Chapter 8 - The Betrayal Within
Silence fell over the warehouse, so profound you could hear the slow drip of condensation from the corrugated metal ceiling. The enforcers on both sides shifted their weight, fingers twitching near concealed holsters. Don Moretti stared at Luca, calculating the cost of an all-out bloodbath on the docks.
"You're bluffing, boy," Moretti hissed, leaning forward on his cane. "You were shot four days ago during the harbor raid. You can barely lift your arm. My men saw the blood in your foyer last night."
"Your men are currently feeding the fish in Jamaica Bay," Luca countered coldly. "And if you doubt my physical strength, why don't you send your best man forward to test it?"
Moretti's jaw twitched. He knew Luca’s reputation. Even wounded, Luca was a lethal predator who had eliminated every threat to his crown with ruthless precision.
Suddenly, a voice spoke from the shadows near Luca's rear guard.
"He's not bluffing about his strength, Don Moretti. But he is lying about the girl."
My blood ran cold as Mrs. Ferrara—the elegant, gray-haired woman who had hired me four days ago—stepped forward from behind our own ranks. She wasn't carrying household ledgers; she held a certified copy of my original employment contract and a surveillance drive.
"Mrs. Ferrara?" I gasped in disbelief.
"Elena Vance was hired as an unqualified domestic servant four days ago, Don Moretti," Mrs. Ferrara said, handing the files across the table to Moretti’s lieutenant. "There is no record of an engagement before midnight yesterday. Luca Rossi fabricated the union to steal the Moretti family’s fifty-percent trust in the shipping port."
Luca didn't turn around to look at the traitor behind him. His eyes remained locked on Moretti, but the temperature around him dropped below freezing.
"How much did Salvatore pay you, Maria?" Luca asked quietly. "Twenty years of service to my family, and you sold out for thirty pieces of silver?"
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"He offered me what you never could, Luca," Mrs. Ferrara sneered, her polite facade peeling away to reveal bitter greed. "He offered my son a partnership in the southern terminals. Your reign is ending. It's time for the old blood to take back New York."
Moretti threw back his head and laughed, a raspy, triumphant cackle that echoed off the metal walls. "It seems your own house has spoken, Rossi! The contract is void! Hand the girl over, or none of you leave this warehouse alive!"
