Chapter 5 - The Fall of a Traitor
Silvio’s eyes bulged with raw terror. Blood welled at the corner of his split lip where the gun barrel pressed against his teeth. He tried to raise his other hand, but Dante slammed him backward against a wooden wine rack. Vintage bottles of 1968 Barolo clinked precariously above their heads.
"Mmpphh!" Silvio choked, thrashing against Dante’s immovable grip.
"Silence," Dante hissed, his eyes devoid of humanity. "You have thirty seconds to give me the bypass codes for the Marcone convoy heading toward my service gate. If you lie, I won't kill you. I’ll leave you in the salt marsh behind the harbor with both your knees shattered and let the tide do the work."
Dante slowly pulled the suppressor out of Silvio’s mouth, keeping the muzzle aimed dead center between the man’s sweating eyebrows.
Silvio slumped against the wine rack, panting heavily, clutching his broken wrist against his ribs. "Dante... please... they have millions behind them. City Hall is bought. The Marcones promised me the north district ports! You’re living in the past, holding onto ancient codes of honor! Nobody cares about honor anymore!"
"I care," Dante replied simply. "And in this city, my honor is the law. The codes, Silvio."
Silvio swallowed hard, staring into the abyss of Dante’s merciless gaze. He knew there was no bargaining with the Don once the judgment was passed. "Channel 4 on the encrypted walkie in my pocket. The callsign is 'Blackbird.' If you transmit three clicks, they’ll approach through the service alley without sirens, thinking the guards are neutralized."
Dante reached into Silvio’s inner coat pocket, retrieving the bulky tactical radio and the burner phone. He stepped back two paces.
"Thank you, old friend," Dante murmured.
Silvio let out a ragged breath, a fleeting spark of hope igniting in his chest. "Dante... we grew up together. Your father gave me my first suit—"
"And my father would have put you down like a rabid dog for threatening a child under his roof," Dante interrupted.
Dante leveled the weapon and pulled the trigger twice.
The suppressed coughs of the Beretta were barely louder than the clinking of rain on the gutters outside. Silvio collapsed against the dusty floor of the cellar, his eyes staring blankly up at the stone vaults he had walked past for twenty years.
Dante didn't spare the corpse a second glance. He stepped over the pool of crimson, keyed the tactical radio, and spoke in a steady voice.
"Marco. What is the status of Bellini’s grandson?"
The radio crackled with static before Marco’s breathless, triumphant voice came through. "We breached Elmira Street, Don Dante. The boy is safe. No casualties on our side. We took down four Marcone guards and captured Luca Varga alive, just like you ordered."
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"Good," Dante replied, climbing the stone stairs toward the main mansion. "Bring the boy home to his grandfather. Then bring your best heavy guns back to the estate immediately. Silvio let the front gates open. The Marcone wolves are coming to dinner, and they don't know the master of the house is waiting at the table."
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