Chapter 6 - The Sound of Breaking Glass
The muffled thud of fists against wood and the sharp ring of shattering mahogany inside the executive office sounded entirely different through three inches of reinforced security glass. Outside in the hallway, the fluorescent lights hummed a sterile, steady tune while I stood with my hand resting lightly against the electronic override panel.
The federal marshals were three floors down, navigating the underground service elevators Aaron Feld had quietly unlocked using the Romano estate’s remaining emergency municipal credentials. But inside the room, Enzo and Dante weren't waiting for the law to sort them out.
A heavy shoulder slammed against the interior of the door, rattling the frame and sending dust sifting down from the acoustic ceiling tiles.
"Carmela!" Enzo's voice cut through the wood—rough, breathless, stripped of all the terrifying authority that had once made half of Chicago tremble. "Open the shutter. Dante’s reaching for the emergency window release. If he breaches the exterior drop, the Tatalia hit squad in the alley will have a clear line of sight straight into the room."
I didn't move my hand from the keypad.
"Let them look," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the acoustic seal. "Let Matteo Tatalia see what happens when he buys security details that were never truly loyal to him in the first place."
From inside, a sharp crack rang out—not wood, but glass. The high-impact security window facing the skyline was splintering under the heavy butt of Dante's sidearm. Bianca screamed, a sharp, unpolished sound of pure panic that completely shattered the sophisticated, untouchable aura she had worn all afternoon.
"Dante, stop!" Bianca shrieked. "You'll bring the whole precinct down on us—the feds aren't just looking for Enzo, they have the wiretaps from the Cayman accounts!"
"Shut up, you idiot," Dante snarled back, his voice strained as he hammered against the window pane. "The old man’s daughter didn't just freeze accounts; she handed the entire corporate ledger to the district attorney thirty minutes ago. We're already ghosts."
I listened to them tear each other apart with a strange, hollow calm.
Five years of my life had been spent walking on eggshells in rooms just like this one, terrified of angering the wrong man, managing scandals, smoothing over debts, and shrinking myself to fit inside a marriage built on a foundation of sand. And now, the great Moretti empire was tearing itself to pieces because none of them had ever learned how to trust anyone except their own paranoia.
The service elevator chime echoed down the empty corridor.
The heavy steel doors slid open with a smooth hiss, and Aaron Feld stepped out flanked by two federal marshals in tactical vests, their badges gleaming under the white hallway lights. Aaron took one look at the reinforced door, the spiderweb cracks spreading across the interior, and then at me standing untouched in the center of the hallway.
"The perimeter is locked," Aaron said, adjusting his glasses. "Local police are sealing the ground-level exits. The Tatalia enfranchised vehicles in the alley are already turning around."
"They're inside," I said, nodding toward the office door. "Dante is trying to blow the window drop. Enzo is trying to stop him."
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Aaron looked at me closely, his eyes searching my face for any sign of hesitation, grief, or lingering attachment. What he found there must have satisfied him, because he simply gave a short nod to the marshals.
"Open the shutter, Carmela," Aaron said quietly. "Let's see what's left of your husband."
