Chapter 4 - The Traitor’s Arrival
At 4:05 p.m., a silver Mercedes pulled up outside the flower shop.
The street was dark, heavy snow falling in thick, quiet flakes that muffled the sound of the city.
Enzo Bellandi stepped out of the back seat. He was forty, wearing a heavy mink-collared coat, expensive leather shoes, and a golden watch Roman had given him seven years ago for his loyalty. Two heavy-set bodyguards stepped out behind him, pulling their coat collars up against the cold.
“Wait here,” Enzo told the guards, flicking his cigar butt onto the sidewalk. “I’ll be two minutes. The widow always has the envelope ready.”
Enzo pushed open the glass door of Grace’s Blooms.
The shop was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlamp outside and the small space heater in the corner.
“Grace!” Enzo called out arrogantly, shaking the snow from his shoulders. “I hope you have the three thousand today. My men had to work overtime keeping an eye on your boy at the park.”
No response came from the back room.
Enzo frowned, his hand drifting toward his jacket lining. “Grace?”
From the dark corner behind a rack of hanging dried lavender, a tall figure stepped into the light.
“She’s not here, Enzo.”
Enzo stopped dead in his tracks.
The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse standing in the center of the shop. His cigar dropped from his mouth, rolling onto the wooden floorboards.
“Ro... Roman...?” Enzo gasped, his breath catching in his chest. “No... no, it’s impossible... you were destroyed in Palermo...”
“I survived the explosion, Enzo,” Roman said, stepping forward with slow, measured strides, his Beretta resting at his side. “I spent five years in the dark waiting for the right moment to come back and thank you for saving my wife.”
Enzo’s eyes darted frantically toward the glass front door.
“Don't bother,” Roman said quietly. “Gabriel already took care of your two drivers outside.”
Enzo’s knees shook beneath his tailored trousers. He fell to his knees on the dirty wooden floor, raising his hands in frantic desperation.
“Roman! Please! Listen to me!” Enzo pleaded, tears of terror leaking from his eyes. “The Morettis forced my hand! They threatened my family! I had to isolate Grace to keep them from finding her!”
“You made my five-year-old son sell damaged flowers in the snow so he could eat dinner, Enzo,” Roman said, his voice dropping so low it sounded like gravel grinding together.
Roman didn't shoot him. That would be too quick.
May you like
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy leather ledger—Enzo’s private offshore financial log, which Gabriel had seized from Aurelia restaurant twenty minutes prior.
“You drained eighty million dollars from my estate,” Roman said smoothly. “Every cent is being transferred back to a trust fund in Noah’s name as we speak.”
