Chapter 5 - Dinner in Little Italy
Il Giardino was lit by faint amber chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of roasted garlic, aged wine, and cigar smoke.
The restaurant had been cleared of public patrons. Eight heavily armed Lucchesi enforcers stood strategically near the exit doors, their coats bulging with concealed weapons.
At the center table sat Don Hector Lucchesi—a seventy-year-old man with silver hair, sharp hazel eyes, and a bespoke tailored suit that couldn't hide his predatory posture.
When the heavy front doors opened, Hector adjusted his silk tie, expecting to see Adrien Moretti flanked by a dozen tactical bodyguards.
Instead, Adrien walked in wearing his standard charcoal suit, accompanied by only one person: Elena Bellamy, who wore a modest navy dress and held her head high, though her fingers tightened slightly around Adrien's arm.
Hector’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, followed instantly by a sly, victorious grin.
"Adrien," Hector purred, standing up and opening his arms in a grand gesture. "My dear boy. You look... tired."
"Hector," Adrien replied coldly, pulling out a chair for Elena before taking his own seat across the table.
Hector glanced at Elena, his eyes glittering with condescending amusement. "I see you brought company. I was expecting your head of security, Vance. Not your... domestic help."
"Elena manages my household," Adrien said smoothly, pouring himself a glass of sparkling water. "And since you spent the last week spying on my household through a child's toy, I thought it was only fitting she join us."
The air in the restaurant froze.
The eight Lucchesi guards instantly reached for their holsters.
Hector’s victory smile faltered, his hazel eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. "What did you say?"
Adrien reached into his pocket, pulled out the lead-lined pouch, and tossed it onto the white tablecloth. It slid across the linen, stopping right beside Hector’s wine glass.
"Your micro-transmitter was very clever, Hector," Adrien said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Military-grade acoustic harvesting. Excellent battery life. But you made one fatal mistake."
Hector’s jaw clenched. "And what was that?"
"You underestimated a four-year-old girl," Adrien whispered. "And you underestimated me."
Hector let out a low, raspy laugh, shaking his head as he reached for his glass. "So you found my little ear. What difference does it make, Adrien? You’re inside my restaurant. My men hold every exit. Your wife is dead, your children are traumatized, and your empire is crumbling."
"My wife was murdered," Adrien corrected, his voice so terrifyingly quiet that Hector’s hand froze around his glass. "By your orders. You cut her brake lines on Highway 9."
Hector didn't deny it. He leaned back in his chair, a cruel, cold expression settling over his aged face. "Claire was a foolish woman who stuck her nose into my foundation ledgers. She had to be eliminated. Just like you’re going to be eliminated tonight."
Hector raised his right hand to give the signal to his guards.
"I wouldn't raise that hand if I were you, Hector," Elena said suddenly, her voice calm, clear, and utterly steady.
May you like
Hector blinked, looking at the quiet housekeeper. "What?"
"Your five guards outside near the alley?" Elena continued, looking at her watch. "They were disarmed three minutes ago by Vance’s team. And the phone in your inner coat pocket? It’s been ringing on silent for the last thirty seconds because the Federal Bureau of Investigation just raided your shipping office in Brooklyn."
