Chapter 2: The Owner on Paper

Nico’s face had gone slack, every drop of color drained from it. He stared at Sergeant Russo, who still held the parchment deed open in his hands.

“That’s a fake!” Nico finally spat, his voice cracking. “You’re on his payroll, aren’t you? How much did this punk pay you?”

Sergeant Russo’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care if you run a bake sale or a crime syndicate. I enforce city property law.”

He folded the deed with a crisp snap.

“You called in a false report of an armed intruder to remove someone who legally owns this property.”

Officer Kowalski, who had been listening on his shoulder radio, nodded.

“Sergeant, municipal dispatch confirmed the seal on the deed,” Kowalski said, his gaze shifting nervously between Nico and me. “It’s valid. Registered to Leo Moretti, address matches this brownstone, 1984 trust.”

A heavy silence settled in the parlor. Rain still slicked the windows, reflecting the dim glow of the gas lamps.

Nico’s eyes darted around the room, searching for any ally, any loophole. Uncle Sal Callahan sat hunched in a corner armchair, his face unreadable, offering Nico no support. The other enforcers lingered near the entryway, their expressions tight.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Sergeant Russo walked towards the door, then turned back, his gaze fixed on Nico.

“If you try to remove Mr. Moretti from his own home, or file another bogus report, you’ll be arrested and charged,” Russo stated flatly. “Consider this your only warning.”

He tipped his head towards me.

“Mr. Moretti, if you have any issues with this young man, call 911. We’ll be happy to escort him out.”

Nico’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took one step towards me, then another, his eyes burning. I did not flinch.

“You think this is over, Leo?” he snarled, his voice a low hiss. “You think some old paper changes anything?”

He gestured wildly at the antique furniture, the faded wallpaper.

“This is *our* legacy. I’ll find proof you forged that deed. I’ll find proof you stole from us.”

Then, with a furious grunt, he spun on his heel. His boots hammered against the ornate wooden staircase as he stormed to the upper floor, disappearing into the shadows.

The heavy parlor door clicked shut behind Sergeant Russo and Officer Kowalski, leaving only the soft hum of the rain and the lingering scent of damp wool in the air.