Chapter 18 - The Old Viper Strikes
The back office of El Puente was filled with the heavy scent of burning Cuban tobacco.
Virgilio sat behind his desk, his suit jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, staring down at an antique silver dagger lying on the blotter. It was the family sigil of the Marcelo bloodline, delivered by a courier an hour earlier.
The door opened, and Clara walked in, followed by Isabella and Mateo.
Virgilio’s eyes softened the moment he saw Clara, but hardened again as his gaze met his sister’s.
"Isabella," Virgilio said, standing up.
For a moment, seven years of pain, distance, and silence hung between the brother and sister. Then, Isabella crossed the room and wrapped her arms tightly around her brother's neck.
Virgilio closed his eyes, his large arms wrapping around her, holding his sister against his chest for the first time since that bloody night outside the community clinic.
"I missed you, big brother," she whispered.
"I am sorry I wasn't there," Virgilio choked out, his voice cracked with ancient remorse.
"You're here now," Isabella replied, pulling back and looking into his eyes. "And we are going to finish this together."
Virgilio nodded, then turned his gaze to Clara, who stepped beside him, slipping her hand naturally into his. The touch immediately grounded him.
"Salvatore wants war," Virgilio announced to the room. "My father exiled him because he was a madman who dealt in human trafficking and slaughter. Now he thinks Hector Morales's fall has left a power vacuum he can exploit."
"He called an assembly of the five families tonight at the abandoned grain silos by the river," Mateo added. "He gave you an ultimatum, boss: step down and hand over the syndicate, or he begins executing our lieutenants one by one."
"He won't touch my people," Virgilio said coldly.
Clara looked at him, her dark eyes fierce and determined. "What is the plan, Virgilio?"
Virgilio looked down at her, a wave of fierce pride washing over him. A month ago, she was shivering in terror beneath a broken table. Today, she stood in his war room, ready to fight for their future.
"Salvatore expects me to come with an army," Virgilio said, a dark, calculating smirk spreading across his scarred face. "He expects a bloodbath. But he forgets that while he was living in luxury in Palermo, I built this city brick by brick."
Virgilio looked at Isabella. "Sister, do you still have contacts in the federal prosecutor’s office?"
Isabella’s hazel eyes sparkled with dangerous intelligence. "The chief inspector owes me his daughter’s life from the clinic."
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"Good," Virgilio said. "Mateo, prepare the convoy. We are going to give my uncle exactly what he asked for—and then we bury him."
***