Page 21 of Betrayal of the Mafia Rebel
That kind of loyalty doesn't exist in my world. In the Bellanti machine, loyalty is a currency you spend until you run out, and then you get put in the ground.
My stomach twists into a tight, hard knot. The encrypted burner phone sits on the far edge of the table, screen blank. The broadcast is still in there. A digital death sentence. The whole point of the broadcast was a bullet in my head the second it crossed his screen. They never planned for him to clock the timestamp anomaly the way he did.
They didn't expect him to go to war for me.
"You need to conserve your ammo," I say.
My voice sounds too loud in the freezing air. The space heater hums in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the chill seeping through the stone.
Fabio doesn't look up. He picks up a tactical shotgun and checks the chamber. "I have enough ammo to bury anyone who comes through that iron door. Three times over."
"They won't just send a first wave." I cross my arms over my chest, digging my nails into the sleeves of my sweater to stop my hands from shaking. " If they pushed that broadcast out, they're covering their tracks. They want you to execute me. But if you don't, they'll send a retrieval team to finish the job and frame it as a rescue mission gone wrong. The Bellantis never leave loose ends."
He sets the shotgun down. He finally turns his head. His dark eyes lock onto mine, and whatever defense I had left collapses in on itself.
"Let them try." His voice drops into something low and lethal.
The scent of him reaches me a half-second after his voice. Motor oil and sun-warmed metal cut through the river damp.
"You're not listening to me." I step forward, dropping my arms. The need to make him understand overrides my instinct to stay out of his reach. "You are acting like this is a standard turf dispute. This isn't a dispute. This is a scorched-earth order. They will send the elite hitters. The ones who don't exist on any payroll. The ones who burn buildings to the ground just to make sure the target inside is dead."
"Good." Fabio turns his body toward me. He closes the distance between us in two steps. "Saves me the trouble of hunting them down."
He's too big for this space. Every move he makes presses the walls closer. He stops a breath short of touching me, every line of him taut with restraint about to snap.
"You think you're invincible." I lift my chin and glare up at him. Defiance is the only shield I have left. "You think you can just stand in front of me and make the bullets bounce off."
"I think," he says softly, dangerously, "that no one touches what's mine. Not my blood. Not your family. Not God himself."
My throat tightens. The certainty in his tone is terrifying. It's the kind of promise that ruins a woman. It makes me want to lean into his chest and let the rest of the world fend for itself.
But I know what happens to women who trust the men in this life.
I step back. I put a foot of cold air between us.
"My family doesn't let things go." My voice drops to a whisper. The fight drains out of me, replaced by the chokehold of my last name. "They don't accept defection. They never have."
Fabio tracks my movement. He doesn't pursue me. He stands still. He watches me like a predator clocking the sudden shift in his companion's behavior.
"They bleed just like anyone else."
"You don't understand the psychology." I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself again. The chill of the speakeasy suddenly feels like ice against my skin. "It's not just about the intel I possess. It's about the principle. A Bellanti woman doesn't leave the compound unless she's marrying into an alliance or going into a mausoleum. Those are the only two exits."
He watches my face. He catalogs the tremor in my voice that I'm trying desperately to hide.
"You found a third," he says.
"I'm trying to find a third." I correct him. "But the precedent is not in my favor."
Neither of us speaks for a long beat. The rushing sound of the Chicago River vibrates faintly through the stone wall behind me. Millions of gallons of freezing water push relentlessly forward. It sounds like the pressure inside my own head.
I walk over to the small cot against the wall. I sit down on the edge. The mattress sags under my weight.
I need him to understand the stakes. Not the tactical stakes. The emotional ones. He thinks he's fighting mobsters. He's actually fighting men who erase their own footprints.
"My Aunt Maria." The name slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Fabio shifts his stance. He doesn't interrupt. He doesn't offer empty platitudes. He gives me the silence I need to pull the memory out of the dark vault in my mind.
