Chapter 11 - BETRAYAL WITHIN THE RANKS
The fallout was immediate and catastrophic.
By Sunday morning, federal agents had raided Caruso Atlantic headquarters.
By Monday afternoon, three of Dante’s top capos were in federal custody, singing like canaries to secure plea deals.
They didn't protect Dante because Dante hadn't protected them.
The empire he had spent decades consolidating collapsed in less than seventy-two hours.
I sat in my penthouse suite on Madison Avenue, drinking black coffee and watching news helicopters hover over Wall Street.
My phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
“Elena?”
It was Dante.
His voice sounded twenty years older.
Rough, tired, and utterly broken.
“Where are you?” I asked calmly.
“I’m at the docks,” he said.
“Warehouse four.”
“Nico Valenti and his men are here.”
“They think I’m finished, and they’ve come to collect.”
“Why are you calling me, Dante?”
“Because,” he paused, a harsh breath catching in his throat.
“You’re the only person who ever truly beat me.”
“And if I’m going to die tonight, I wanted you to know that I deserved every single thing you did.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Warehouse four.
Nico Valenti wasn’t just going to oust Dante.
Nico was going to execute him and take the remaining territory by force.
Despite everything he had done.
Despite the humiliation.
Despite the betrayal.
I couldn’t let him die.
May you like
Not like this.
I opened my father’s desk drawer, picked up the pearl-handled revolver, slipped it into my handbag, and ran out the door.
