My Mafia Boss Let His Family Accuse Me of Stealing—So I Left His Ring on the Table and Walked Away

The dining room erupted into absolute bedlam.

Captains jumped to their feet, shouting curses, reaching for their sidearms.

"Treason!" one old captain roared, pointing at Carlo. "He's selling us out to the Genovese!"

Carlo’s face turned into a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He backed away from the table, his hand reaching inside his navy jacket for his hidden weapon.

CLICK.

Before Carlo could pull his gun, Dante had already unholstered his tactical pistol, pointing the barrel directly between Carlo's eyes from two feet away.

"Don't," Dante whispered softly.

Carlo froze, his fingers trembling on the grip of his gun inside his coat. Sweat poured down his face, smearing his dark hair.

"Dante... listen to me..." Carlo stammered, his voice cracking hysterically. "They forced me! The Genovese... they had records on my gambling debts in Atlantic City! I had no choice!"

"You put a fake necklace in my wife's bag," Dante said, his voice dropping into an icy register that made every man in the room go silent. "You turned my family against her. You made me doubt the only good thing in my life."

"Dante, please!" Carlo sobbed, dropping to his knees on the Persian rug. "We're blood! We grew up together! You promised my father on his deathbed!"

Dante looked down at his cousin kneeling at his feet.

"I promised my uncle I would treat you like a brother," Dante said softly. "And brothers don't sell each other out."

Dante slowly lowered his gun, handing it to Marco.

Carlo let out a massive sigh of relief, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Thank you, Dante... thank you..."

"Marco," Dante said, turning his back on Carlo. "Take him to the basement. Call the Genovese elders and tell them their informant has been retired."

Carlo’s eyes went wide as saucers as two broad-shouldered enforcers grabbed him by his arms, dragging him screaming out of the dining room.