Chapter 6 - A Dinner with Wolves
Don Carlo’s dining room was a theater of war disguised as a banquet. The long mahogany table was set with vintage silver, crystal goblets, and blood-red roses. Tonight, the Morettis were hosting a "sit-down." The Romano family, bleeding territory and desperate for a truce, had agreed to parley.
Anna stood in the shadows near the velvet drapes, tasked with remaining invisible yet available should Sofia require an emergency touch-up. Her stomach tied itself into agonizing knots. The air was thick with the scent of roasted garlic, expensive cigars, and imminent violence.
Don Vincenzo Romano sat opposite Carlo. He looked ten years older than he had at the gala. His empire was crumbling under the relentless hammer of federal indictments, all fueled by the "insider intelligence" Don Carlo was systematically feeding the FBI through Sofia’s hijacked wire.
“We need to stop the bleeding, Carlo,” Vincenzo rasped, cutting a slice of veal with aggressive force. “The feds are anticipating our every move. Shipments, drops, accounts. Everything. Someone in my inner circle is singing.”
Don Carlo took a slow, deliberate sip of his Barolo wine. “It is a tragedy, Vincenzo. To be betrayed by those you feed. Trust is a rare commodity these days.”
Matteo sat beside his father, casually swirling his wine. Beside him sat Sofia, dressed in a stunning emerald gown, a diamond choker resting against her pulse. She looked the picture of a loyal mafia bride, but Anna could see the slight tremor in her fingers as she held her fork.
“I didn’t come here for philosophy, Carlo,” Vincenzo growled, slamming his fist on the table. The silverware jumped. “I came to ask if you’re the one buying the rat. Are you paying one of my capos to feed the feds, hoping the Bureau does your dirty work for you?”
The room went dead silent. The guards lining the walls shifted their weight, hands hovering near their holstered weapons.
Sofia stopped breathing. She knew the truth. Anna knew the truth. If Carlo admitted nothing, the war would continue. But what Carlo did next was a stroke of psychopathic genius.
Carlo sighed, a heavy, sorrowful sound. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Vincenzo, I swear on my late wife’s grave, I am not paying anyone in your family to talk to the FBI.”
It was the literal truth. He wasn't paying a Romano; he was using an FBI agent sitting at his own table.
“However,” Carlo continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have friends in the Bureau. They tell me things. They tell me that the leak isn't coming from the street. It’s coming from the top. Someone who has access to your offshore accounts in Delaware.”
Vincenzo’s face went ash white. Only three men in the Romano family knew about the Delaware accounts. His brother, his underboss, and his son.
“You lie,” Vincenzo whispered, though the seed of paranoia had instantly taken root in his eyes.
“Investigate your own blood, Vincenzo,” Carlo said softly, a master plunging the knife into his enemy’s back without leaving a fingerprint. “Before they destroy you completely.”
Anna watched in horrifying awe. Carlo had just weaponized the very information Sofia had transmitted, using it to turn the Romano family against itself. A bloody civil war was about to erupt within the rival syndicate, and Carlo wouldn’t have to fire a single bullet.
Sofia abruptly stood up, her chair scraping loudly. “Excuse me,” she choked out, her face pale. “I feel unwell.”
Matteo caught her wrist, his grip bruisingly tight. He smiled at the guests. “My wife’s stomach is delicate. The stress of recent events.”
May you like
“Let her go, Matteo,” Carlo commanded gently. “Anna, attend to my daughter-in-law.”
Anna stepped out of the shadows, her legs feeling like lead. She escorted a trembling Sofia out of the dining room, leaving the wolves to finish their feast. The FBI had wanted to dismantle the mob. Instead, they had just given Don Carlo the keys to the city.
