Chapter 6 - The Weight of Loyalty
The cold steel of Vince’s shoulder holster was only a few feet away, but the real shock wasn't the weapon—it was the absolute quiet in the room. For twenty-five years, Vince had stood behind Salvatore like a shadow, taking orders without a blink, serving as the silent muscle of an empire built on fear and obedience.
Now, his hand was steady, his eyes fixed on the mahogany desk, and his posture was that of a man who believed he had already won.
"You're making a mistake, Vince," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register as he stepped slightly to the side, positioning himself between the desk and me. "My father built this organization from the dirt. You think you can just walk in here and take it over because you found an old box?"
"I'm not trying to take it over, Gabriel," Vince replied, his tone chillingly polite. "I'm just making sure the past stays buried where it belongs. The old man has gone soft. He spends his nights chasing ghosts in Italian restaurants instead of minding the books. And you... you were too busy playing corporate lawyer to notice who was actually signing the payroll checks."
Salvatore didn't flinch. The old man slowly straightened up from behind his desk, leaning his weight onto his polished cane. The frailness that had seemed to plague him earlier vanished beneath a surge of cold, concentrated fury.
"You think I didn't know you were skimming from the Brooklyn docks, Vince?" Salvatore asked softly, his voice cutting through the heavy air like a razor. "You think a man who built an empire on loyalty doesn't smell a rat in his own house? I let you stay because a known thief is easier to watch than an unknown one. But you made one critical error tonight."
Vince’s smile faltered just a fraction. "And what's that, Boss?"
"You underestimated the girl," Salvatore said, nodding toward me.
Before Vince could process the warning, Gabriel moved with terrifying speed. Instead of lunging for Vince, Gabriel swept his foot across the edge of the heavy Persian rug, kicking it up and sending Vince stumbling off balance as his shoe caught the thick fabric.
In a split second, the two other guards at the doorway reacted, but Salvatore didn't hesitate. With surprising strength, he swept his heavy mahogany desk lamp off the surface and hurled it straight into the path of the nearest guard, shattering glass and plunging that corner of the room into semi-darkness.
"Tessa, run!" Gabriel shouted, ducking as Vince recovered his balance and drew his weapon with a sharp metallic click.
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I didn't hesitate. I didn't run toward the door—I knew the guards blocked it. Instead, I grabbed Mr. Cosenza's letter and the heavy gold signet ring off the desk, turned sharply toward the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind Salvatore, and ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain that concealed a secondary exit.
Behind me, a gunshot cracked through the study, echoing off the wood paneling like thunder.
