Chapter 7 - The Trial of Marco Valenti
The underground holding facility beneath the Moretti shipping docks was cold, damp, and smelled of salt water and diesel fuel. A single overhead bulb cast a harsh yellow glow over a wooden chair where Marco Valenti was bound securely with heavy industrial zip-ties.
When I stepped into the concrete cell, Valenti jerked awake, his face bruised from the sleep gas and the rough transport. He strained against his bonds, sneering.
“Moretti. You cowardly bastard. Using gas like a rat.”
I walked slowly around him, resting my hands in my pockets, my expression utterly detached. “You broke into my home, Marco. You threatened my pregnant wife. In our world, that’s not just a declaration of war—it’s a suicide note.”
“You think you can just kill me and walk away?” Valenti spat, though panic flickered in his eyes. “My captains will tear your empire apart brick by brick—”
“Your captains are currently receiving very generous financial offers from Dante to disband and retire in South America,” I interrupted smoothly. “As for you, Marco, you won’t be dying tonight.”
Valenti blinked, surprised. “What?”
“You’re going to disappear,” I said quietly, leaning in close to his ear. “Just like you tried to make my wife disappear. You will be loaded onto a container ship bound for a penal colony in South America under a false name, where you will spend the rest of your natural life breaking rocks. If you ever breathe a word about my family again, your remaining bloodline will follow you into the dirt.”
Valenti’s face turned the color of ash. He opened his mouth to scream curses, but Dante stepped forward, slapping a heavy leather gag across his face, cutting him off mid-breath.
May you like
“Take him away,” I ordered.
As the guards dragged Valenti screaming into the dark tunnels, a profound sense of closure settled over my chest. The ghosts of the past were being systematically buried.
