Chapter 5 - Betrayal in the Dark
The air in the study turned to ice.
Elena whimpered on the floor, covering her ears, but neither man looked at her. The universe had shrunk to the five feet of space between Daario Moretti and his oldest friend.
"Thirty years, Marco," Daario said softly, his hands resting naturally in his coat pockets. "I treated you like a brother. I gave you a seat at my table. I gave you power, wealth, respect."
"And you gave me nothing real!" Marco spat, his composure finally slipping, exposing the raw, bitter poison beneath. "I built this empire with you! I bled in the gutters of South Philly while you sat in the air-conditioned offices! And when it came time to plan for the future, who were you going to leave it to? A girl who painted flowers and read books!"
"She was my daughter," Daario said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"She was a weak link!" Marco snarled. "Seven years ago, when I found out she had a bastard child in Wales, I realized how vulnerable we were. If Scalese found that kid, he would have broken us! I told Isabella to stay away. I told her to give the kid up! But she wouldn't listen. She was going to bring the child here, Donato! She was going to expose the whole family!"
"So you cut her brakes," Daario stated. It wasn't a question.
"I had to!" Marco yelled, his gun trembling slightly in his grip. "She was coming to tell you! She was going to give you the child and push you to retire, to leave the business to rot! I couldn't let her destroy everything we built! I made sure her car went over the cliff. And then I brought the child back here, waiting for the right moment to use her against Scalese, to spark a war that would leave me in control of the entire city!"
"And you left my granddaughter in a filthy orphanage," Daario said, taking a single, deliberate step forward.
"Don't move!" Marco barked, raising the pistol to target Daario’s forehead. "I’ll shoot you right here, Donato! The guards outside answer to me now! I paid them off weeks ago! You're an old man living in the past!"
"You forgot one thing, Marco," Daario said quietly.
"What's that?"
"You trained my guards," Daario said. "But I trained you."
Before Marco could pull the trigger, Daario dropped his weight, shifting his body sideways as his hand whipped out from his pocket.
He didn't draw a gun. He grabbed the heavy brass desk lamp beside him and swung it with violent, terrifying force.
The solid brass base slammed into Marco's wrist with a sickening crack.
The pistol dropped to the Persian rug, discharging once into the floorboards. Marco howled in pain, stumbling back, but he was a seasoned street fighter. He drew a combat knife from his belt with his left hand and lunged straight for Daario’s throat.
Daario stepped inside the blade's arc, dodging the strike, and slammed his palm directly into Marco’s nose, shattering the bone.
Marco groaned, blood pouring down his face, but he slashed wildly, catching Daario across the forearm. The cashmere fabric tore, and dark blood seeped through, but Daario didn't even flinch. He grabbed Marco by the throat, driving him backward with the strength of a man defending his only remaining blood, smashing him into the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the balcony.
The glass shattered in a thunderous explosion, sending shards raining down into the rain-soaked garden below.
Daario pinned Marco against the broken iron railing, two hundred feet above the concrete courtyard. He reached down, grabbed Marco’s belt, and lifted him halfway over the edge.
Marco’s knife fell into the darkness below. He clawed frantically at Daario’s arms, his eyes wide with absolute, blind terror as he dangled over the abyss.
"Donato! Please!" Marco choked out, blood leaking from his mouth. "We’re brothers! We built this together!"
Daario looked down at the traitor, his face cold, unreadable, illuminated by the flashes of lightning illuminating the storm outside.
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"You killed my daughter, Marco," Daario whispered into the howling wind. "You have no brother."
Daario let go.
