Chapter 6 - The Eviction Notice And The Man Who Bought The Whole Street
Victor Drake was a vile, predatory man who preyed on the desperate families living on the edge of the city. He ran illegal high-interest loan operations, extorted local shopkeepers, and owned dozens of crumbling slums where he charged exorbitant rent while cutting off heat and water.
Three days after Lorenzo’s visit, our front gate was violently kicked open.
I was sitting in the living room helping Noah stack soft toy blocks when a loud bang rattled the front porch. I rushed to the window, my heart spiking.
A rusted red pickup truck was parked in our driveway, and three burly, rough-looking thugs wearing leather jackets and heavy chains stomped onto our porch. Leading them was Victor Drake himself, holding a thick folder of papers and a steel crowbar.
Mom came rushing out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, her face pale. "Emily, stay in the bedroom with Noah! Lock the door!"
"Mom, no!" I cried.
Before she could reach the front door, Victor kicked it open, breaking the temporary latch. The three thugs barged into our warm living room, tracking mud and filthy snow across the clean floor.
"Well, well, Sarah," Victor sneered, his yellow teeth bared in an ugly grin. "I hear some fancy corporate lawyer paid off your back rent. But you forgot one little detail: your late husband still owed me twenty-five thousand dollars on a personal loan. With interest, that makes fifty grand."
Mom stood her ground, though her hands were shaking violently. "David never borrowed a single penny from you, Victor! You falsified those papers after he died! And I have the deed now. This house belongs to me!"
"You think a piece of paper protects you in this neighborhood, bitch?" Victor barked, slamming his crowbar onto our newly delivered coffee table, splitting the wood in half. "I run this district! You either give me fifty thousand dollars in cash right now, or my boys are going to drag your little brats out into the snow and burn this rat trap to the ground!"
Noah started screaming in terror from the bedroom. Tears of rage and fear burned in my eyes.
"Mom!" I screamed, pulling out the cracked phone from my pocket.
Victor’s eyes flashed with cruel malice. "Grab the girl’s phone! Don't let her call the cops!"
One of the heavy thugs lunged toward me, reaching out a dirty hand to grab my arm.
BANG!
The living room window shattered into a thousand glittering pieces as a single, deafening gunshot echoed through the house.
The bullet struck the wooden floorboard exactly two inches in front of the thug's boot, spraying splinters into his jeans. The thug froze, screaming in terror, throwing his hands in the air.
Before anyone could breathe, the front door was kicked wide open.
Marco and three Moretti syndicate enforcers stormed the room with drawn semi-automatic pistols equipped with silencers. Their movements were terrifyingly smooth, precise, and lethal. Within three seconds, Victor Drake and his two thugs were pinned face-down against the linoleum floor, heavy combat boots pressing into their necks.
"Move a single muscle," Marco whispered with chilling calm, the cold steel barrel of his weapon pressed directly behind Victor’s ear, "and your brain will paint this newly renovated wall."
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The front walkway went silent as the matte-black sedan across the street opened.
Lorenzo Moretti walked slowly through the front door.
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