Chapter 2 - The Snake in the Garden
"Don't move, Marco," Enzo’s voice said from behind me.
The warmth of my cousin’s voice, the voice I had grown up with, the voice that had laughed with me over stolen wine when we were teenagers, was entirely gone. In its place was the cold, hollow tone of a man who had already decided I was dead.
I slowly raised my hands, keeping my back to him. Beside me, Dante remained perfectly still, the crumpled invoice still held between his fingers.
"Enzo," I said softly, the rain drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof above us. "You were my brother."
"Brothers share," Enzo spat. "You don't share, Marco. You sit in Bella Notte, drinking twenty-thousand-dollar bottles of wine, while the rest of us take the risks. You think you’re a god because the city fears you. But fear is a fragile thing. All it takes is one crack."
"So you decided to break Sophia’s Bloom?" I asked, my voice deadly calm. "To prove what? That you could beat a woman?"
"She wasn't supposed to be beaten!" Enzo snarled, and for a second, I heard the panic beneath his anger. "She was supposed to pay! She’s been laundering money for the Chicago Outfit through this flower shop for months. I found out. I wanted my cut. But she refused. She said she’d rather die than help another monster."
"And Grigori?"
"Grigori works for me now," Enzo said. "Dante here... Dante was smart. He noticed the discrepancies in the ledgers weeks ago. He tried to warn you, but you were too busy playing the benevolent king. So Dante came to me. We made a deal. We use your name to squeeze the local shops, build a war chest, and when the time is right, we put a bullet in your head and blame it on the Outfit."
I turned around slowly, ignoring his command to stay still.
Enzo’s gun was pointed directly at my chest. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, the face of a desperate man who had realized his perfect plan had just been shattered by a seven-year-old girl who didn't know how to run in the dark.
But what shocked me wasn't Enzo.
It was Dante.
Dante was smiling.
"You really are a romantic, Marco," Dante said, stepping away from me, his voice dripping with amusement. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, silver pen. The cap was stained with purple ink. "You think Enzo has the brains to plan something like this? Enzo is a blunt instrument. He’s the muscle. I am the architect."
My heart grew cold. "Dante. You've been with my family since my father was alive."
"And your father paid me what I was worth," Dante hissed, his smile vanishing, replaced by a bitter, deep-seated resentment. "You? You treat me like a clerk. You expect me to manage a billion-dollar empire for a salary. I wrote the invoices, Marco. I set up the shadow accounts. I hired Grigori to make sure Sophia Bennett paid her 'taxes.' But she was stubborn. She kept threatened to go to you. She knew you had a soft spot for the neighborhood."
"So you sent Grigori to silence her," I said.
"Yes," Dante said, adjusting his glasses. "And she would have died quietly tonight, and it would have been just another unsolved tragedy in a bad neighborhood. But her daughter... the little brat got away. I didn't expect her to run to Bella Notte. I didn't expect her to find you."
"She found me because her mother told her to find the man everyone is scared of," I said. "And she was right to find me. Because tonight, Dante, you are going to find out exactly why they are scared."
"You’re outnumbered, Marco," Enzo said, stepping closer, his finger tightening on the trigger. "It’s just you. Luca is back at the restaurant playing babysitter. Your guards are outside in the street, unaware of what’s happening in here. One shot, and it’s over. I take the throne, Dante takes the books, and we tell the family you died defending a flower shop from the Outfit."
"You forgot one thing, cousin," I whispered.
"What's that?" Enzo sneered.
"I never go anywhere without a backup plan."
Before Enzo could pull the trigger, the back door of the flower shop flew open. A flash of silver cut through the darkness.
A heavy, iron-handled shears—the kind used to cut thick flower stems—flew through the air, burying itself deep into Enzo’s shoulder.
He screamed, dropping his gun as blood erupted from the wound.
Standing in the doorway, pale, bleeding, but holding a heavy brass vase like a club, was Sophia Bennett. She had regained consciousness, fueled by the primal, unstoppable instinct of a mother protecting her child.
She didn't look at Enzo. She looked at me.
"My daughter..." she choked out. "Where is Emma?"
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"She is safe, Sophia," I said, my voice cracking. "I promise you. She is safe."
Dante cursed and reached for his own weapon, but I was already moving.
