CHAPTER 296
The city that never sleeps was abuzz under New York's night sky as Ellis Barker descended from the private plane that brought her back to the city. Her deep, brown eyes absorbed the urban landscape, but her focus was on a man in an immaculate suit waiting at the foot of the stairs. Kenji Ito's driver, the Yakuza leader, greeted her with a polite bow, indicating she should follow him.
Within minutes, the luxurious vehicle traversed the bustling streets of Manhattan, heading towards the prestigious Central Park Tower. The iconic building, majestically rising on the horizon, symbolized the luxury and power that characterized the elite's life. Upon arrival, Ellis was escorted by security to the private elevator leading to the top three floors, where Kenji Ito's penthouse reigned.
The apartment exuded a refined balance between Japanese and American cultures. An employee, dressed in traditional Japanese attire, received Ellis with a respectful bow. The fusion of decorative elements revealed Kenji's significant influence, a man living between worlds.
Stepping into the luxurious living room, Ellis beheld exquisite artwork and meticulously designed furniture that filled the space. Her steps echoed on the polished floor as the staff elegantly guided her through the opulent residence. Upon reaching the imposing katana on display, Ellis stopped, observing it with a mix of fascination and reminiscence.
A male voice filled the space, breaking Ellis's focus on the katana. “The katana has always caught your beautiful brown eyes, Ellis.”
She turned, locking eyes with Kenji Ito, the Yakuza leader, approaching with innate elegance. A respectful smile curved Ellis's lips as she greeted him. “Hello, Kenji.”
Kenji Ito replied with a nod of his head. “Hello, Ellis. How did things go?”
Ellis sighed, her expression conveying the complexity of the situation. “It went as you imagined, Kenji. By now, Fumio is probably dead and buried along with everyone else, and Angelo Messina is being seen as a traitor.”
Kenji nodded, understanding the dynamics at play. “And Angelo? He didn't suspect the plan was your doing?”
Ellis pondered for a moment before responding. “No, Kenji. He showed no suspicion. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like you were the one who discovered he was working for both families.”
Kenji, with a slight nod, agreed. “Did you secure Akeem's loyalty?”
Ellis nodded. “Yes, the Black Axe is loyal to me. And what about Rocco?”
Kenji observed Ellis closely, understanding the situation and the influence she now held. “He's waiting for you.”
Ellis nodded, grateful to Kenji for taking care of Rocco, one of the most loyal members of the Amorielle family. “Thank you very much, Kenji.”
And so, amidst the opulent setting and the intrigues of a city that never sleeps, Ellis Barker prepared to finally listen to Rocco and what he had to say.
***
The atmosphere in Don Angelo Messina's office was tense as the mafioso walked thoughtfully towards his desk. Shadows danced on the dark wooden walls, reflecting the complexity of the events unfolding within his organization. The discovery that Matarazzo, a former associate of Vittorio, was behind Donna's disappearance cast a shadow over Angelo's trust in his collaborators.
His gaze settled on the wall where a solid gold cue hung behind his chair. The golden plaque below announced, in Italian, “Per le trattative difficili” — For difficult negotiations. It was a symbol of Angelo's ability to resolve complex problems but also a reminder that not all solutions were achieved without sacrifices.
Angelo removed the solid gold cue from the wall with a serious expression. He studied it for a moment as if seeking answers in the polished metal's texture. Then, he carefully placed the cue on his dark mahogany desk. It was time to face reality and make tough decisions.
Seated in his leather chair, Angelo awaited the arrival of Gian, his loyal associate and head of security. Expectations hung in the air as the mafioso reflected on the betrayal of his men. The office, filled with the aroma of cigars and the weight of power, was the stage where lines of loyalty were being redefined.
When the door opened, anticipation turned to bewilderment. Instead of Vittorio's former associates, only Gian entered the office. Angelo raised an eyebrow, questioning the whereabouts of the other men.
“Gian, where are the associates?” inquired Angelo, his voice controlled but tinged with anger.
Gian maintained a firm gaze, his expression revealing a mix of concern and frustration. “Don Angelo, they're gone.”
The confession echoed in the office, creating a heavy silence. Angelo Messina, still holding the golden cue, felt the weight of betrayal tighten like a knot in his chest. The uncertainty about the whereabouts of the men who once pledged allegiance to him added a layer of complexity to an already intricate situation.
“What do you mean, gone?” questioned Angelo, serious.
Gian, holding his posture, replied, “Sir, they vanished without a trace.”
Perplexity crossed Angelo's face, followed by a wave of contained frustration. “Someone wants to destroy me.”
Gian nodded, sharing Angelo's concern. “It seems we're dealing with someone who knows you very well.”
Angelo looked at Gian, his troubled expression revealing the storm raging within him. Gian's words hit him like a punch, triggering a fury he could barely contain.
The mafioso held the solid gold cue and rose from the polished mahogany desk. Gian, the loyal associate, and head of security, observed with a serious expression, aware that something inside Angelo was about to explode.
Angelo, typically calm and calculated, succumbed to the intensity of his repressed emotions. Without uttering a word, he delivered furious blows with the cue, striking the desk and walls with devastating force. Objects flew through the air, and the sound of impact echoed like thunder in the room.
The office, once an oasis of order, became a chaotic battlefield. Papers flew, and valuable items were knocked down. Angelo's fury seemed like an uncontrolled storm, a physical manifestation of the emotional hurricane consuming him.
When the storm finally calmed and the debris silenced, Angelo turned to face Gian, his eyes sparking with intense fervor. He was panting, but his voice, when it emerged, was laden with a chilling calm.
“Ever seen a dead man die twice, Gian?”
Gian, still reeling from Angelo's outburst, shook his head negatively. “No, Don Angelo. Never.”
A sinister smile curved Angelo's lips. He approached Gian, maintaining his penetrating gaze fixed on the associate. “Now, you'll see it personally.”