Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The sound of the shot shattered the silence of the room.
Lorenzo froze, his eyes widening in shock. He looked down at his chest, where a small red stain was rapidly spreading across his pristine white shirt. His silver pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the mahogany table before falling to the floor.
He stumbled backward, his hands grasping uselessly at his wound, before collapsing onto his knees.
Behind him, sitting in a wheelchair near the entrance of the ballroom, was Clara.
Her hands were trembling slightly as she lowered a heavy blue steel revolver—my father’s old target pistol, which Marcus had kept in his safe for fifteen years. Standing directly behind her wheelchair, holding her shoulders with quiet, steady support, was Beatrice.
The entire room stared in stunned silence at the fragile, violet-eyed woman who had just delivered justice to the man who had stolen twelve years of her life.
Lorenzo fell forward onto his face, gasping for breath, his eyes locking onto Clara's as his vision faded into blackness.
"That..." Clara whispered, her voice shaking with immense, pent-up grief, "...was for my life."
Silence hung over the ballroom for three long seconds.
I walked over to Lorenzo’s motionless body, nudged his silver gun away with my boot, and checked his pulse. He was gone. The shadow that had hung over my family for over a decade was finally erased.
I turned around to face the six remaining captains sitting at the table.
"Does anyone else wish to vote for Lorenzo Vale?" I asked, my voice cold, sharp, and commanding.
The captains instantly stood up, bowing their heads in deep, respectful submission.
"The Moretti family belongs to you, Don Michael," Jimmy said quickly, his voice trembling. "We were lied to. We swear our loyalty to you and your sister."
"Dominic," I ordered calmly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Clean up this room. Take Lorenzo’s body and feed it to the furnace at the docks. Strip his estate, his bank accounts, and his properties. Every cent he stole from this family over the last twelve years will be transferred directly into a trust fund for my sister and Beatrice Gallagher."
"It will be done, Boss," Dominic replied with a firm nod.
I walked across the grand ballroom toward Clara and Beatrice. As I approached, the cold, ruthless demeanor of the mafia don melted away, leaving only a brother who had finally found his home.
I knelt down beside Clara's wheelchair. Tears were streaming down her face, but for the first time in twelve years, the haunting look of terror in her violet eyes had been replaced by deep, overwhelming relief.
I took her hand, pressing my forehead against her knuckles. "It's over, Clara. He can never hurt you again."
Clara reached out with her other hand, touching my face softly. "Thank you, Michael... thank you for coming after me."
I stood up and looked at Beatrice.
May you like
She was looking at me with a quiet, beautiful smile, her cheeks flushed red from the cold air outside. The thin, terrified maid who had stolen a container of leftovers had faced down an empire, helped bring down a monster, and restored a broken family.
"Come on," I said softly, holding my arms out toward both of them. "Let's go home."
