Chapter 18 - The Bloody Banquet
|
“What are you talking about, Fallon?” Dante asked, his voice suddenly losing its jovial edge. He glanced nervously at the two armed security guards standing by the dining room doors.
Fallon slowly pushed his chair back and stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket with terrifying, methodical precision.
“Fifteen years, Dante,” Fallon whispered, walking slowly around the massive mahogany table. “I mourned her for fifteen years. I thought it was the Russians. I thought it was the Sicilians. I tore this city apart looking for the ghosts who killed my beautiful Isabella.”
Dante instantly turned pale. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Fallon, I don't know what you’re talking about. Isabella’s crash was an accident.”
“Don't say her name!” Fallon suddenly roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandelier above them.
Before Dante could react, Fallon pulled a heavy, suppressed pistol from his waistband and aimed it directly at Dante’s chest.
Dante threw his hands up in panic. “Fallon, wait! Someone is setting me up! It’s a lie!”
“She wrote it herself, you traitor,” Fallon snarled, his hand surprisingly steady. “She found your books. She knew you were stealing. And you killed the mother of my child to cover your pathetic greed.”
Dante realized begging wasn't going to work. His eyes flashed with desperate malice. He reached quickly for the weapon holstered under his own jacket.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two suppressed shots snapped quietly in the large room.
Dante groaned, his eyes going wide with shock as blood immediately blossomed across his white dress shirt. He collapsed backward into his chair, overturning his wine glass. The red liquid spilled across the white tablecloth, mixing with the dark red blood.
May you like
Sloan clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, hiding behind the heavy velvet drapes.
Fallon stood over his dead best friend, his chest heaving, the gun still smoking slightly in his hand. The Caruso empire had just violently snapped in half.
