Page 7 of Raphael
Dante leans forward, eyes hard as steel. "We end this. Tonight."
For the next hour, we go through the plan in meticulous detail. Moretti will be at his club downtown, supposedly celebrating his birthday. Our intelligence suggests his security will be lighter than usual, a fatal mistake on his part.
Franco will lead a team through the back entrance. I'll drive Dante to the front, where we'll enter as guests. It's bold, walking straight into the lion's den, but that's Dante's style. Let them see him coming.
"We need to make a statement," Dante explains, pacing now. "Moretti has to understand that his disrespect cannot stand."
What he means is that Moretti needs to die. We all know it, even if the words aren't explicitly said.
"What about Elena?" I ask. "If this goes wrong..."
Dante's expression softens slightly at the mention of his wife. "Her brother will take her to the safe house upstate if things go sideways. But they won't." His confidence never wavers. "This ends tonight."
As we finalize the details, I check my phone. A text from Annie with a photo of Marco proudly displaying a LEGO creation. Something warm unfurls in my chest at the sight of my son's grinning face. I quickly send back a thumbs-up emoji before returning my attention to the meeting.
"You good with this?" Franco asks me quietly while Dante takes a call in the corner of the office.
"Yeah," I nod, though there's a heaviness in my chest I can't quite place. "Marco has a new nanny. Started today."
Franco raises an eyebrow. "Already? The last one only quit three days ago."
"The agency found someone quickly. She seems... different from the others."
Franco studies my face with the unnerving perception that makes him so effective at his job. "Different how?"
I shrug, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Just different. Good with Marco. Doesn't ask too many questions."
"Young?"
"Twenty-One," I admit, already knowing what's coming.
Franco shakes his head. "Dangerous territory, Raphael."
"It's not like that," I insist, though the memory of her curves moving around my kitchen this morning suggests otherwise. "She's just good with Marco."
"Sure," Franco says, clearly not believing me.
Before I can respond, Dante rejoins us. "We move at 10 PM. Until then, business as usual."
Business as usual means I spend the day driving Dante to various meetings across the city. Some legitimate, most not. I wait in the car, alert for any sign of trouble, one hand always near the gun holstered under my jacket. This is the part of my job that's straightforward—protect Dante, drive him wherever he needs to go, be ready if things go bad.
Between meetings, I check in with Annie. Her texts are professional but warm, updating me on Marco's day. They made a fort in the living room. They practiced writing his name. They had chicken nuggets for lunch. Normal, beautiful moments in my son's life that I'm missing.
At 4 PM, I text Annie that I'll be later than expected. She responds immediately:
*No problem. Marco and I are making pizza for dinner. We'll save you some.*
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine coming home to that scene. Marco and Annie in the kitchen, laughter, the smell of homemade food. It's a dangerous fantasy, one I have no right to entertain.
By 9 PM, we're back at Dante's office, going through final preparations. I check my gun, making sure it's loaded and the silencer is secure. Franco distributes earpieces so we can communicate once we're inside Moretti's club.
"Remember," Dante says as we prepare to leave, "we get Moretti alone, we deal with him, we leave. Clean, quick, no collateral damage if possible."
Easy to say, harder to execute. But that's why Dante pays us the big bucks.
The drive to Moretti's club is tense with anticipation. Franco and his team are already in position, waiting for our signal. Dante sits silently in the back seat, checking his phone occasionally, probably texting Elena reassurances.
"You good?" he asks me as we approach the club, the pounding bass audible even from inside the car.
