Chapter 6 - The Return To Romano's: Walking Into The Lion's Den
The rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt slick and reflecting the neon signs of 5th Avenue like shattered glass. Dante's black SUV pulled into the alley behind Romano's, the exact spot where I had fled five nights ago. This time, however, I wasn't running.
Dante sat beside me in the back seat, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit jacket. Viktor sat in the front passenger seat, a suppressed firearm resting quietly in a tactical holster beneath his coat.
“Remember the plan,” Dante instructed, his voice low and steady. “You walk in through the back kitchen entrance. Grab the ledger from your old locker. Marcus will be there—he's been staking out the restaurant every night waiting for you to slip up. When he confronts you, you keep him talking. Viktor and I will be right behind you.”
“And if Salazar's men are inside?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“They won't get the chance to touch you,” Dante replied, his dark eyes holding mine with absolute, unshakable certainty. “Trust me.”
I nodded, took a deep breath of the cool night air, and pushed the heavy metal door of the SUV open.
The alley was quiet, smelling of damp brick and old grease. I pushed open the squeaky back door of Romano's. The familiar heat of the kitchen hit me instantly, combined with the scent of roasted garlic and dish soap. The restaurant was closed for the night, the dining room dark and empty, but dim fluorescent lights flickered above the stainless-steel prep tables.
My footsteps echoed softly against the tiled floor as I walked toward the staff locker room in the back. My locker was the third one down, its gray metal door dented from years of careless slams.
I spun the combination lock—32-10-4.
The door creaked open. Tucked behind my spare uniform and a box of old makeup was a thick, black leather-bound ledger—the original accounting book Marcus had used to launder cartel money through our weekly payroll logs. I pulled it out, sliding it into the deep pockets of my trench coat.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
I froze.
From the shadows near the walk-in refrigerator, Marcus stepped out. He looked terrible—his eyes bloodshot, his hair unwashed, his clothes rumpled and reeking of stale beer and desperation. He held a heavy metal wrench in his right hand, tapping it lightly against his palm.
“Marcus,” I said, turning to face him, keeping my voice perfectly level, exactly as Dante had trained me.
“You think you could just vanish, Emma?” Marcus sneered, taking a slow step toward me, his face twisted in a ugly mixture of rage and fear. “You took the book, didn't you? Do you have any idea what those people will do to me if I don't get that ledger back? They'll kill me, Emma! And you're going to hand it over right now, or I swear to God I'll smash your face in.”
He lunged forward, raising the wrench.
I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, remembering Dante's words: Dominance.
Before Marcus could take another step, the kitchen doors swung open with a violent crash.
Dante Moretti stepped into the room, flanked by Viktor and two other armed operatives. The air in the kitchen instantly dropped twenty degrees.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated terror as he recognized the man standing before him.
“D-Dante Moretti?” Marcus stammered, dropping the wrench with a loud clatter against the tiled floor. “What... what are you doing here?”
Dante walked slowly across the kitchen, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor. He didn't look at Marcus; his dark, piercing eyes were fixed entirely on me. He walked past my ex-boyfriend as if Marcus were nothing more than a minor annoyance on the sidewalk.
Dante stopped beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, a silent pillar of absolute power.
“She isn't handing over anything to a parasite, Marcus,” Dante said softly, his voice cutting through the silent kitchen like a razor. “And your friends from the Salazar cartel? They won't be coming to help you either. They're currently being detained across town.”
Marcus fell to his knees, trembling violently, his hands raised in surrender. “Please, Mr. Moretti, I didn't know—she's just a waitress, she doesn't know anything—”
“She knows everything she needs to,” Dante interrupted coldly. He turned to Viktor. “Take him away. Hand him over to the federal authorities with the complete financial package. Let the law handle the rest of his miserable life.”
“No, please! Emma, help me! Please!” Marcus screamed as Viktor hauled him up by his collar, dragging him out into the alley like a sack of garbage.
The kitchen fell silent once more.
Dante turned to me, his expression softening just a fraction. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
May you like
“It's over, Emma,” he said quietly.
I looked up into his dark eyes, clutching the ledger in my pocket, realizing that the nightmare was finally finished—and the real journey had just begun.
