Chapter 18 - The Sins of the Father
Victor laughed in absolute triumph, tightening his painful grip on my hair.
"You really became soft, Ricardo," Victor sneered, stepping slowly out of the shadows with me as his human shield. "The great devil of New York, surrendering for a common waitress."
"Let her go, Victor. This is between you and me," Ricardo said calmly, walking slowly toward us with his hands raised in the air.
"This is for Elena," Victor hissed angrily. "You took my sister, so I am going to take your wife, and then I am going to raise your son to hate your very name."
"Elena betrayed us both, Victor," Ricardo stated firmly, stopping just ten feet away from us.
Victor’s face twisted in absolute fury. "Liar! She loved our family!"
"She sold my security routes to the Russians, yes," Ricardo explained, his voice echoing coldly in the damp fog. "But she also sold your Chicago supply lines to the FBI to fund her escape."
Victor froze completely, the gun trembling slightly against my temple.
"You are lying to save your own miserable life," Victor whispered, though doubt began to bleed into his eyes.
"Why do you think your warehouses were raided three days after she died?" Ricardo challenged him. "She did not care about the Morettis or the Rossis. She only cared about the money."
In that tiny fraction of a second, Victor’s mind desperately tried to process the painful truth about the sister he was trying to avenge.
His grip on my hair loosened just a single millimeter, and his finger hesitated on the trigger.
That was all the time Ricardo needed.
With terrifying, inhuman speed, Ricardo reached into the back of his waistband, drew a hidden throwing knife, and violently launched it through the air.
The heavy blade struck Victor directly in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his gun with a scream of absolute agony.
I immediately dropped to the wet concrete, rolling violently away from the wounded man.
Ricardo crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, tackling Victor to the ground in a brutal, bone-crushing collision.
Ricardo raised his heavy fist and struck Victor across the face, once, twice, three times, until the Chicago boss stopped moving entirely.
Ricardo stood up slowly, breathing heavily, his hands completely covered in Victor's blood.
He did not look like a businessman or a father; he looked like the undisputed, terrifying king of the underworld.
He turned away from his fallen enemy and walked directly toward me, dropping to his knees on the wet pavement.
He pulled me desperately into his chest, burying his face in my hair as the remaining Chicago men completely surrendered to his guards.
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"I told you never to follow me into the dark, Clara," Ricardo whispered, his voice trembling with raw, unfiltered emotion.
"I told you we were going to save each other," I replied softly, wrapping my arms tightly around his bleeding shoulders. "I meant it."
