Chapter 4 - The Betrayer at Sylvio’s Right Hand
Sylvio did not allow Tony Duca inside.
Not at first.
He stood behind the locked glass doors, watching the man he had buried fifteen years earlier smile at him through the rain.
Tony looked older, of course.
His shoulders had narrowed.
His hair had turned mostly gray.
But the eyes were the same.
Restless.
Calculating.
Always searching the room before they settled on you.
Sylvio remembered those eyes from childhood.
Tony had been thirteen when they first met.
Sylvio fourteen.
Two neighborhood boys who thought the whole world existed within six blocks.
Now one of them stood outside holding secrets capable of destroying everything the other had built.
Marco approached.
“Don’t open it.”
Sylvio didn’t respond.
Tony raised one finger.
Then pointed toward the suitcase.
“You want to know what’s in there?” Marco asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t open the door.”
Sylvio almost smiled.
“You haven’t changed.”
Marco frowned.
“You still think curiosity is bravery.”
“And you still think fear is wisdom.”
Before Marco could answer, Lucy appeared behind them.
The second Tony saw her, his smile vanished.
Lucy stopped.
Sylvio saw terror move through her entire body.
She stepped backward.
Tony tapped the glass.
Then pointed at Lucy.
Sylvio moved between them.
Something about the gesture surprised him.
For most of his life, people stood in front of Sylvio Romano to protect him.
Tonight he found himself protecting someone else.
Tony spoke through the door.
“She belongs to me.”
Sylvio’s expression changed.
He unlocked it.
Marco cursed.
The door opened.
Cold rain blew inside.
Tony grinned.
“Still impulsive.”
Sylvio stepped onto the sidewalk.
“You have ten seconds to explain why you’re breathing.”
Tony glanced toward the men gathering inside.
“Not here.”
“You chose here.”
“I chose where I knew you wouldn’t immediately make me disappear.”
Sylvio leaned closer.
“You’re confusing age with softness.”
Tony chuckled.
“No. I’m counting on exactly who you’ve always been.”
Sylvio’s jaw tightened.
Tony looked behind him.
“Hello, Lucy.”
She hid behind Marco.
Tony sighed.
“You’ve caused quite a mess.”
Sylvio grabbed the front of Tony’s coat.
“Don’t speak to her.”
Tony looked down at Sylvio’s hand.
“You care about her already?”
“She’s Isabella’s daughter.”
“And mine.”
The world seemed to stop.
Lucy stared.
“No.”
Tony said nothing.
Lucy shook her head harder.
“No!”
Sylvio released him.
Tony straightened his coat.
“She never told you?”
Lucy backed farther away.
“My father died when I was a baby.”
“That’s what your mother told you.”
“You’re lying!”
Tony’s confidence flickered.
For the first time, Sylvio saw something resembling pain.
“Your mother was protecting you.”
“From you?”
Tony had no answer.
Lucy ran toward the dining room.
Sylvio followed her with his eyes.
When he turned back, whatever patience remained in him was gone.
“You poisoned your daughter?”
Tony’s expression hardened.
“I didn’t.”
“She saw you.”
“She saw someone.”
“She described your scar.”
“That proves I was present. Not that I poisoned her.”
Sylvio laughed bitterly.
“Same Tony. Always one sentence away from innocence.”
Tony picked up the suitcase.
“You want answers? Let me inside.”
Marco spoke from the doorway.
“He doesn’t cross that door.”
Tony smiled at him.
“Marco Bellini. Still pretending to be loyal.”
Marco stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Tony laughed.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Sylvio looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Tony’s smile widened.
“Ask your best friend where he was the night your father died.”
Marco froze.
Sylvio slowly turned.
Marco looked away.
Tony had his opening.
“Gabriel Romano didn’t die from a heart attack.”
Sylvio stared at him.
“Stop.”
“He was poisoned.”
The word hung in the rain.
Sylvio felt thirty years collapse.
“My father had a heart condition.”
“Yes.”
“The doctor confirmed it.”
“The doctor was paid.”
“By whom?”
Tony looked at Marco.
Sylvio turned.
Marco closed his eyes.
“No.”
Tony stepped inside.
“I told you. Your empire was built on lies.”
Marco approached Tony.
“You don’t get to rewrite history.”
“I don’t have to.”
Tony tapped the suitcase.
“History wrote itself.”
Sylvio pointed toward the private room.
“All three of us.”
He looked at Vincent.
“Nobody enters.”
Then he added:
“Lucy stays with the restaurant manager. Food from sealed packages only.”
Tony smirked.
“Still think you control everything?”
Sylvio’s expression silenced him.
Inside the private dining room, Tony opened the suitcase.
It contained photographs, ledgers, old cassette tapes, bank documents, newspaper clippings and copies of police reports.
No weapons.
Just paper.
Somehow Sylvio found that more frightening.
Tony placed a photograph in front of him.
Gabriel Romano.
Sylvio’s father.
Beside him stood a much younger Marco Bellini.
On the photograph’s reverse was a date.
Three days before Gabriel died.
“What am I looking at?”
Tony sat.
“The beginning.”
He explained that Gabriel Romano had wanted out.
Not out of the family.
Out of the criminal world.
By the early 1990s, Gabriel had realized every generation would inherit the same violence.
He began moving legitimate businesses into trusts.
Restaurants.
Warehouses.
Real estate.
He planned to shut down the illegal side completely.
Sylvio stared at Marco.
“You knew?”
Marco nodded.
“Why didn’t I?”
“Your father was afraid you’d stop him.”
At thirty-two, Sylvio had been ambitious.
Angry.
Hungry for power.
Maybe Gabriel had been right.
Tony continued.
“A group inside the organization decided Gabriel had become a liability.”
“Names.”
Tony smiled.
“Eventually.”
Sylvio nearly crossed the table.
Marco stopped him.
Tony raised his hands.
“Kill me and you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.”
“What do you want?”
“Protection.”
Sylvio laughed.
“You poisoned me tonight and want protection?”
“I told you, I didn’t poison the plate.”
“Then who did?”
Tony looked toward the door.
“Vincent.”
Sylvio said nothing.
Tony continued.
“Vincent Caruso has been running his own organization inside yours for eight years.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Vincent handled security.
Transportation.
Restaurant staff.
Who entered Sylvio’s home.
Who drove his cars.
Who searched the rooms before meetings.
Few people in the city had more access.
Tony opened a ledger.
Payments.
Dates.
Initials.
V.C.
Sylvio didn’t trust the evidence.
He had survived too long by distrusting convenient answers.
“You could have manufactured this.”
Tony shrugged.
“Of course.”
“Then give me something I can verify.”
Tony leaned back.
“Ask Vincent where his younger brother has lived for the last four years.”
“His brother is in Arizona.”
Tony smiled.
“No. His brother is three blocks from the port, supervising shipments you don’t know exist.”
Sylvio’s expression darkened.
Marco reached for his phone.
Sylvio stopped him.
“No.”
They would verify later.
Quietly.
Tony continued.
“Vincent planned to let me take the blame if tonight failed. That’s why I came.”
“You expect me to believe you came to save yourself?”
“Yes.”
At least the answer sounded true.
“And Lucy?”
Tony’s face changed.
Sylvio saw it.
A crack in the mask.
“I never meant for her to be involved.”
“You kept your own daughter hidden for years.”
“To protect her.”
“She was sleeping in abandoned buildings.”
Tony looked away.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Sylvio leaned across the table.
“Children don’t care what was supposed to happen.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
“Isabella made me promise.”
“No. Isabella made you promise to protect her.”
Tony remained silent.
“And you failed.”
Tony looked older suddenly.
“I know.”
Before Sylvio could respond, something crashed outside.
Marco stood.
A second crash.
Then shouting.
Sylvio opened the door.
Lucy was gone.
The restaurant manager lay on the floor, conscious but dazed.
The back exit stood open.
Rain blew through it.
Vincent Caruso was missing too.
Sylvio stared toward the alley.
Then his phone vibrated.
A text message from an unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Lucy sitting inside a car.
Terrified.
Below it were six words.
Bring Tony to Pier 14. Alone.
Sylvio turned toward Tony.
Tony’s face went white.
For the first time that night, the dead man looked genuinely afraid.
“Vincent has her,” Sylvio said.
Tony shook his head.
“No.”
“You recognize the car?”
Tony swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
Tony looked directly at him.
“Frankie Rizzo’s.”
The second dead man had just entered the game.
May you like
And he had Sylvio’s niece.
---
