My Mob Matriarch Mother Faked My Overdose Death To Take My Syndicate Rank — 12 Years Later, A Hidden Mob Ledger Revealed Her Betrayal
Sal’s men moved swiftly. Before I could protest, two burly enforcers grabbed my arms. They were Sal’s men, not Teresa’s, and their grips were firm, unyielding.
“Sal, you have to believe me,” I urged, struggling against them. “Those papers are fake. Look at the dates, the seals—”
He didn’t acknowledge me. His gaze remained fixed on Leo, who was also being led away by another pair of enforcers.
“Separate rooms,” Sal repeated, his voice like stone. “No contact. And no talking.”
They marched me to a small, windowless storage room at the back of the social club. It smelled of old liquor and dust. The door clanged shut, and I heard the heavy bolt slide into place.
I sank against the wall, the feeling of entrapment familiar, suffocating. I had given Sal the undeniable truth, documented and notarized. But Teresa’s counter-move was brilliant in its cruelty. She had not only undermined my credibility but painted me as a homicidal madman. Who would believe a brain-damaged “Dominic” over the matriarch of the Rossi family?
Time stretched, marked only by the muffled sounds of the club outside. I could hear Sal’s voice, low and urgent, but couldn’t make out the words.
Then, a new voice. Terser. Sharper. It was Teresa. She was on the phone with Sal. I pressed my ear to the thin wall, straining to hear.
“…a generous offer, Sal,” Teresa’s voice, though tinny and distorted, was unmistakable. “Fifteen percent. A full partnership in the waterfront development.”
My heart pounded. The waterfront development. That was a huge project, millions of dollars in future revenue.
“He’s a ghost, Sal,” Teresa continued, her voice gaining an edge. “A liability. His exposure could bring federal heat down on all of us. No council vote needed. Just… disappear him quietly. For the good of the family.”
A long silence followed. I imagined Sal on the other end, calculating. Fifteen percent of a project like that… what would that be? Two and a half million dollars, at least. A massive payout. A fortune that could solidify his own position for years.
On one side, mob code: honor, tradition, justice for betrayal. On the other, pure, unadulterated greed: $2,500,000 for a simple problem to disappear. My life was now just a negotiation point.
I could almost feel the weight of the choice pressing down on Sal. The internal conflict must have been immense. His loyalty to the old ways, to the syndicate’s stability, against an offer that could set him up for life. I heard a faint sigh from the other side of the wall, then the abrupt click of a phone being hung up.
The silence that followed was heavy, ominous. Had he taken the bait? Would he sacrifice the truth, and me, for Teresa’s money? I stood there, listening, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. My fate now rested entirely on Sal DeMarco’s decision.
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