Chapter Five The Fall of Moretti

The real battlefield was Carlo's private restaurant. Ethan walked through the kitchen in a soaked coat, Miguel behind him, Marcus holding the front. Carlo sat in a private room with red wine and a pistol. "Your father was a good man," Carlo said. "That is why he died." Carlo smiled. "You think you won because you are clever. No. This city is sick. Sick cities make young dogs think they are kings." Ethan sat. "The difference between a king and a dog is who decides tomorrow's newspaper." He slid over a file: thirty years of ledgers, judges, campaign donations, police cuts, overseas accounts. Victor had dug out the bones. Sophie had arranged them into a blade every ally could use to save himself.