Chapter 5 - THE DYING PATRIARCH
The Gallo estate sat behind ten-foot iron gates.
Guards stood at every corner.
Dante's car rolled smoothly up the winding driveway.
I sat in the passenger seat, silent.
The mansion was a fortress of dark stone and old money.
Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and expensive scotch.
Dante led me up a grand mahogany staircase.
We walked down a long hallway lined with oil paintings.
Men in dark suits nodded as we passed.
They looked at me with cold, suspicious eyes.
Dante pushed open a heavy double door.
Salvatore lay in a massive canopy bed.
Machines beeped softly beside him.
He looked smaller than he had in the restaurant.
A network of tubes ran into his pale arms.
"She's here, Papa," Dante said softly.
Salvatore opened his eyes.
They were bright, sharp, and entirely lucid.
"Leave us," the old man rasped.
"Papa, I should stay—"
"Leave us, Dante!" Salvatore coughed violently.
Dante hesitated, then gave me one warning look and walked out.
He closed the heavy doors behind him.
I stood by the edge of the bed.
"Come closer," Salvatore whispered.
I stepped forward.
"Closer."
I leaned over the bed.
"You have your grandfather's eyes," Salvatore said.
"And his stubbornness."
"Why did you bring me here?" I asked.
"To tell you the truth."
"About what?"
"About Prizzi. About the blood."
Salvatore reached under his pillow.
He pulled out a small, tarnished silver key.
He pressed it into my trembling palm.
"What is this?"
"The key to the safe deposit box at the downtown bank."
"What's inside?"
"Everything your grandfather protected."
"Why give it to me?"
"Because the men who shot at you tonight..."
Salvatore paused, gasping for breath.
"...they work for my rivals."
"Who?"
"The Moretti family."
My blood ran cold.
"They think the ledger is missing."
"Is it?"
"Your grandfather took it the night he walked away."
Salvatore gripped my wrist with surprising strength.
"You must open it, Nora."
"Or?"
"Or they will kill you to find it."
The monitor beside the bed began to beep faster.
A long, steady tone filled the room.
Salvatore’s hand went limp.
His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
The old man was gone.
The doors burst open.
Dante rushed into the room.
He took one look at the monitor.
Then he looked at me.
In my hand, I was holding the silver key.
Dante’s face hardened into a mask of pure ice.
"What did he tell you?" Dante demanded.
May you like
"He told me everything," I whispered.
And the war officially began.
