The Final Reckoning

Chapter Five

The air in the Morano estate was brittle—like glass under strain. It could shatter with the wrong word, the wrong look.

Alex stood on the balcony outside his father’s study, fists braced against the iron railing, watching the city stretch out below him. The skyline looked different now. Smaller. Colder. Each blinking light is a warning. Each shadow is a threat. The rain had stopped, but its scent still clung to the stone.

Behind him, voices murmured through the heavy wooden door—Nina, his father, and Gianni. They were discussing Carlo’s replacement as if the man’s blood hadn’t barely dried. Vito wanted to move quickly, to restore order. But Alex wasn’t ready to play puppet in a family playbook that was getting people killed.

His thoughts wandered to Sophia.

She was trouble. He knew that now. But he also couldn’t stay away.

A knock startled him.

Sophia stood in the doorway, poised but pale. A tailored coat clung to her shoulders, rain-dampened curls framing her sharp cheekbones. She looked like a woman out of place—but not out of depth.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Alex didn’t move. “Now’s not the time.”

“It is if you care about who’s trying to frame you.”

That got his attention.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

“You have something to say, say it fast.”

Sophia crossed the room, heels silent on the plush carpet. “I found something Carlo left behind. A safe deposit box. His name and mine. I wasn’t supposed to know about it—until after he died.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Why would he trust you with something like that?”

“Because he didn’t trust anyone else.”

Alex stared at her, trying to read the truth in her face. She wasn’t afraid—but there was something under her skin. Something brittle. Like she was holding herself together just long enough to deliver the message.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Downtown. Eastside Trust. I checked it this morning.” She handed him a folded sheet of paper.

Inside was a photo—grainy, low-res, but damning.

Carlo, sitting in a café. Across from a man with a snake tattoo on his neck.

“Russo,” Alex muttered. “That’s one of theirs. He’s supposed to be dead.”

“He’s not. And this photo was taken the day before Carlo was killed.”

Alex’s mind moved quickly. “If Carlo met with the Russos, either he was negotiating behind our backs—or he was forced.”

Sophia nodded. “He was scared, Alex. You said it yourself.”

He folded the photo and slipped it into his jacket. “You should’ve brought this to my father.”

Her eyes hardened. “I brought it to you.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Do you trust me yet?” she asked, softer now.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

She gave a humorless smile. “Then we’re on the same page.”

Before either could say more, the door opened.

Dominic.

His dark eyes flicked between them—Sophia standing close, Alex holding the photo—and narrowed. Older, broader, and always simmering with resentment, Dominic never missed a chance to remind Alex who was the true heir in Vito’s eyes.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“No,” Alex said.

“Yes,” Sophia corrected.

Dominic tilted his head. “Funny how you always find time for the outsiders, brother.”

“She’s helping with the investigation,” Alex said flatly.

“Or she’s helping it go sideways.”

Sophia took a step forward, unfazed. “I’m standing in the middle of a murder investigation that could destroy your family. I didn’t come here to be dismissed.”

Dominic’s lip curled, but Alex stepped between them.

“Not now. We don’t have time for a pissing contest.”

Dominic’s gaze lingered on Sophia a moment longer. Then he looked at Alex.

“Dad wants you downstairs. Now. It’s about the East Docks.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

Alex gave Sophia a nod. “We’ll talk later.”

She watched them leave, her fists clenched at her sides.

The war room was alive with tension. Maps of the city lined the walls, with red pins stabbed into key districts. At the center was the East Docks—Russo territory.

Vito Morano stood at the head of the long table, flanked by Nina and Gianni. A storm brewed behind his eyes.

“There was an ambush this morning,” Nina reported. “One of our shipments rerouted through South Point got hit. Three men dead. Two unaccounted for.”

Gianni tossed a blood-streaked card on the table.

Ace of Spades.

Again.

Vito slammed his fist down, rattling the glasses. “They want war.”

Alex took a slow breath. “No. They want us to start one.”

Vito looked up sharply. “You disagree with me?”

“I think someone inside is feeding them this information. Every move we make—they’re one step ahead.”

Dominic leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. “You’re saying we’ve got a rat?”

“I’m saying we’ve got a ghost,” Alex said. “And we’re fighting shadows.”

Gianni stepped forward. “Then let’s bring the fight to light. Give them something they can’t predict.”

Alex nodded. “I want to hit the East Docks. Quiet. Controlled. In and out. We shake the tree and see who falls out.”

Nina raised a brow. “That’s risky. If it goes sideways—”

“Then we’ll know who sold us out.”

Vito was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded.

“Do it.”

That night, under cover of fog, Alex and Diego moved through the dockyards like wraiths. Armed, masked, and silent.

Shipping containers loomed like tombs. Crates sat idle, but the air was alive with movement.

Through binoculars, Diego pointed out two guards.

“Russo muscle. Low-tier.”

They crept forward.

Alex reached the first, silencing him with a swift blow. Diego handled the second.

They moved to the center warehouse, slipping through a side door.

Inside—silence. But in the office above, a light was on.

Alex gave a signal.

They ascended the stairs and kicked in the door.

Empty—except for a laptop and a blinking red light.

Diego cursed. “It’s a setup.”

The warehouse exploded in a roar of flame and shrapnel.

Alex hit the floor hard, ears ringing.

Smoke choked the room.

Diego grabbed his arm. “Move!”

They staggered out as sirens screamed in the distance.

From across the yard, a shadow watched.

And smiled.