Page 33 of Veil of the Past
The crowd parts for a moment, and I catch a glimpse of the fighters in the ring. Two men, both battered and bleeding, their faces twisted in a mix of pain and fury. One of them, a stocky guy with a broken nose and blood streaming down his face, is driving his opponent into the ropes, his fists beating into his opponent. The other guy is struggling to stay upright, his eyes glazed, his mouth slack. The crowd is on its feet, shouting, screaming for more.
But I’m not interested in the fight. I turn my attention to a group of men huddled near the back, speaking in low, urgent tones. I drift closer, trying to catch their words over the noise.
“…Moretti’s lost control,” one of them mutters, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. “The brothers are fighting, tearing each other apart. Word is the old man’s out of commission—paralyzed.”
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. The old man. Val’s father. He’s alive? The Capo. Alive but paralyzed. I push closer, pretending to be interested in the fight, keeping my ears open.
Another man, taller, with a scar running down his cheek, shakes his head. “I heard he’s alive but barely. Some say it’s because Emiliano took Val back to New York. The Moretti brothers are losing their shit, fighting over who’s in charge now.”
There’s a low chuckle from another guy, a thin man with a snake tattoo crawling up his neck. “Yeah, and now they’re planning something big. Some attack. But who the hell knows where or when. Just rumors, right?”
My mind races, piecing together the fragments. Val’s dad is alive but paralyzed. After we took Valentina back to New York, Eli went face to face with her father and the Capo of the Outfit. Iit ended badly, both were shot. We thought we had killed him—and left the Outfit in disarray, the Moretti brothers tearing at each other for power. It makes sense—their Capo is out of commission, and they’re trying to fill the vacuum. And we are expecting an attack. But when? And where?
I edge a little closer, trying to catch more of their conversation. The taller guy glances around, and I look away, pretending to watch the fight, my hands in my pockets, my shoulders hunched. I can feel their eyes on me, but I keep my face blank, uninterested. No one knows me, so I’m in the clear.
“I don’t know, man,” the scarred one mutters, lowering his voice. “But if they’re going for the Folonari’s, it’s going to get messy. Real messy.”
I grit my teeth, my jaw tightening. Of course, it would be the Folonari’s. The Outfit has always had a hard-on for us, always looking for a reason to make a move, to take us down a peg. And now, with their own house in chaos, they might be desperate enough to try something stupid.
I step back, blending into the shadows, my mind whirring. I need to get more information, to figure out exactly what’s happening, and who’s pulling the strings. Right now all I have are whispers and rumors—nothing solid.
I make my way around the edge of the crowd, my eyes scanning for familiar faces. I spot a few low-level guys, faces I recognize from past dealings, but none of them look like they’re in the know. I keep moving, slipping through the throng, my ears tuned to the conversations around me.
“…can’t trust Moretti’s youngest,” a voice says nearby, low and sharp. “He’s too hungry for power, thinks he can step into his brother’s shoes.”
“Yeah, but his brother’s no better,” another voice replies. “He’s losing control. Too much bickering, too many alliances breaking apart. Now, the old man’s just a ghost, stuck in a chair.”
I pause, leaning against the cold steel wall, pretending to adjust my coat. I need to know more, to confirm if it’s true.
I spot a familiar face—a guy named Jaco, who’s been known to run messages for the Outfit. I sidle up to him, keeping my tone casual. “Jaco,” I say, nodding in greeting. “Heard some interesting things tonight. Thought you might be able to clear them up.”
Jaco’s eyes flick to mine, wary. “Romiro,” he says slowly, his expression guarded. “You shouldn’t be here, and I don’t know anything worth telling.”
I shrug, playing it cool. “Maybe, maybe not. But I’m hearing talk about old man Moretti. Is he really alive?”
Jaco hesitates, glancing around. “That’s the word,” he says finally, his voice low. “But he’s not the man he used to be. They say he’s paralyzed. Can’t move. Just sits there, staring at the walls.”
I nod, trying to hide my reaction, my mind racing. “And the brothers?” I press. “What’s going on with them?”
Jaco shakes his head. “It’s a mess,” he admits. “They’re tearing each other apart, trying to prove who’s stronger. The youngest wants control, but the older one… he’s not letting go that easy.”
I nod, processing the information. “And the attack?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
Jaco shrugs. “Rumors,” he says. “But where there’s smoke…”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “There’s fire.”
I thank him, slipping back into the crowd, my thoughts spinning. If Val’s dad is alive and the brothers are at each other’s throats, it means there’s a power vacuum, a struggle for control. It’s what we wanted, but now that they might be planning an attack on us, they could be trying to unite under a common enemy… us.
I need to get this information back to Eli, to Dominico. We need to be ready for whatever’s coming. I turn, heading for the exit, my heart pounding in my chest. The underground is alive with danger, with threats lurking in every corner, and I can’t afford to stay here any longer.
I push through the door and out into the cold night air, my breath coming in sharp bursts, my mind racing with possibilities, with fears, with plans. The Moretti’s are fighting with each other, Val’s dad is alive, and the Outfit is planning something big.
And we need to be ready when they make their move.
* * *
The soundsof the roulette wheel spinning, chips clinking, and muffled laughter fill the air as I walk through the back room of the Camorra’s base. I’m back in New York. The place is alive tonight, filled with gamblers and shadowed figures, their faces half-lit by the dim overhead lights. The room is thick with cigar smoke, the scent mingling with expensive cologne and the underlying tang of desperation. I make my way past the roulette tables, where hands move quickly over the green felt, placing bets, testing fate.
