Chapter 12 - The Father's Sin
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Arthur Whitaker was trembling violently, his arrogant posture entirely shattered. He looked around the garage. His mercenaries were either dead, dying, or surrendering with their hands in the air. His grand assassination plot had crumbled into a slaughterhouse.
“Stand down!” Arthur shrieked to his remaining men. “Drop your weapons!”
The gunfire slowly died out, replaced by the eerie, echoing silence of a finished battle. The smell of cordite and burning oil hung heavy in the damp air.
Dante shoved Arthur forcefully to the ground. The older man collapsed onto the concrete, clutching his chest, gasping for air.
Elena walked slowly out from behind the armored van, her gun lowered but still gripped tightly in her hand. She stared down at the man who had sold her to a mafia boss, plotting to make her a widow for profit.
“Elena,” Arthur gasped, looking up at his daughter with pathetic, desperate eyes. “Please. Tell him to let me go. I am your father. I gave you everything.”
“You gave me a death sentence,” Elena replied, her voice cold and devoid of any daughterly affection. “You locked me in a marriage you thought would destroy me, and you tried to murder the only man who actually valued my life.”
“I was protecting our legacy!” Arthur argued, trying to find a shred of justification. “Dante is a thug! He doesn't belong in our world!”
Dante stepped forward, his shadow falling over Arthur.
“I may be a thug, Arthur,” Dante said softly, the lethal calm in his voice more terrifying than any shout. “But I protect my family. You sacrifice yours. That makes you something far worse than a criminal. It makes you a coward.”
Dante raised his pistol, aiming it directly at Arthur’s head.
“Dante, wait,” Elena said, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on his arm.
Dante paused, his eyes flicking to her. He was fully prepared to execute the man to protect her, but he wouldn't do it if it broke her heart.
“Don't kill him,” Elena said, looking down at her father with absolute disgust. “Death is too easy for a man like him.”
She turned to Silas. “Hand him over to the federal authorities. Tell them Arthur Whitaker was laundering money for Raymond Cole’s syndicate. Give them the financial ledgers from his private safe. Let him spend the rest of his life in a concrete box, stripped of his wealth and his name.”
Arthur’s eyes widened in sheer horror. Prison for a man of his stature was a fate worse than a bullet.
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“You can't do this to me!” Arthur screamed as two of Silas’s men hauled him roughly to his feet.
“I just did,” Elena said, turning her back on him completely.
