Chapter 7 - The Judas Kiss
The deafening silence that followed in the ruined room was much heavier than the lingering smoke.
Allessandro kept his revolver pressed firmly to Tony’s head, but his dark eyes locked onto the face of his oldest, most trusted friend.
"Carlo," Allessandro said softly, genuinely struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before him.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Carlo’s rough face was completely devoid of emotion, but his massive hands were perfectly, terrifyingly steady on the pump-action shotgun.
"It is nothing personal, it is just simply good business, boss," Carlo replied, his voice completely hollow.
"The Moretti family quietly offered me half the revenue of the entire city if I helped them remove you."
Allessandro felt a sharp, incredibly bitter spike of ultimate betrayal pierce straight through his heart.
He suddenly realized the horrible, intricate truth of the plot in a fraction of a terrifying second.
"Isabella didn't somehow sneak the lethal poison into the house past my security on her own," Allessandro realized aloud, his voice dripping with disgust.
"You intentionally opened the door and let her do it."
"You actually allowed the Morettis to kidnap her innocent brother just to force her hand and keep your own hands clean."
Isabella slowly peeked over the bullet-riddled edge of the leather sofa, her eyes wide with absolute, horrifying shock.
She truly hadn't known that Carlo was deeply involved in the assassination plot.
She had just been a desperate, terrified pawn in a sickening game played by greedy, heartless monsters.
"You were getting incredibly soft in your old age, Allessandro," Carlo justified coldly, taking a slow step forward.
"You care way too much about the poor people in the neighborhood and the rules of the old country."
"You care way too much about the lives of maids, children, and pathetic civilians."
"We are meant to act like brutal kings, but you constantly want to play the role of a merciful gentleman."
Tony Moretti started laughing from the floor, a wet, ugly, bubbling sound that grated against the nerves.
"Stop giving speeches and just shoot him, Carlo," Tony ordered, coughing up more dark blood onto the rug.
"Finish the damn job and claim your throne."
Allessandro did not allow panic to cloud his mind, relying on years of deadly street survival.
He rapidly calculated the physical distance between himself, the shotgun barrel, and his traitorous, arrogant friend.
"We fought side by side for fifteen years, Carlo," Allessandro said softly, trying to appeal to whatever tiny shred of loyalty remained.
"I pulled you out of the gutter when you were starving and completely broken."
"I made you an incredibly rich and feared man."
Carlo's heavy jaw tightened for a brief moment.
For a split, microscopic second, a genuine flash of deep guilt crossed the enforcer's cold eyes.
That microscopic hesitation was the absolute only opening Allessandro would ever need.
Allessandro dropped completely flat to the floor with lightning speed, abandoning his hold on Tony.
Carlo panicked and reflexively pulled the trigger on the heavy shotgun.
The explosive blast tore viciously through the empty air where Allessandro's chest had been just a millisecond before.
The deadly spread of buckshot slammed directly and fatally into Tony Moretti’s head instead, instantly ending the Boston boss's life.
Tony's lifeless body went completely limp, collapsing face-first into the ruined carpet.
Before Carlo could even pump the heavy shotgun to fire a second round, Allessandro rolled aggressively on his back and raised his revolver.
He fired two rapid, deafening shots without a single ounce of hesitation.
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The heavy bullets hit Carlo perfectly and squarely in the dead center of his chest.
The shotgun immediately dropped from Carlo's failing hands, clattering loudly and uselessly against the cold marble floor.
