Chapter 9 - No More Kings
Salvatore Rizzo stepped from the second SUV.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, elegantly dressed, and smiling as if arriving for dinner.
Samuel stood in front of him.
A gunman held him.
Scarlet moved forward.
Vincent caught her hand.
Rizzo smiled.
“There she is.”
Vincent positioned himself between them.
“Let him go.”
Rizzo chuckled.
“You surrender an empire and still give orders.”
“I gave you the territory.”
“You did.”
“The accounts.”
“Yes.”
“The routes.”
“Most of them.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you want?”
Rizzo looked at Scarlet.
“The inconvenience removed.”
Scarlet understood.
Her.
Samuel shouted, “Run!”
The gunman struck him.
Scarlet flinched.
Vincent’s voice became cold.
“Touch him again and this agreement ends.”
Rizzo spread his hands.
“What agreement? You walked away. That was your mistake.”
Vincent had expected betrayal.
Fortunately, he had learned something from Scarlet.
Sometimes the smartest move was not playing by the old rules.
A distant siren sounded.
Rizzo’s smile faded.
Then another.
Then several.
Police vehicles appeared at both ends of the road.
Rizzo looked at Vincent.
“What did you do?”
“Changed the rules.”
Federal agents followed.
Marco had spent weeks gathering evidence.
Vincent had not merely surrendered his territory.
He had documented Rizzo’s operation.
Bank records.
Extortion payments.
Shell companies.
Bellini’s testimony supplied the final connection.
Rizzo stared at him.
“You became an informant?”
“No.”
Vincent’s expression remained calm.
“I became tired.”
Scarlet almost laughed.
Even now.
Rizzo grabbed Samuel’s gunman and shoved him aside, pulling his own weapon.
Everything exploded into movement.
Agents shouted.
Scarlet dropped.
Vincent covered her.
Samuel tackled the gunman beside him.
A shot cracked through the night.
Then another.
Rizzo fell.
Alive.
Wounded.
Federal agents surrounded him.
Vincent remained over Scarlet.
“You okay?”
She stared up.
“You’re crushing me.”
He immediately moved.
“That’s romantic.”
“I was preventing you from getting shot.”
“You’re very heavy when protective.”
Samuel staggered toward them.
Scarlet stood.
“Dad.”
He had blood on his forehead but appeared otherwise unharmed.
She hugged him.
For the first time in seven years, Samuel held both arms around his daughter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Scarlet closed her eyes.
“I know.”
It was not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was the beginning.
Rizzo was taken away.
Vincent watched the vehicles disappear.
Marco approached.
“It’s over.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Is it?”
“As close as men like us get.”
Scarlet heard.
She walked toward Vincent.
“What happens to you?”
That was the question nobody had wanted to answer.
Vincent had cooperated through attorneys, but his own past could not simply disappear.
“There will be investigations.”
“Charges?”
“Possibly.”
Scarlet’s face tightened.
“I thought the agreement protected you.”
“It protects me from certain things.”
“Certain things?”
“Scarlet.”
She stepped back.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew you could go to prison.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know you were going to hunt me down in Wisconsin.”
She stared at him.
“That is a terrible defense.”
“I know.”
“When do you learn?”
“Slowly.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Six months later, Vincent stood in federal court.
Scarlet sat behind him with Milo and Samuel.
Vincent’s attorneys had negotiated a resolution based on the evidence, his cooperation, and the winding down of multiple criminal enterprises. He still faced consequences.
He accepted them.
That mattered to Scarlet.
Not because it erased his past.
Nothing could.
But because for the first time, Vincent Moretti was not buying, threatening, or controlling his way out of something.
He was standing still and accepting the cost.
When court ended, he walked toward Scarlet.
“Well?”
she asked.
“Eighteen months.”
Her eyes closed.
It was better than they had feared.
Worse than they had hoped.
Milo hugged him.
“You’ll miss my birthday.”
Vincent looked at him.
“I’ll send something.”
Scarlet pointed a finger.
“No cars.”
“I wasn’t—”
“No motorcycles.”
Vincent looked offended.
“Can I buy him a watch?”
“He’s thirteen.”
“A modest watch.”
“Define modest.”
Vincent wisely remained silent.
Milo laughed.
Then Scarlet and Vincent were alone.
“I can wait,” she whispered.
“I never asked you to.”
“I know.”
“I won’t ask.”
“I know that too.”
She kissed him.
“Eighteen months, Vincent.”
He touched his forehead to hers.
“Eighteen months.”
Scarlet smiled through tears.
“And when you get out?”
Vincent looked at her.
“No more kings.”
“No more mafia?”
“No.”
“No guns at breakfast?”
“I can probably promise that.”
“No mysterious disappearances?”
He hesitated.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Yes,” he corrected quickly.
Scarlet smiled.
“Good.”
But as officers led him away, Vincent looked back.
May you like
For the first time in his life, losing his empire did not feel like losing everything.
Because everything that mattered was waiting for him.
