CHAPTER 15 THE SHOWDOWN MEETING #3
The air in Vincent's office thickened like cooling blood. Dario watched the Moretti brothers exchange glances—Vincent's fingers steepled against his mouth, Dominic's jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, Anthony's restless foot tapping out a death march on the Persian rug.
"Clear enough?" Vincent asked, not to Dario, but to his brothers.
Dominic nodded once. Anthony stopped tapping.
Evelyn leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, watching the captains leave the room with the precision of a coroner marking time of death. Tommy hovered near the door, his hand flexing near his holster like he expected to need it before the hour was out.
Dario didn't move. The battle lines had been drawn in something more permanent than chalk.
"You're quiet," Vincent noted.
Dario flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. "I'm counting."
"Counting what?" Dominic asked.
"How many of my men just became yours."
Vincent's smile didn't reach his eyes. "They were always mine."
A lie so bold it circled back to truth. Dario had trained half the captains personally, turned their loyalty into something sharper than family obligation. That had been the point. Until it wasn't.
Tommy shifted his weight. Dario caught the movement, the way the kid's eyes darted to the emergency exit route they'd scouted weeks ago. Always prepared. Always loyal.
Too loyal, maybe.
Evelyn pushed off the bookshelf. "You're missing the math, Dario."
"Enlighten me."
She trailed a finger along the edge of Vincent's desk. "It's not about who they obey tonight. It's about who they'll still obey after the bodies hit the pavement."
Anthony made a sound low in his throat. Dominic's hand went to his holster.
Vincent just watched.
Dario met Evelyn's gaze. The new detail clicked—the faint tremor in her left ring finger, the one she only got when she'd already set the dominoes falling.
"Problem with loyalty tests," Dario said, "is they only work if you survive the results."
Tommy's breath hitched.
Vincent stood. "Then I guess we'll see who's still standing when the smoke clears."
The dismissal hung in the air like a noose. Dario turned without another word, Tommy falling into step behind him.
The hallway stretched too long, every shadow a potential ambush. Tommy kept pace, his shoulder brushing Dario's like he could shield him from bullets with sheer willpower.
"Boss," Tommy murmured when they cleared the building, "your car's not where we left it."
Dario didn't look at the empty parking space. Didn't need to.
"Guess we're walking," he said, and turned left instead of right, toward the safehouse Tommy didn't know existed.
The kid followed without question.
That was the dangerous part.
Dario kept his strides even, his breathing steady. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the pavement. A garbage truck groaned in the distance, its compactor chewing through last night’s secrets.
Tommy matched his pace, but the kid’s fingers twitched toward his phone. "Should I call—"
"No." Dario cut him off before he could finish. "Phones are for people who still trust their contacts."
Tommy swallowed hard but nodded. A gust of wind sent a crumpled flyer skittering past their feet—some politician’s hollow promise, half-buried in gutter filth.
Three blocks in, Dario ducked into a narrow alleyway between a shuttered bodega and a laundromat reeking of bleach. Tommy hesitated at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette framed against the streetlight like a target.
"Move," Dario said, low and sharp.
Tommy did. The alley dead-ended at a rusted fire escape, but Dario didn’t look up. Instead, he crouched beside a storm drain, pried the grate loose with his fingertips, and slid it aside with practiced ease.
The kid stared. "You’re kidding."
Dario didn’t answer. He dropped into the darkness, boots hitting concrete with a wet echo. After a heartbeat, Tommy followed, his landing less graceful. The grate clanged back into place above them.
The tunnel stank of mildew and stale urine, the walls slick with condensation. Somewhere ahead, water dripped in a steady, mocking rhythm.
Tommy exhaled shakily. "How long’s this been here?"
"Longer than Vincent’s known your name." Dario pulled a penlight from his pocket, the beam cutting a thin path through the black. "Stay close. And don’t touch the walls."
They walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the tunnel’s throat. After fifty paces, Dario stopped abruptly. Tommy nearly collided with him.
Ahead, the tunnel forked.
Dario clicked off the light.
Tommy’s whisper was barely audible. "Which way?"
A scrape of metal echoed from the left fork. Then another.
Dario reached back, gripped Tommy’s wrist hard enough to bruise, and yanked him right.
The kid didn’t make a sound.
Good.
The footsteps behind them sped up.
The air in the tunnel grew heavier as Dario’s penlight flickered, casting jagged shadows across the damp walls.
Tommy rubbed his wrist where Dario had gripped him, the bruise already forming beneath his sleeve.
He didn’t complain—knew better than to question Dario’s instincts—but the tension between the two men was palpable.
Ahead, Vincent Moretti’s voice cut through the oppressive silence.
“This isn’t some fucking relic,” Vincent snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Tommy flinch. “This is a goddamn liability. We’re not archaeologists, Dario. We’re not here to dig up history.”
Dario’s expression didn’t change, but his voice carried a quiet edge. “It’s not history if it’s still alive.”
Vincent turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t know that? This isn’t your call. You don’t get to decide what we do with this.”
Dominic Moretti stepped forward, his broad frame blocking the narrow tunnel. “Vincent’s right. This isn’t your jurisdiction, Vitale. You’re consigliere, not capo.”
Dario’s gaze flicked to Dominic, then back to Vincent. “And yet, here we are. Because someone had to clean up the mess before it reached the Boss.”
Anthony Moretti, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, let out a low whistle. “Careful, Dario. You’re starting to sound like you’re running the show.”
Evelyn Crane, who had been silent until now, stepped into the circle of light. Her voice was calm, but there was a steeliness beneath it. “This isn’t about jurisdiction. It’s about survival. If this thing gets out, it won’t matter who’s in charge. We’ll all be dead.”
Vincent rounded on her. “And whose side are you on, Crane? His?” He jabbed a finger in Dario’s direction.
Evelyn didn’t flinch. “I’m on the side that keeps us alive. If that means working with Dario, then yes.”
The tunnel seemed to close in around them, the weight of the argument pressing down like the earth above. Tommy shifted uncomfortably, his hand brushing the hilt of his knife. He glanced at Dario, waiting for a signal, but Dario’s focus was entirely on Vincent.
“This isn’t about sides,” Dario said, his voice low and controlled. “This is about containment. If we don’t handle this now, it’ll handle us.”
Vincent took a step forward, his face inches from Dario’s. “And who made you the fucking expert? You’re not the only one who knows how to solve problems, Vitale.”
Dominic moved to stand beside Vincent, his posture aggressive. “You’re overstepping. Again.”
Anthony pushed off the wall, his tone mocking. “Maybe Dario’s just tired of cleaning up after us. Maybe he thinks he’s earned the right to call the shots.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t the time for pissing contests. We need to deal with the threat. Now.”
The fractures were clear, the family splitting into opposing camps. Vincent and Dominic on one side, Dario and Evelyn on the other, with Anthony playing the provocateur. Tommy felt the tension coil in his chest, the urge to act warring with the knowledge that he was out of his depth.
Vincent’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You’re forgetting your place, Vitale. You’re not untouchable.”
Dario met his gaze without hesitation. “Neither are you.”
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Tommy’s fingers tightened around his knife, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment stretched, the weight of unspoken threats hanging in the air.
Finally, Vincent stepped back, his expression hard. “We’ll settle this later. For now, we do it my way.”
Dario didn’t argue, but the look he exchanged with Evelyn spoke volumes. The family was fractured, and the cracks were only going to widen. Tommy swallowed hard, the taste of copper in his mouth. the next move, it wouldn’t be clean.