Chapter 7 - The Trap Snaps Shut
Before Emilio’s gun could clear his holster, the click of twenty safety catches releasing simultaneously shook the room.
Emilio froze. He looked around in stunned disbelief. None of his men had drawn their weapons. Instead, Marco and ten armed loyalists stepped out from behind the velvet drapes, automatic rifles trained squarely on Emilio and the three Capos sitting nearest to him.
"You made a mistake, Emilio," Dante said calmly, his hand covering Sophia’s eyes, pressing her head gently against his chest. "You thought my grief made me blind. You thought that because I passed Carmela’s room every day at four o'clock, I was weak."
Dante reached into his pocket and placed the opened gold locket onto the mahogany table. Next to it, he dropped an audio transcription device.
"This is Carmela’s voice," Dante said, pressing play.
Through the speakers of the dining room, Carmela Falcone’s voice rang clear and cold from beyond the grave: *“Emilio is transferring fifty million through shell corporations in Zurich. Sal Costello promised him the Chicago seat once Dante is eliminated. If you are listening to this, Dante... he has already tried to kill me.”*
The color completely drained from Emilio’s face. The Capos who had backed him slowly backed away, hands raised, distancing themselves from a dead man walking.
"She knew," Emilio whispered, trembling. "She... she was supposed to stay in the car. I told the shooters to wait until you stepped out!"
"So you admit it," Marco growled, stepping forward, his rifle barrel inches from Emilio’s temple.
"Wait!" Emilio screamed, panic overtaking his composure. He looked at Sophia with wild, deranged eyes. "How did that child know? The locket was locked in my private safe! No one had seen it!"
"Carmela told her," Dante replied smoothly. "And Carmela always hated traitors."
Desperation is the deadliest weapon of a cornered beast. In a split second, Emilio knocked Marco’s gun aside, lunged forward across the table, and pulled a hidden ceramic blade from his sleeve. He didn't lunge for Dante—he lunged for Sophia.
"If I burn, your precious ghost burns with me!" Emilio shrieked.
"NO!" I screamed, lunging across the floor.
Dante didn't hesitate. With terrifying speed, he shoved Sophia into my arms and threw his entire body over the table. The ceramic blade slashed across Dante’s forearm, tearing through flesh and muscle, spilling bright crimson blood onto the tablecloth.
Dante didn't even grunt. Ignoring the wound, he seized Emilio by the throat with his uninjured hand, lifted him off his feet, and smashed his skull into the marble fireplace behind the table.
The crack echoed like lightning. Emilio crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his nose broken, teeth shattered.
Dante stood over him, blood dripping from his arm, breathing heavily. He looked like an archangel of death.
"Take him to the basement," Dante commanded, his voice dripping with venom. "Make sure he survives long enough to tell us every single name on Sal Costello’s payroll. Then... feed him to the dogs."
"Yes, Boss," Marco said, dragging the groaning traitor away.
I clutched Sophia tightly to my chest, trembling violently, tears streaming down my cheeks. Sophia peeked out from behind my shoulder, looking at Dante's bleeding arm.
"Mister," Sophia whispered softly. "You have an ouchie."
Dante looked down at her. The murderous fury in his eyes vanished, replaced by an overwhelming warmth. He walked toward us, kneeling on the blood-spattered floor, completely oblivious to his own wound.
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"It doesn't hurt, little bird," Dante whispered gently, wiping a tear from my cheek with his uninjured thumb. "Because of you, none of us will ever be hurt again."
***
