Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Silverware
Dante Moretti slowly lowered himself back into his chair, his hands flat on the wet mahogany table, carefully keeping them away from his waist. His breathing was shallow, his sharp face glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
"Gabriel," Dante stammered, his eyes darting frantically between Gabriel’s impassive face and the suppressed barrels aimed at his men. "You're listening to fairy tales spun by an opportunist. That ring... Elena lost that ring months before she died. This girl probably found it under a dresser while cleaning."
"Elena didn't lose it," I said, reaching into the pocket of my wool dress and pulling out the yellowed DNA registration certificate from the Zurich vault, sliding it over the spilled scotch. "She deposited it alongside blood samples taken from me when I was an infant at St. Jude’s, cross-referenced with my mother's tissue records from the sanitarium. The Swiss magistrates verified the genetic match yesterday morning."
Dante stared at the legal stamp, his jaw working soundlessly.
"You see, Dante," Gabriel said, walking slowly around the table until he stood towering behind Dante’s chair, "my wife knew you were a coward. She knew you lacked the stomach to challenge me directly, so you looked for softer targets. First her car on the turnpike. Then my six-year-old son in my own home."
"I had nothing to do with the sunroom!" Dante hissed, his voice rising in panic. "The Marcones acted alone! They wanted revenge for the shipping routes we seized in Brooklyn!"
"The Marcones are dead," Gabriel whispered, leaning down so his lips were inches from Dante’s ear. "Their boss, Sal Marcone, spent his final two hours in my basement before he died of blood loss. Do you know what he gave me in exchange for a clean bullet to the head? An encrypted ledger. Detailing five wire transfers originating from a shell company in the Cayman Islands. A company registered under your mother’s maiden name."
Dante’s hands began to tremble violently against the wood. "Gabriel... we're family. Leo is my nephew. I loved Elena."
"You loved her inheritance," I said, the disgust rising thick and bitter in my throat. I remembered Leo curled into a ball on the floor, shaking under my body, covered in blue paint and glass shards while bullets tore through the plaster inches above his head. "You sent men with assault rifles to slaughter a six-year-old boy while he was painting a picture. You don't get to speak Elena's name in this house."
Gabriel straightened up. He looked at his head of security, a scarred man named Mikhail standing by the doorway. "Disarm them. Take Dante's men to the gate and ensure they leave the state within the hour. If they return to New York, shoot them on sight."
Mikhail moved with brutal efficiency, stripping the two bodyguards of their sidearms and escorting them out backwards under gunpoint. The heavy doors slammed shut, leaving Dante alone in the room with Gabriel and me.
Dante swallowed hard, looking up at Gabriel with pleading eyes. "What do you want? The docks? Take them. Sign them over to her. I'll sign the renunciation right now. I'll leave for Florida. You'll never see me again."
"You won't be going to Florida," Gabriel said calmly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brass key. "You will be staying in the guest quarters beneath the wine cellar until Thursday morning."
"Thursday?" Dante’s eyes widened with terror. "What happens on Thursday?"
"On Thursday, the heads of the Five Families gather at St. Jude's Cathedral for the annual winter memorial mass," Gabriel replied. "It is where the commissions meet on neutral ground. You will stand before the assembly, Dante. You will confess to the conspiracy against Elena Rossi, and you will formally surrender all claims to the Moretti territories in front of the Cardinal and the Commission."
"They'll execute me!" Dante yelled, jumping to his feet. "The Commission has laws against killing blood within the families! If I confess to Elena's murder, they will strip my name and bury me in an unmarked trench!"
"Then you had better pray your confession is very convincing," Gabriel said without a shred of pity. "Because the alternative is staying in my basement with Mikhail."
Dante slumped forward, his spirit utterly broken. Mikhail returned with two guards, grabbing Dante by the elbows and dragging him out of the dining room. His heels scuffed uselessly against the Persian rug until the sound faded down the corridor toward the cellar stairs.
When the room fell silent again, the adrenaline that had kept me upright finally dissipated. A sharp, burning ache flared across my ribs, and my knees buckled beneath me.
Before I could hit the floor, Gabriel caught me.
His arms wrapped securely around my waist and under my knees, lifting me effortlessly against his chest. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my uninjured arm around his neck to steady myself. His chest was broad, solid as granite, and through his shirt, I could feel the steady, thunderous rhythm of his heart.
"You pushed yourself too hard," he scolded softly, though his slate-gray eyes held none of their usual coldness. They were dark with concern.
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"I had to look him in the eye," I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder as he carried me toward the staircase. "He needed to know I wasn't afraid of him."
Gabriel looked down at me as he carried me up the marble steps, his jaw set in a hard, protective line. "You took three bullets for my son, Tess. There isn't a man in this city who could ever make you afraid again."
