Chapter 13
August stood behind the black table.
Victor Dane beside him.
Eight armed men around the chamber.
Rocco entered with Matteo.
Noah remained upstairs under guard.
Bianca came despite being told nothing.
Rocco noticed.
Did not stop her.
August looked at Matteo.
For the first time in decades, the old man lost his composure completely.
“You.”
Matteo smiled.
“Uncle.”
August’s hands trembled.
“I watched you die.”
“No.”
“You watched someone burn.”
Rocco looked at his uncle.
“Family tradition.”
August ignored him.
Matteo stepped closer.
“You killed Thomas.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
“You used Bianca.”
“Yes.”
Bianca stared.
August no longer bothered lying.
Perhaps men became honest when they believed guns had settled the argument.
Rocco looked at Victor.
“You picked the wrong old man.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“I picked a future.”
Rocco almost smiled.
“You picked a chair.”
August looked toward Bianca.
“You failed.”
She stared.
“I did exactly what you taught me.”
His expression changed.
She continued.
“I hated the person you pointed at.”
“I used a child because it hurt the right man.”
“I called cruelty justice.”
August said nothing.
Bianca’s voice hardened.
“That is your education.”
Rocco watched her.
Not redemption.
Recognition.
Important difference.
August looked back at Rocco.
“You think understanding yourself saves you?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“It makes me harder to move.”
August laughed.
“You came down here.”
“Because you rang.”
“Yes.”
Rocco smiled faintly.
“Predictable.”
August’s smile disappeared.
Rocco had left Anthony above with most of the loyal men.
Leonard had returned thirty minutes earlier.
Quietly.
He now stood in the second passage behind August’s men.
August did not know.
Rocco continued.
“You wanted Matteo here.”
“Yes.”
“Bianca.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To finish what should have ended at Black Harbor.”
Matteo shook his head.
“You still think this is yours.”
August’s eyes flashed.
“I built half this family while children inherited it.”
There it was.
Not ideology.
Not blood purity.
Humiliation.
Decades spent standing beside men he believed inferior because their fathers gave them names he could not claim.
Rocco almost understood.
Almost.
“You killed Thomas because?”
“He knew.”
“Matteo?”
“He knew.”
“Elena?”
August frowned.
“I did not kill Elena.”
Rocco believed him.
Not because August was trustworthy.
Because annoyance was real.
“You know who did.”
“No.”
“Gabriel?”
August’s face changed.
Victor looked confused.
Bianca saw it.
“Who is Gabriel?”
August whispered:
“Matteo.”
Rocco smiled faintly.
“So you do know.”
August recovered.
“Gabriel is a bedtime story.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Elena met him.”
“No.”
“She recorded him.”
August went still.
Lie.
Matteo continued.
“She left the recording with Leonard.”
Rocco looked toward the rear passage.
Time.
Leonard stepped out.
August spun.
His armed men moved.
Anthony’s men entered from the opposite side.
Nobody fired.
Yet.
August looked around.
For the first time, the old strategist realized the room was not his.
Rocco walked to the head of the black table.
“Twenty-two years ago, you put Thomas Hayes in this room.”
August stared.
“Tonight you sit in his chair.”
Rocco pointed.
August laughed.
“You want theater.”
“No.”
“I want you to see the view.”
August remained standing.
Victor looked around.
His courage was shrinking.
August sat.
Rocco turned toward Victor.
“You can leave.”
Everyone froze.
Victor stared.
“What?”
“Walk out.”
August looked sharply toward him.
Rocco continued.
“No oath.”
“No forgiveness.”
“You leave this house and never command Bellacorte men again.”
Victor’s eyes moved toward August.
Rocco watched.
That was the test.
Not of loyalty.
Of fear.
Victor stepped away from August.
The old man’s face changed.
“Coward.”
Victor stopped.
Then looked at him.
“No.”
His voice shook.
“I was a coward when I let you tell me resentment was courage.”
He walked.
Three of August’s men lowered their weapons.
Then two more.
August stared.
Rocco did not smile.
Leadership built only on fear vanished quickly when the room offered an exit.
August looked toward Bianca.
“You think he will forgive you?”
“No.”
Her answer came immediately.
“I don’t deserve that from Noah.”
August smiled cruelly.
“So what are you now?”
Bianca looked at Thomas’s lighter in her hand.
“Done letting dead men choose who I become.”
August’s face tightened.
Then he moved.
A small pistol beneath the table.
Toward Bianca.
Rocco saw it.
So did Matteo.
Matteo struck August’s arm aside.
The gun fired into stone.
Anthony’s men moved.
August fought harder than his age suggested.
Then Rocco had him against the black table.
Gun on the floor.
Breathing hard.
Rocco could kill him.
Everyone knew it.
August smiled through split lips.
“Do it.”
Rocco looked down.
Twenty-two years ago he would have.
Bianca watched.
Matteo watched.
Leonard watched.
Rocco stepped back.
“No.”
August laughed.
“Mercy.”
“No.”
Rocco looked toward Bianca.
“This man spent twenty-two years making us think revenge meant giving him our hands.”
Bianca’s eyes remained cold.
Rocco looked back at August.
“You live long enough to lose everything you believed should have been yours.”
August’s smile disappeared.
That was when Leonard spoke.
“You still think August is the man Elena feared.”
Rocco turned.
Leonard held a small recorder.
“Play it.”
August went pale.
Rocco took it.
Elena’s voice filled the chamber.
“Leonard believes Gabriel Bellacorte is alive.”
Static.
“I saw him tonight.”
August closed his eyes.
Elena continued.
“He told me August was useful.”
“He told me Rocco was useful.”
“And he said something I cannot forget.”
Rocco listened.
“When Noah is old enough to understand his name, I will come for the boy myself.”
Silence.
Then another voice appeared.
Older.
Almost gentle.
“Tell my nephew I look forward to meeting his son.”
Rocco stopped breathing.
Gabriel.
Alive.
The recording ended.
August looked toward the floor.
Rocco stepped closer.
“Where is he?”
August whispered:
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Rocco stared.
This time, he believed him.
