Chapter 6
The silence in the dining room became suffocating. The wealthy, fair-skinned men and women sitting around the mahogany table exchanged terrified, microscopic glances. No one dared to speak, entirely paralyzed by the sheer, imposing presence of Matteo Bellini.
"You are in no position to negotiate terms, Dominic," Matteo said, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that seemed to emanate from the floorboards. "But if you provide the names, I will ensure your passing is swift. If you withhold them, you will spend the next three weeks begging for the end."
Dominic’s rosy complexion turned an ashen, sickly gray. He knew Matteo’s reputation. He knew the stories of the old days, before the tailored suits and corporate acquisitions, when Matteo had personally dismantled rival syndicates piece by piece.
Dominic slowly raised his shaking hand and pointed a finger toward a heavy-set man sitting near the middle of the table.
"Silvio," Dominic choked out. "Silvio secured the weapons. He paid off the exterior gate guards to look the other way at nine o'clock tonight."
Silvio, a forty-eight-year-old capo, leaped from his chair, knocking over his crystal water glass. "He's lying! The man is a cornered rat, Matteo! He's just throwing names to save his own skin!"
"Sit down, Silvio," Matteo commanded softly.
Silvio did not sit. Driven by a surge of pure, adrenaline-fueled panic, he reached inside his tailored suit jacket, his hand diving for his concealed shoulder holster.
He never even touched the grip of his gun.
Matteo’s bodyguards, standing perfectly still at the perimeter of the room, moved with synchronized, terrifying efficiency. Two suppressed shots rang out in rapid succession—quiet, metallic pfft sounds that barely disrupted the bright, cinematic atmosphere of the room.
Silvio’s eyes went wide. Two red blooms appeared on his crisp white dress shirt, perfectly centered on his chest. He collapsed backward, hitting the floor with a heavy, dead thud.
Several women at the table screamed, covering their mouths in horror. The remaining capos raised their hands slowly, resting them flat on the white linen tablecloth, visibly demonstrating that they were not reaching for weapons.
Matteo did not flinch at the sound of the gunfire. He did not even look at Silvio's body. He kept his cold, intimidating eyes locked on Dominic, who was now weeping openly on his knees.
"Continue," Matteo whispered.
"That was it!" Dominic sobbed hysterically, pressing his forehead against the floor. "It was just Silvio! He was the only one on the inside! The rest of the men were mercenaries hired from out of state! I swear to God, Matteo, that is the entire truth!"
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Matteo stared down at his cousin. He analyzed the man’s heart rate, the pitch of his voice, the utter collapse of his psychological defenses. Dominic had nothing left to hide.
"I believe you," Matteo said softly.
