Chapter 3 - The Traitor Unmasked
The silence in the library was so suffocating you could hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Dante’s hand hovered over his gun, sweat beading on his forehead. The capos around the table looked at each other in sheer panic, unsure whether they were looking at a ghost or a miracle.
"I... I was just securing the territories, Boss!" Dante stammered, his voice losing its arrogant edge, replaced by raw terror. "We thought—we all thought you were gone! The attack—it was an inside job by the Costanzas, we were just planning retaliation—"
"You didn't plan retaliation," Lorenzo said coldly, his dark eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between them. "You planned a coup. You knew the transport route. You knew the exact timing of the patrol. And you paid off someone in the medical wing to ensure the monitor stayed off long enough to make it official."
Dante swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the window. "You have no proof—"
"I have something better than proof," Lorenzo said. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers twice.
The side doors swung open. Two armed guards pushed a man forward, shoving him violently onto the floor. It was Dr. Harrison Caldwell’s assistant, a nervous young resident whose coat was stained with fresh ink and blood.
The resident took one look at Lorenzo—alive, breathing, and standing right in front of him—and broke down entirely.
"I didn't mean to!" the resident screamed, pressing his face against the carpet. "Dante paid me twenty grand to alter the saline drip! He said Mr. Moretti was already brain-dead from the ambush, that he was just a corpse waiting for a shovel! I swear I didn't know!"
Dante let out a feral roar, drawing his pistol in a flash of motion, but before the barrel could even clear leather, a deafening crack echoed through the room.
Vincent Scarpotta’s gun was already out, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.
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Dante stumbled forward, a dark red blossom blooming across the chest of his white shirt, and collapsed heavily onto the floor, his eyes wide and lifeless.
Vincent calmly lowered his weapon, looked up at Lorenzo, and nodded. "We handle our own garbage, Boss. Welcome back."
