CHAPTER 24 THE COUPS FINAL MOVE #2
Dario pulled out his phone, scrolling with deliberate slowness. "Already tagged. GPS pings every fifteen minutes." He showed the screen—a map with three pulsing red dots. "Motion sensors wired to my phone."
Marco shifted by the window, the afternoon light cutting across his face. "You think Crane’s dumb enough to leave anything there now?"
"Doesn’t matter." Dominic adjusted his cufflinks, the silver catching the light. "Vincent doesn’t want evidence. He wants confirmation."
A faint vibration hummed through the floor—the garage door opening beneath them. Dario pocketed his phone. "Anthony’s car."
Marco frowned. "He’s not going upstate alone."
"No." Dominic moved to the window, watching the black sedan glide out of the driveway. "But he’s not coming back with Crane either."
Dario picked up the ashtray, tilting it to inspect the charred remnants. The ash flaked like dead skin. "She’ll be in the wind before sunset."
"Maybe." Dominic’s reflection blurred in the glass as a cloud passed over the sun. "But Vincent doesn’t chase."
The silence stretched. Somewhere downstairs, a phone rang twice before going quiet.
Marco exhaled. "So we wait?"
Dario set the ashtray down with a soft clink. "We watch."
Dominic turned from the window. The corner of his mouth twitched. "And we see who blinks first."
The grandfather clock chimed the hour, a single, heavy note that hung in the air like a verdict.
Vincent Moretti leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clink of ice in Dominic’s glass.
Vincent’s fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the armrest, his gaze fixed on the man standing before him.
Dario Vitale stood with his usual composure, hands clasped loosely in front of him, his expression unreadable. Marco Bruno hovered just behind him, his jaw tight, his eyes darting between Vincent and Dario.
"You’ve been busy," Vincent said, his voice low and measured.
Dario inclined his head slightly. "I’ve done what needed to be done."
Vincent’s fingers stopped tapping. "Without consulting me."
"The situation demanded immediate action," Dario replied. His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath the words.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not the Boss, Dario."
"No," Dario said. "But I’ve kept this family intact while you’ve been... preoccupied."
The air in the room thickened. Dominic set his glass down with a deliberate click, his gaze locking onto Dario. Anthony, seated in the corner, shifted uncomfortably.
Vincent leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Accumulating power, making decisions without me. You’re playing a dangerous game."
Dario didn’t flinch. "If I’m playing a game, it’s to protect this family. Not to undermine you."
Vincent’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Dominic, then back at Dario. "You’ve crossed a line."
Dario’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, but he didn’t respond.
Vincent stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Dominic," he said, his voice cold. "Take care of it."
Dominic hesitated, his gaze shifting to Dario. "Vincent—"
"Do it," Vincent snapped.
Dario’s expression didn’t change, but Marco stepped forward, his hand twitching toward his sidearm. "Vincent, this is—"
"Stay out of it, Marco," Vincent said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Dario raised a hand, stopping Marco mid-step. "It’s all right," he said, his voice steady.
Marco’s jaw clenched, but he stepped back, his eyes burning with frustration.
Vincent turned to Dominic. "You have your orders."
Dominic nodded, though his face was pale. He glanced at Dario, then turned and left the room without another word.
Dario watched him go, then turned back to Vincent. "You’re making a mistake," he said quietly.
Vincent’s eyes were hard. "No, Dario. You did that when you forgot your place."
Dario didn’t respond. He simply inclined his head again, then turned and walked out of the room, Marco trailing close behind.
Vincent sank back into his chair, his fingers resuming their slow tap against the armrest. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily, marking the passage of time.
Anthony cleared his throat. "Vincent, are you sure—"
"Enough," Vincent said, cutting him off. His voice was tired now, but no less firm. "It’s done."
Anthony hesitated, then nodded and stood, leaving the room without another word.
Vincent stared at the closed door, his expression unreadable. The clock chimed the hour, the sound echoing through the empty room.
Outside, Marco caught up to Dario as they walked down the hall. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.
Dario didn’t slow his pace. "What I’ve always done," he said.
Marco grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "This isn’t just another problem to solve, Dario. Vincent authorized your execution."
Dario met Marco’s gaze, his eyes calm. "Did he say when?"
Marco stared at him for a long moment, then released his arm with a frustrated growl. "You’re going to get us both killed."
Dario adjusted his sleeve, then continued walking. "Then we’d better move quickly."
Marco followed, muttering curses under his breath.
In the distance, the faint sound of an engine roared to life, the noise fading as Dominic’s car pulled away from the house.
Dario didn’t look back.
The clock chimed again, its heavy toll echoing through the halls.
Vincent’s fingers stopped tapping.
The silence lingered, thick and unbroken.
The engine’s growl faded into the night as Dominic’s car disappeared down the gravel drive. Marco Bruno stepped closer to Dario Vitale, his boots crunching on the loose stones. The air was smelling of damp earth and the faint tang of gasoline. Marco’s jaw tightened, his voice low but urgent.
"You need to listen to me, Dario. This isn’t just about Dominic or Vincent. There’s more going on here than you’re seeing."
Dario didn’t stop walking, his pace deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back. "If you’ve got something to say, say it."
Marco grabbed his arm, forcing him to halt. "Vincent’s got eyes on you. more than the usual kind. He’s digging. And he’s not the only one."
Dario’s expression didn’t flicker, but his gaze sharpened. "Who else?"
"Anthony." Marco spat the name like it tasted bitter. "He’s been sniffing around, asking questions. You think he’s just playing errand boy for Vincent? Wrong. He’s got his own agenda, and it doesn’t end well for you."
Dario’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement. "Anthony’s a fool. He doesn’t have the spine for this."
"Maybe," Marco said, his grip tightening. "But he’s got Vincent’s ear. And Evelyn Crane’s been seen with him more than once. You think that’s a coincidence?"
Dario’s eyes narrowed. "Evelyn’s playing her own game. She doesn’t care about Anthony."
"Exactly," Marco snapped. "She’s using him. And if she’s using him, she’s got a reason. You’re walking into something blind, Dario. Vincent’s testing you, Anthony’s plotting, and Evelyn’s pulling strings. You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not."
Dario pulled his arm free, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I’m not blind. I’ve been watching them too."
"Then act like it," Marco growled. "You’re too damn smart to let this blow up in your face. Vincent’s not merely testing you—he’s waiting for a reason to clip your wings. You keep pushing, he’ll find one."
Dario studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "And what do you suggest I do?"
"Stay quiet," Marco said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Let Dominic handle this. Play the loyal soldier for once. Vincent’s looking for cracks—don’t give him any."
Dario’s lips curved into a faint smile. "You think I can’t handle Vincent?"
"I think you’re playing with fire," Marco shot back. "And I’m not gonna watch you burn."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension. In the distance, the faint hum of another engine approached, the sound growing louder as it neared the property. Marco glanced toward the gate, his posture stiffening.
"Dominic’s back," he muttered. "You’ve got company."
Dario didn’t turn, his gaze still fixed on Marco. "I’ll handle it."
Marco shook his head, frustration etched into every line of his face. "You always say that. But one of these days, ‘handling it’ won’t be enough."
The car’s headlights swept across the driveway, casting long shadows over the gravel. Dario straightened his jacket, his movements precise and unhurried.
"Then I’ll deal with that day when it comes," he said, his voice calm but final.
Marco exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Fine. But remember this conversation when it all goes to shit."
He turned and walked away, his boots crunching against the stones. Dario watched him go, his expression unreadable, before turning to face the approaching car. The engine cut, and the door swung open. Dominic Moretti stepped out, his face grim.
"Dario," he said, his tone clipped. "We need to talk."
Dario nodded, his smile cool and composed. "Of course."
The night air seemed to tighten around them, heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. Marco’s warning echoed in Dario’s mind, but he pushed it aside. Whatever was coming, he’d meet it head-on.
Dominic gestured toward the house. "Inside."
Dario followed, his steps steady, his mind already calculating the next move. Marco’s words lingered, but they were just another variable in the equation. And Dario Vitale had never been one to shy away from solving the hardest problems.
Dario stood in the shadows of the Moretti estate’s east wing, his gloved fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade concealed in his sleeve.
The faint hum of the security system buzzed in the background, a reminder of the risks he was taking.
Vincent Moretti’s voice carried from the study down the hall, low and measured, discussing something with Dominic.
Dario didn’t need to hear the words to know the topic—Vincent’s growing paranoia, his distrust of anyone who didn’t fit neatly into his vision of loyalty. Including Dario.