Chapter 23
Homecoming
The restaurant was quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional murmur of the waitstaff as they moved between the tables. It was late, the kind of hour when only those who truly belonged to the underworld were still awake, conducting business in the shadows.
Enzo had chosen this place for a reason. A place where he could keep his enemies close but his loyalty even closer. The dim lighting, the rich scent of roasting meats, the ambiance of sophistication; it all set the stage for what was about to unfold.
Enzo sat at the head of the table, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable as Luca took the seat beside him. His younger brother was tense, his fingers tapping impatiently against the polished surface of the table. It wasn’t that Luca didn’t know how to hide his emotions; it was just that he never really tried. The fire that burned inside him could never stay buried for long.
Across sat Don Vittorio, his broad frame filling the space, his sharp eyes gleaming with calculated intent. He was dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric dark and expensive, the kind of suit that screamed power. But there was something about him tonight, an air of arrogance, a subtle confidence, as if he believed the world was his to command. Enzo didn’t need to look closely to see that Vittorio was playing a dangerous game, one that could easily backfire. Beside him sat his flavor of the month, Sofia Ricci, her perfectly styled hair and expensive clothes, making her look like she belonged on some runaway, and not, a mobster restaurant in the middle of Brooklyn.
The waiter poured wine into their glasses with an elegant gesture before quietly retreating to the shadows. The silence that followed was thick, heavy, as if they were all waiting for someone to make the first move.
Finally, Vittorio broke the stillness with a low chuckle, his fingers drumming lightly against his glass. “I must say, it’s been too long, gentlemen,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something darker. “I never thought our paths would cross again under such horrible circumstances.”
Enzo gave a polite nod, though his gaze never wavered. “It’s a pleasure, as always, Vittorio. What brings you to my town tonight?”
Vittorio leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking briefly to Luca before settling back on Enzo. “Business, of course. Though, I suppose it’s a bit more personal than that. I wanted to offer my condolences about your brother Matteo. It’s a shame what happened to him. Russo and De Luca were behind it, I’ve no doubt. I should have known they were planning something like this.”
Luca’s jaw tightened at the mention of Matteo. His eyes, cold and unreadable, flicked to Vittorio and Sofia before shifting back to Enzo, silently urging him to stay calm. Enzo, however, remained composed, his voice steady and controlled. “We appreciate your condolences, Vittorio. It was... unexpected, to say the least. But we’ve already begun to take the necessary steps to deal with Russo and De Luca.”
Vittorio’s lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no warmth in it. “I would hope so. But I also know how difficult it is to deal with both families at once. Russo’s men are relentless, and De Luca... well, anyone capable of killing their own father is a wild card. You’d need an ally, someone who knows how to deal with them both.” He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping the rim of his wine glass, the only sign of his growing excitement. “That’s where I come in.”
Luca exchanged a glance with Enzo, but neither brother spoke. They both knew what was coming next.
Vittorio continued, oblivious to the fact that his every word was sinking him deeper into a trap. “I’m proposing a partnership. You and I. Together, we can take down Russo and De Luca, wipe them both off the map. With my resources and your men, we’ll have the power we need to take control of everything. All the territory, all the businesses. We’ll own it all. And, of course, you’ll have your revenge for dear Matteo.” His grin grew wider, almost predatory. “Consider this my gesture of good faith.”
Enzo took a slow sip of wine, his expression as neutral as ever. Inside, however, his mind was racing. Vittorio had no idea that they knew the truth. No idea that he had already crossed a line that he could never come back from. The audacity of it; sitting here, offering them a partnership, while secretly plotting their deaths was almost laughable. But Enzo wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing his surprise.
Luca’s voice broke the silence, his words laced with venom. “You’re a bold man, Vittorio. I’ll give you that.”
Vittorio’s eyes glinted with pride. “I don’t do things by halves, Moretti. I’m offering you power; true power. This is your chance to take control, to leave the past behind and build something far greater than you’re old man ever dreamed.”
Enzo set his glass down, his fingers brushing the edge lightly as he met Vittorio’s gaze. “And why would we trust you, Vito?”
Vittorio’s smile faltered, but only for a second. “Trust? Trust is for the weak. We’re men of business. Power. Loyalty is what matters. And I’ve always believed that loyalty is best earned through... mutual benefit.”
“Mutual benefit, he says.” The voice came from nowhere, but the sound of it was unmistakable, gruff, thick with a mix of disdain and amusement. Russo slid into the empty seat beside Enzo with the casualness of someone who had been there all along, popping a cherry into his mouth and chewing slowly. His eyes flicked from Vittorio to the two brothers, studying the room with the kind of smug satisfaction only Russo ever seemed capable of.
Vittorio’s expression faltered almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sudden arrival of Russo. There was a shift in the air, palpable, as if the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. His hand tightened around his glass, but he didn’t move to acknowledge Russo’s presence just yet. He was still recovering from the realization that his attempt at deception was no longer a private affair. Sofia, though, she was an open book; her face paler than death as she stared at Vincenzo.
“Whose benefit, though?” Russo’s voice sliced through the tension, his mouth curling slightly around the edges as if the question was almost a joke. "You talk about mutual benefit, but you’re not exactly being clear on who stands to gain here."
Vittorio’s gaze darted between Russo and Enzo, as if weighing his next move. But before he could come up with a response, an excuse, a lie, anything; he froze. His eyes widened, and his skin paled to a shade that was almost ghostly. He saw them. Two figures stepping into the dimly lit restaurant, one after the other. Matteo and Aldo, their faces unreadable, their steps deliberate.
Matteo’s presence was undeniable, his figure tall and imposing even in the calm of this moment. Aldo, ever the silent one, walked with a quiet assurance that matched Matteo’s intensity. Neither of them spoke at first, but as they came to a stop at the table, it was clear that the game had changed.
Vittorio swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from Matteo to Aldo, then back to Russo, who was sitting with a bored, almost amused expression, as though everything unfolding was a show for him.
Aldo broke the silence with a cool, deliberate tone. “Yours and Moretti’s, or yours and Sofia’s?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unmistakable weight, a question that sliced through the confusion in the room and landed with precision.
Vittorio’s gaze darted wildly for a moment; his face visibly blanching. For a second, it seemed as though he would bolt from his seat, but he only gripped the armrests harder, knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain some semblance of control.
"You..." Vittorio started, but his words faltered, as though he were unsure whether to continue the sentence. He had thought he was playing a game of chess, maneuvering each piece strategically. But this... this was a full-on confrontation, and they were cornered, outnumbered, and outplayed.
Enzo's eyes were locked on his, cold and unwavering. "Did you really think we'd fall for your little game, Vittorio?" his voice was low, his words slow and deliberate. "We knew everything. From the moment you called us. You didn't think we'd find out, did you?"
Vittorio’s eyes flickered to the side, to the door, to any escape he could take. He could feel the walls closing in around him. His breath was shallow now, and the cool exterior he had been holding onto was starting to crack.
“You really think you can double-cross us and get away with it?” Aldo’s voice was a quiet threat now, his gaze unblinking as he leaned in slightly.
"You're finished," Russo’s voice interrupted, a finality in his words. He leaned back in his chair, casually observing the broken man across the table with a smirk. "All your little schemes? They don't matter anymore. You’re not even worth the trouble."
Sofia scrambled up suddenly, making a run for it only to drop dead in the next moment as a bullet sliced through the back of her scull.
Aldo’s face was cold and unmoved as he returned the gun into its holster, ignoring the smirk on Matteo’s face as the man watched him.
Vittorio stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His face was pale, eyes wild as he took a hesitant step back, and then another. His mind raced, scrambling for some way out, some way to salvage what little dignity he had left.
"You... you’ll regret this," he spat, though his voice was shaky, barely holding its ground, his eyes wide as he stared at the body sprawled beneath his feet. His bravado was all but gone now, his earlier confidence disintegrating in the face of the cold, unblinking stares around him. "You think you have the upper hand, but I’ll…"
“You’ll what?” Russo’s voice cut through the room like a blade, unbothered, almost mocking. “Run off to Sicily?”
Vittorio faltered, his expression crumbling. He took another step back, his hands trembling. Then, in a desperate move, he sank to his knees, clutching at the edge of the table. His eyes darted between them; Matteo, Aldo, Enzo, Luca, and finally, he turned to Russo, the last shred of his pride slipping away.
"Please," he begged, his voice strained and broken, a far cry from the man who had once wielded power with such arrogance. "Please, I ... I was just trying to survive. You don't have to do this. I'll leave. I'll disappear. Just let me go. I beg you."
The room fell into a heavy silence, each man sitting still, unmoving. Even Russo’s usual smugness seemed to have faded, replaced by a faint, almost imperceptible hint of disgust. But it was Enzo who finally broke the quiet, his expression hardening into something cold, something deadly.
"You think you can beg for mercy after what you’ve done?" Enzo’s voice was a quiet fury, a controlled rage that simmered just beneath the surface. His gaze locked onto Vittorio, who looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, desperately hoping for some sign of forgiveness, some reprieve.
Vittorio’s breath came faster, the weight of his actions finally settling on him, but it was too late. Far too late.
“You made a move against my family,” Enzo continued, his voice lowering, becoming even more dangerous. "You... you dared to hurt my brother, to threaten him, thought you could take his life. You crossed a line that you can never come back from."
Vittorio’s face twisted in terror as he grasped at the table harder, his body shaking. "Enzo, please," he whispered hoarsely, the words coming out in a pleading whimper. "I didn't mean to hurt him... I didn’t... just give me a chance, please! I’ll make things right. I’ll work for you...whatever you want, just don’t..."
"Mercy," Enzo said quietly, almost too calmly, "is for those who deserve it. You lost that right the moment you decided to come after my family."
The sudden, sharp sound of a gunshot rang out through the room, cutting through Vittorio's desperate pleas. His body jerked back in an instant, eyes wide in shock and disbelief, before he crumpled forward, the blood pooling beneath him as he collapsed onto the floor.
Enzo’s arm was still outstretched, his fingers relaxing from where the gun had been gripped tightly moments before. The echo of the shot reverberated in the stillness of the room. His gaze remained cold, unwavering as he looked down at Vittorio’s lifeless body.
Russo sat back in his chair, the smallest of grins curling on his lips as he watched the blood spread beneath Vittorio. He took another bite of his cherry, chewing lazily as though the entire scene were little more than an inconvenience to him.
“See? That’s how you handle problems,” Russo said with a shrug. “No more waiting, no more games. You know, sometimes I think you’re too patient, Enzo. You really don’t have to play nice with these assholes.”
Enzo’s eyes never left the body on the floor as he slowly holstered his gun, his expression stone cold. He gave one final glance to the men around him, to Aldo and Matteo, before his gaze lingered on Vittorio’s lifeless form for a moment longer.
“By the way, your brother owes me a compound” Russo quipped, making Aldo roll his eyes as Matteo’s head banged against the table.