Chapter 6 - Nobody Dies Tonight
Marco Bellano expected a war.
Vincent brought evidence.
Financial records.
Recorded conversations.
Anthony's testimony.
And enough proof of Marco's unauthorized operations to turn Bellano's own allies against him.
The meeting took place inside an abandoned shipping terminal.
Marco stood across from Vincent.
"You've gotten soft."
Vincent looked at him calmly.
"Maybe."
"You used to solve problems permanently."
"I still do."
Marco smiled.
"Then where's your gun?"
Vincent opened his coat.
Empty.
Marco laughed.
Vincent continued.
"You lost the port."
Marco stopped laughing.
"You lost your accounts."
Silence.
"Your partners withdrew support an hour ago."
Marco's face changed.
"And the police have enough evidence to connect you to three murders."
Marco stared at him.
"You went to the cops?"
"No."
Vincent smiled slightly.
"The waitress did."
Marco's face twisted.
"That girl."
"Her name is Maya."
"You destroyed two families over a waitress?"
Vincent stepped closer.
"No."
"You destroyed yourself because you underestimated one."
Sirens approached outside.
Marco looked around.
Vincent walked away.
"You can't leave me here!"
Vincent stopped.
For years, men had feared what happened when Vincent Moretti turned around.
This time, he didn't.
"Watch me."
---
Three days later, Vincent entered Benny's Burgers through the front door.
The glass had been replaced.
The restaurant was crowded.
Maya stood behind the counter.
She looked up.
"No."
Vincent stopped.
"I haven't said anything."
"Whatever you're about to say, no."
He placed a folder on the counter.
Maya stared at it.
"What's that?"
"Open it."
"No."
"Maya."
"Is it ownership paperwork?"
Vincent said nothing.
She pointed at him.
"I told you not to buy the restaurant."
"I didn't."
She opened the folder.
Her expression changed.
Inside was a check.
Enough money to replace the door, repair the kitchen, and cover every lost shift.
Nothing more.
Maya looked up.
"You actually listened."
Vincent put his hands in his pockets.
"I'm capable of growth."
"Slow growth."
"But growth."
She smiled.
Then noticed something.
"No bodyguards?"
"They're outside."
"How many?"
"Four."
"Vincent."
"Two."
She stared.
"Fine. Four."
Maya laughed.
Vincent hadn't realized how much he had wanted to hear that sound again.
She slid the check back toward him.
"I don't want your money."
"It's not charity."
"What is it?"
"A debt."
"You don't owe me."
Vincent looked directly into her eyes.
"I owe you my life."
Maya's smile disappeared.
For once, neither of them had a joke ready.
Vincent spoke quietly.
"Dinner."
"What?"
"Have dinner with me."
"Is that an order?"
"No."
"A debt?"
"No."
"Business?"
"No."
Maya leaned forward.
"Then what?"
Vincent Moretti—the man who had negotiated with killers, politicians, smugglers, and men who controlled entire cities—suddenly found the question remarkably difficult.
"A date."
Maya smiled.
"Look at you."
"What?"
"Using normal-person words."
"Is that a yes?"
She picked up her cleaning cloth.
"Pick me up Friday."
Vincent smiled.
"Eight?"
"Seven."
"Seven-thirty."
"Seven."
Vincent sighed.
"Seven."
Maya pointed toward him.
"And no convoy."
"Define convoy."
"Vincent."
"Fine."
He walked toward the exit.
"One car."
"Vincent."
He opened the door.
"Two cars."
"VINCENT!"
He laughed as he stepped outside.
For the first time in fifteen years, Vincent Moretti walked down a street without thinking about enemies.
May you like
He was thinking about Friday.
---
