Chapter 3: The King's Wrath
Chapter 3: The King's Wrath
The darkness of the vault exploded into a brief, blinding flash of muzzle fire, followed by the deafening crack of a single shot echoed against the concrete walls.
One of Matteo’s soldiers dropped his weapon, his hand clutching his shattered wrist as he screamed, a spray of dark blood hitting the white burlap sacks behind him. The second soldier tried to swing his pistol around, but a heavy, gloved hand caught his throat from behind, slamming his head violently against the iron shelving until he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
Luca Moretti stepped out of the shadows, his face illuminated by the red emergency light. He held a custom matte-black pistol, his arm perfectly steady, his eyes fixed entirely on his cousin. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore; he wore a tactical black sweater that made him look like a shadow that had taken human form.
Behind him came four senior soldiers—men with grey hair and scarred faces, the old guard who had served Luca’s father. They didn't look nervous. They looked tired of games.
"Luca!" Matteo gasped, his hands flying into the air as he backed away until his spine hit the frozen steel door of the vault. "Luca, listen to me, it’s not what it looks like! Rhode Island... they threatened me! They said if I didn't let them use the containers, they would hit the trucks in Providence!"
"You lied to me about the Palermo cargo manifests, Matteo," Luca said, his voice flat, dangerously quiet. He walked forward until the barrel of his pistol was resting precisely against the center of Matteo’s forehead. "You used my mother’s name on the shipping licenses. You brought that poison into the North End, where our people live. Where the children play on the steps of St. Leonard’s."
"I... I can fix it!" Matteo cried, tears of pure terror spilling down his face. "I can give you the names in Providence! I can give you the buyers in New York!"
"I already have the names, Matteo. Emma found them three hours ago when she pulled the digital logs from your office terminal while you were at lunch," Luca said, his eyes shifting for a brief second to Emma, a flash of deep, unyielding respect passing between them.
Emma stepped forward, holding her tablet out. "The digital keys were encrypted using his birthday, Luca. Like I said... he’s not very good at math."
Matteo looked at Emma, his expression shifting from terror to a desperate, ugly hatred. "You... you ruined everything, you fat bitch—"
Luca didn't hesitate. He swung the butt of his pistol horizontally, striking Matteo across the jaw with a brutal, sickening crack. Matteo collapsed into a heap on the wet concrete, spitting blood and broken teeth as the senior soldiers stepped forward to pin his arms behind his back.
"Take him to the basement at the Marshall Street garage," Luca ordered the old guard. "Keep him alive until the Rhode Island situation is finalized. If any of his friends from Providence call his phone, answer it and tell them the price of semolina just went up."
As the soldiers dragged Matteo and his wounded men out of the vault, the emergency lights flickered back to full power, the industrial fans humming to life again. The freezing air began to circulate, carrying away the scent of blood and vinegar.
Luca turned to Emma. He looked at her fingers, which were still red from the cold, and the calm, unshakeable focus in her eyes. He walked over to her, his long fingers reaching out to gently take the digital tablet from her hand, setting it down on the crate beside her briefcase.
"You didn't flinch," Luca said, his voice softer now, the lethal edge giving way to a raw, genuine wonder. "Most women in the North End would have been screaming the moment the lights went out."
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"My grandmother once hit a stick-up man with a rolling pin because he tried to take the register cash on a holy day, Luca," Emma said, her chest rising and falling with a deep, steady breath. "I told you. We’re made of different stuff. Now... what are we going to do about Rhode Island?"
Luca reached out, his hand cupping the side of her face, his thumb gently tracing the line of her cheekbone. His skin was warm against her frozen skin. "We’re going to invite them to dinner, Emma. A traditional Sunday dinner at my house. And I think it’s time the city sees what kind of woman is going to rule this family beside me."
