Chapter 4 - The Snake Unmasked
At sunrise, heavy gray clouds hung low over the Falcone estate. Snow dusted the manicured gardens in the central courtyard.
Lorenzo Vale stepped into the courtyard flanked by four of his top enforcers. He wore a heavy leather overcoat, his hand resting casually near his waist.
I stood on the marble terrace, wearing a three-piece suit, watching him approach. Sitting in a wheelchair shielded by bulletproof glass behind the terrace curtain was Evelyn, with Beatrice standing faithfully at her side.
“Julian,” Lorenzo said, stepping up the stone stairs. “You look tired. You should have let me handle that maid last night. You're getting soft in your old age.”
“Am I, Lorenzo?” I asked quietly, pouring two glasses of scotch from a tray on the iron table. I handed one to him. “Tell me... do you remember the night my sister died?”
Lorenzo’s eyes flickered, a faint muscle twitching in his jaw. “Of course I remember. It was the worst day of my life. I swore to avenge her.”
“You did,” I agreed, taking a sip of scotch. “You brought me the heads of five O’Connor soldiers. You told me they confessed under torture. But you know what’s funny?”
Lorenzo didn't drink. His grip tightened on his glass. “What’s funny, Boss?”
“You forgot to check the ashes,” I said softly.
I pulled back the velvet velvet curtain behind me.
Lorenzo’s face went completely ash-white. His glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the cold marble floor.
Evelyn sat there in her wheelchair, her clear blue eyes staring directly into his soul. beside her stood Beatrice, holding my sister’s hand.
“It... it can't be,” Lorenzo stuttered, stepping backward. “She’s dead! She died in the car!”
“She survived your bomb, Lorenzo,” Evelyn’s voice rang out, strong and clear across the courtyard. “And Beatrice kept me alive while you built your empire on my grave.”
Lorenzo’s panic lasted only a second before his instinct for survival kicked in. He reached into his coat to draw his weapon—
CRACK!
A single sniper shot echoed from the rooftop tower. A bullet tore through Lorenzo’s wrist, sending his pistol spinning across the snow. He screamed in pain, dropping to his knees as his four enforcers were instantly surrounded by twenty of my elite, loyal guards with automatic rifles drawn.
I stepped down the terrace stairs, pulling my Kimber .45 from my holster.
“You sold my family to the O’Connors twelve years ago,” I spat, pressing the warm barrel of my gun against Lorenzo’s forehead. “You let me mourn my sister while you fed off my table like a parasite.”
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“Julian—please!” Lorenzo begged, blood dripping from his wrist onto the snow. “The O’Connors paid me! They promised me half the city! I can give you their locations! I can hand you their Don on a silver platter!”
“I don't need your help to kill the O’Connors,” I said coldly. “I have everything I need right here.”
