Chapter 7 - The Final Chess Move
The sun rose over the city the next morning in a blaze of brilliant golden light, but inside the Castello estate, the atmosphere was thick with finality.
True to his word, Victor Costello had worked with terrifying, clockwork precision throughout the night. By sunrise, the Morosco family empire had collapsed like a house of cards. Their assets were seized, their leadership scattered or captured, and their illicit operations dismantled by federal agencies and private syndicates alike, all guided by Victor’s invisible hand.
Sadi sat in her room, packing a small suitcase. Her hands, treated with advanced salves provided by Victor’s personal physician, were healing rapidly, the angry red cracks fading into soft pink skin.
She wasn't leaving the estate—not yet. But Victor had insisted on a radical change in plans.
A knock sounded at her door. When she opened it, Marcus stood in the hallway, holding a sealed envelope and a set of gleaming car keys.
“Mr. Costello asked me to give these to you,” Marcus said respectfully, his usual stoic demeanor softened by a subtle trace of admiration.
“Where is Victor?” Sadi asked, her heart fluttering nervously.
“He’s at the private airfield across town,” Marcus replied quietly. “Don Morosco made one final, desperate attempt to negotiate terms at dawn. The Boss went to handle it personally. He left these for you before he walked out the door.”
Sadi’s stomach dropped. She ripped open the envelope. Inside was a cashier’s check for one million dollars—enough to fund Sam’s medical care for the rest of his life—alongside a handwritten note in Victor’s sharp, decisive handwriting:
Sadi,
By the time you read this, the war will be over. You and Sam are free. The debt is erased, the danger is gone, and your future is secure. Go to him at St. Jude’s. Live a normal, beautiful life—something I could never offer you in the shadows.
Do not look for me.
— Victor.
Panic surged through Sadi’s veins. She clutched the letter to her chest, shaking her head. No. You don't get to push me away after everything.
“Marcus,” she said, her voice dropping all pretense of hesitation. “Where exactly is the airfield?”
May you like
Marcus looked at her for a long moment, studying her determined expression. A slow, approving smile touched the corners of his mouth. He tossed the car keys into her hands.
“Hangar 4, West End Docks,” Marcus said softly. “Drive fast.”
