his weapon was still raised, aimed straight at Vincent’s chest. "Boss, say the word and I turn him into swiss cheese."
Rico looked at Dante. Then he looked at Vincent. Finally, his gaze landed on Clara.
She was shaking. Leo was crying softly, burying his face in her neck, whispering, "No more loud noises, Clara. Please."
Rico looked back at Vincent. A terrifying, dead calm settled over the Moretti capo. He slowly lowered his Beretta—not dropping it, but resting it loosely at his side.
"You think she's a Trojan horse, Vincent?" Rico asked, his voice low, velvet, and dripping with lethal promise. "You think she came here to spy on me?"
"She's a Russo," Vincent shrugged arrogantly. "Blood is blood."
"Blood?" Rico let out a sharp, dark laugh. "Her father put a bounty on her head for running away from an arranged marriage. Your own family hunted her across three state lines. She didn't come here to spy for you, Vincent. She came here because your family is full of monsters."
Vincent’s smile faltered. "Kill them all," he barked at his remaining two tactical guards.
Before the guards could raise their rifles, Rico moved with blinding, supernatural speed. He kicked a heavy oak table forward, using it as cover while simultaneously raising his Beretta and firing three shots in rapid succession.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Both of Vincent’s tactical guards dropped instantly, hit dead center in the chest.
Vincent scrambled backward, his eyes widening in absolute panic as he raised his silenced pistol toward Clara. "You're dead, both of you—!"
Crack.
Dante’s submachine gun barked once. A bullet clipped Vincent’s hand, sending his pistol clattering across the marble floor. Vincent howled in pain, clutching his bleeding hand.
Rico vaulted over the oak table, closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, and slammed the butt of his gun hard against the side of Vincent’s head. Vincent crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
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Silence returned to the penthouse, heavier and more dangerous than before.
Rico stood over the unconscious body of his rival, breathing heavily, his white dress shirt stained with gunsmoke and dust. Slowly, he turned around to face Clara.
