Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the Syndicate
Ten minutes passed in near-total silence. Leonardo sat on the red vinyl stool, his charcoal overcoat unbuttoned at the top, his left arm resting stiffly across his lap beneath the fabric. He stared down into the black surface of his coffee mug, watching the steam rise in thin, lazy wisps toward the ceiling.
Dora stood a few feet away, wiping down the pie display case with a microfiber cloth, keeping a watchful eye on him.
"You shouldn't be here," Dora said quietly, breaking the silence as she noticed the way his jaw clenched every time he shifted his weight. "If people are looking for you, a roadside diner off I-95 is the first place they'll check if they have half a brain."
Leonardo let out a dry, humorless chuckle that sounded like stones grinding together.
"Nobody knows I'm here," Leonardo murmured, staring into his coffee. "Not my captains. Not my rivals. Not even Dante."
Dora stopped wiping the glass. She looked over at him, her brow furrowing. "You didn't tell your own bodyguard where you were going?"
Leonardo shook his head slowly. "In my world, trust is a currency that always depreciates. When you reach the top, the people closest to you are the ones holding the knives."
He raised his dark eyes, looking out through the rain-streaked windows into the pitch-black highway outside.
"My father left me a family tearing itself apart," Leonardo continued, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a heavy, generational burden. "He built an empire on fear and cement, and now every cousin, every underboss, every vulture with a grudge thinks they can carve off a piece for themselves while I bleed out in the dark."
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For the first time since he had crashed through her doors, Dora saw through the armor of the syndicate boss. He wasn't just a monster; he was a prisoner trapped inside a cage of his own family’s making, hunted by the very people who shared his blood.
Before Dora could formulate a response, something changed in the atmosphere outside.
