Chapter 6 - The Traitor at His TableGerardo locked down his organization before sunrise.
Nobody left.
Nobody called anyone.
Nobody touched a phone.
Molly watched the transformation.
The man who teased her over coffee disappeared.
The king of concrete returned.
Cold.
Methodical.
Terrifying.
Gerardo gathered five lieutenants around a conference table.
Marco.
Vincent Caruso.
Daniel Rizzi.
Paolo Greco.
And Anthony Vale.
All had served him more than a decade.
One had given Salvatore access to the penthouse.
Gerardo placed five envelopes on the table.
“I gave each of you a different location for the ledger.”
Molly understood.
There had never been only one stated hiding place.
Gerardo had planted five stories.
The penthouse location had been given to exactly one man.
Anthony Vale.
Anthony went pale.
Gerardo looked at him.
“Why?”
Anthony's shoulders collapsed.
“My daughter.”
Gerardo remained silent.
“Salvatore has her.”
Molly's anger disappeared.
Anthony pulled out his phone.
A photograph showed a teenage girl tied to a chair.
“He said he'd kill her.”
Gerardo took the phone.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because everybody knows what you do to weakness.”
The sentence hit harder than accusation.
Gerardo slowly sat.
For years, fear had protected his empire.
Now fear had nearly destroyed it.
Molly watched him understand.
“Where is she?” Gerardo asked.
“I don't know.”
Molly moved beside Anthony.
“What's her name?”
“Emma.”
“How old?”
“Sixteen.”
Molly crouched.
“Did Salvatore send video?”
Anthony nodded.
“Show me.”
The video lasted twelve seconds.
Emma cried.
A man demanded the ledger.
Molly replayed it.
Again.
Again.
Gerardo became impatient.
“What?”
“Listen.”
A low mechanical sound repeated behind Emma.
Then a horn.
Molly knew that horn.
She had heard it every morning during one of the years her mother moved them through Brooklyn.
“Ferry.”
Marco leaned closer.
Molly listened again.
“And refrigeration units.”
Gerardo understood.
“Warehouse district.”
Within an hour, they narrowed it to three properties near the waterfront.
Gerardo wanted Molly left behind.
She refused.
Naturally.
The second warehouse was empty.
The third had guards.
Gerardo’s men moved in.
The confrontation lasted minutes.
Emma was found alive in an upstairs office.
But Salvatore was gone.
Anthony collapsed when his daughter ran into his arms.
Gerardo watched them.
Something changed inside him.
He turned to Marco.
“No punishment.”
Marco looked surprised.
“Boss?”
“Anthony stays.”
Anthony stared.
“I betrayed you.”
“You chose your daughter.”
Gerardo glanced toward Molly.
“I should have built something where you knew you could tell me.”
That sentence traveled through the room.
His men had never heard Gerardo admit fault.
Molly had.
Later, on the warehouse roof, she found him staring across the East River.
“You did the right thing.”
“Don't sound so surprised.”
“I am a little.”
He looked at her.
She smiled.
Then Gerardo noticed blood on her sleeve.
His expression changed instantly.
“You're hurt.”
“Scratch.”
“Molly.”
“Gerardo.”
He carefully rolled up her sleeve.
A piece of broken glass had cut her arm.
Nothing serious.
But his hands were unexpectedly gentle.
She watched his face.
“You really were scared.”
“No.”
“Terrible liar.”
His thumb stopped near her old burn scar.
The one from the childhood fire.
Molly expected him to ask.
He didn't.
Instead he released her arm.
“You should have had a different life.”
“So should you.”
His eyes met hers.
For a second, the noise of the city disappeared.
He leaned closer.
Then stopped.
Molly realized he was waiting.
Not taking.
Asking without words.
She closed the distance.
The kiss was brief.
Soft.
Nothing like either of them.
When they separated, Gerardo looked almost offended by his own vulnerability.
Molly smiled.
“You look terrified.”
“I've been shot twice.”
“Not an answer.”
“No.”
She touched his cheek.
“Good.”
His phone rang.
Marco.
Gerardo answered.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
Molly knew before he spoke.
The warehouse rescue had been another diversion.
Salvatore had surrendered himself to federal investigators.
Voluntarily.
And he had brought evidence.
May you like
Evidence claiming every crime had been ordered by Gerardo.
By morning, the city would believe the wrong Romani was guilty.
