Chapter 8 - Shadows on the Horizon
Though Richard Bellamy was locked in a federal holding facility awaiting trial, the criminal underworld of New York did not sleep.
In a dimly lit restaurant in Little Italy, three men sat in a private back booth, speaking in hushed, conspiratorial whispers.
“Bellamy was an amateur,” a gravelly voice murmured from the shadows. “He tried to poison a Moretti instead of hitting him where it hurts.”
“What do you suggest?” another man asked, pouring a glass of red wine. “Dante is back on his feet. His security is tighter than ever.”
“He has a weakness now,” the first man smiled, sliding a photograph across the table.
It was a picture of Nora Walsh walking hand-in-hand with Liam outside P.S. 87.
May you like
“The assistant,” the second man mused. “She thinks she won.”
“Let them celebrate,” the first man whispered, lifting his glass. “Every fortress has a gate. And every king has a queen he cares too much about. We just have to wait for the right moment to strike.”
