Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
The three bodyguards looked from Matteo’s icy, unblinking eyes to the six heavily armed enforcers standing behind him, shotguns trained on their foreheads. Slowly, nervously, the guards lowered their weapons, stepping back toward the walls.
"Cowards!" Marco screamed at his men, his fat face turning a mottled purple. "Matteo, what is the meaning of this treason?! Today is the day we sign the dock deeds! Where is Sofia?! Why isn't she with you?!"
Matteo stopped five feet from the old man.
Slowly, deliberately, Matteo reached into his inner suit pocket. Marco flinched, stepping back, thinking Matteo was pulling out a firearm.
Instead, Matteo pulled out a thick envelope of high-resolution digital photographs that Dr. Vance had taken four hours ago—images of the deep purple welts across Sofia’s ribs, the raw, bleeding rings around her wrists, the bruised imprint of a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Matteo flicked the envelope against Marco’s chest. The photographs spilled out, scattering across the polished marble floor between them.
Marco looked down at the floor. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his face hardened into a mask of arrogant contempt.
"Is this what this dramatic display is about?" Marco sneered, tossing his brandy glass into a planter. "A few discipline marks? She's my daughter, Matteo! She was stubborn! She didn't want to go through with the marriage! I did what any father in our position would do to ensure my family's future!"
THUD!
Matteo moved so fast Marco didn't even see the punch coming.
Matteo’s massive fist struck Marco squarely across the jaw, sending the fat old man flying backward through the air. Marco crashed heavily into a antique mahogany side table, shattering it into splinters, before rolling onto the marble floor, spitting blood and teeth.
Marco’s bodyguards made a move toward their holsters, but Leo instantly racked the slide of his shotgun with a loud CLICK-CLACK, freezing them in place.
Matteo stepped over the shattered wood, grabbing Marco by the lapels of his silk robe, lifting the three-hundred-pound man six inches off the floor with one arm, slamming him back against the stone wall.
"You didn't discipline a daughter, Marco," Matteo growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the stone wall. "You tortured a human being. You sold me a broken captive and called it a treaty."
"She... she belongs to you now anyway!" Marco wheezed, blood trickling from his broken lip. "You got what you wanted! The docks are yours! The contract—"
"The contract is void," Matteo interrupted, his silver revolver clearing his belt and pressing its heavy, cold barrel directly into the soft skin beneath Marco’s jaw. "And your life is forfeit."
"Matteo... wait!" Marco gasped, terror finally breaking through his arrogant facade. "You can't kill me! The Commission... the other five families will destroy you if you murder a Don in his own house!"
"The Commission operates on honor, Marco," Matteo whispered, his dark eyes burning with pure, unadulterated vengeance. "And when I show the five families these photographs... when I show them how you treated a bride of the blood alliance... they won't condemn me. They'll thank me for putting down a rabid dog."
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Before Matteo could pull the hammer back on the revolver, the sound of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.
"Boss!" Dante’s voice called out from above. "We have the boy!"
