Chapter 11 - The Pawn's Move|
Carmine Russo’s face twisted in desperate rage. He suddenly reached into his coat lining, pulling out a snub-nosed revolver.
Thwip.
A single suppressed round from Mateo’s rifle passed cleanly through Carmine’s right shoulder. The revolver clattered harmlessly onto the rug, and the old Don fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding arm with a agonized groan.
The bronze seal slipped from his numb fingers, rolling across the floor until it bumped gently against the toe of Dante’s polished leather shoe.
Dante casually bent down, picked up the seal, and tossed it to Mateo.
“Check the core,” Dante instructed.
Mateo unclasped a small handheld scanner from his tactical vest and passed it over the bronze hawk. A green LED lit up on the side of the device.
“The transponder is intact, Boss,” Mateo confirmed. “This is our tracked replica.”
Carmine gasped through his pain, staring at the seal in disbelief. “A... a replica?”
“Did you really think I would let an amateur walk out of my mansion with four generations of Moretti history?” Dante asked, stepping closer to the bleeding mob boss.
He knelt beside Carmine, pulling a folded piece of yellowed paper from his inner coat pocket.
“Seven years ago,” Dante whispered, his voice dropping into a lethal, icy whisper, “my brother Marco died on the street in Little Italy. You thought you buried the secret with him.”
Carmine’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Dante... wait! It was business! The port commissioners demanded his removal! I had no choice!”
“In my family, Carmine,” Dante said, unfolding the paper to reveal a hand-signed confession from the surviving getaway driver from seven years ago, “every debt is eventually settled in full.”
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Dante stood up and turned his back on Carmine.
“Mateo,” Dante said calmly. “Clean the room.”
