Chapter 8 - VIKTOR SOKOLOV’S TRUTH
The meeting happened on neutral ground.
No weapons at the table.
Security outside.
Viktor Sokolov was not what Rachel imagined when Luca described him later.
No theatrical Russian monster.
Sixty.
Educated.
Cold.
Tired.
He sat across from Luca and said:
“You took my Red Hook contract.”
“You cheated the agreement.”
“I did.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Refreshing.”
Viktor shrugged.
“I have no need to lie about business.”
“Apparently you have other lies available.”
Viktor ignored that.
“I did not order Mulberry.”
“One of your men participated.”
“Former man.”
“Convenient.”
“He was fired six months ago.”
“For?”
“Drugs.”
Viktor slid a phone across the table.
Messages.
Anton Belov.
An intermediary.
Payment promises.
Photograph of Luca’s sedan.
Instructions.
The sender used an encrypted alias:
SHEPHERD.
Luca looked up.
“Could be fabricated.”
“Yes.”
Viktor leaned back.
“So I brought bank records.”
Money had passed through three companies.
The final source traced indirectly to Bellini Protective Services.
Again.
Luca’s own organization.
“Why tell me?”
Viktor’s expression changed.
“My son died last year.”
Luca knew.
Overdose.
At least officially.
Viktor continued.
“Your uncle told me you supplied the fentanyl that killed him.”
Luca stared.
“I didn’t.”
“I know now.”
“How?”
“Because the same man who brought me the information was paid by Bellini Protective Services.”
Salvatore had fed both sides reasons to hate each other.
Port disputes.
Deaths.
Contracts.
Enough friction to make war believable.
“Why?”
Viktor looked at Luca’s chest.
“Your heart.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“He needed stress.”
Silence.
That inference was chilling.
Not necessarily a direct attempt to trigger death.
But constant escalation.
Ambushes.
Threats.
A man already predisposed to lethal arrhythmia.
Then Viktor said:
“Salvatore asked one of my former men what would happen to your organization if you died without an heir.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Before Emma’s surveillance.
The succession motive was real.
Viktor stood.
“I don’t like you, Bellini.”
“Comforting.”
“But someone tried to turn my dead son into fuel for another man’s inheritance.”
He looked Luca in the eye.
“I dislike that more.”
The two men did not become friends.
They created a temporary truce.
No attacks.
No expansion.
Share intelligence on Salvatore.
Nothing else.
When Luca returned, Rachel listened.
Then asked:
“So your solution to leaving organized crime was meeting another crime boss?”
Luca exhaled.
“I see how that sounds.”
“It sounds exactly how it sounds.”
“I’m trying to prevent a war.”
“Then prevent it.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Rachel looked directly at him.
“End your side of it.”
That night, Luca convened the Bellini leadership.
Legitimate executives.
Old captains.
Advisers.
Marco.
Matteo.
Men who had known him since he was a boy.
He placed his father’s letter on the table.
“I’m restructuring everything.”
Silence.
“Legitimate companies separate immediately.”
A man named Carlo stood.
“And the rest?”
Luca looked around.
“Ends.”
Several men laughed.
Nobody laughed after Luca stared back.
“You can’t end generations of business.”
“My father tried.”
“Your father died.”
Luca’s voice hardened.
“Exactly.”
Then an older captain said:
“This is because of the girl.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“Her name is Emma.”
The man realized his mistake too late.
Luca continued.
“And yes.”
He looked around the room.
“My daughter is part of why I finally understand that handing poison to the next generation does not become tradition just because our fathers handed it to us.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Marco’s phone vibrated.
He checked it.
His face went pale.
“What?”
Marco turned the screen.
A photograph.
Salvatore.
Standing outside Emma’s preschool.
Taken three weeks earlier.
Beside him—
Matteo.
Everyone turned toward Luca’s cousin.
Matteo stopped breathing.
“I can explain.”
May you like
Luca stared at the man he had grown up calling brother.
“Then start.”
