Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
Dawn broke gray and unforgiving over the abandoned shipping yards in Newark. Inside warehouse 14, the freezing wind whistled through broken corrugated steel.
Salvatore Bianke sat tied to a wooden chair in the center of the concrete floor, his face swollen and bloody, sobbing uncontrollably. Standing ten feet away, flanked by armed guards, was Carmine Lucchese, bound in heavy steel chains, his swagger completely stripped away.
The warehouse doors rolled up with a deafening screech.
Aleandro walked in, his black trench coat flapping in the cold breeze. Beside him walked Bella. She wore a tailored black coat, her hands tucked deep into her pockets, her gaze colder than the winter concrete beneath their boots.
"Alex... please!" Salvatore begged, spit and blood flying from his lips. "Carmine forced me! He told me he’d kill my daughter if I didn't give him the codes!"
Aleandro didn't even look at him. He walked straight toward Carmine Lucchese, stopping inches from the chained mob boss.
"You broke the cardinal rule, Carmine," Aleandro said softly. "You brought war to a civilian table. And you sent animals after a sick child."
"Kill me, then," Carmine sneered, though his eyes betrayed his terror. "You shoot me, Moretti, and New Jersey goes to war. You won't survive the year."
Aleandro smiled—a terrifying, empty curve of his lips. "I’m not going to shoot you, Carmine. The feds already have the financial trail connecting you to the hit. By noon today, your assets are seized, your family is broke, and your own captains will sell your head to the highest bidder to save their own skins."
Aleandro turned toward Salvatore Bianke. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy black steel revolver, checking the cylinder with a crisp snap.
He didn't raise the weapon. Instead, he turned and held the grip out toward Bella.
"He went after your brother," Aleandro said quietly, his eyes searching hers. "You decide his fate."
Salvatore began to wail, rocking back and forth in terror. "No! Please! Miss Rossi, please! Have mercy!"
Bella looked at the heavy steel gun in Aleandro’s hand. She remembered the cold fear in the hospital waiting rooms. She remembered scrubbing floors until her hands bled. She remembered the sheer malice in Salvatore’s eyes when he threw that chair at Luchia’s.
She stepped forward, reaching out.
Her hand closed around the cold metal. She raised the gun, pointing the black barrel directly between Salvatore’s eyes. The entire warehouse held its breath.
For ten agonizing seconds, the only sound was Salvatore’s pathetic weeping.
Then, slowly, Bella lowered the gun. She clicked the safety back on and handed it back to Aleandro.
"Death is too quick for a cockroach," Bella said, her voice ringing clear and merciless through the rafters. "Let the feds put him in a concrete hole where he has to spend the rest of his life remembering that a waitress took away everything he ever owned."
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Aleandro looked down at her, and for the first time in his ruthless, blood-soaked life, his eyes shone with pure, reverent awe.
"Take them away," Aleandro ordered his men. "Lock them in the dark until the marshals arrive."
