Page 10 of Ivory Legacy

“Risk comes with the territory,” I interrupted, the words slicing through his well-intentioned warnings. I stood, swaying slightly, a hand pressing against the fresh stitches as if it could hold the pain inside. “I’ve faced worse.”

“Honestly, Mr. Moretti, that’s very sad,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but this is one battle you don’t have to fight alone. Let us help you.”

In my line of work, help usually came with strings attached, favors to be repaid in blood or cash. But I saw the earnestness in his eyes, the genuine concern that I knew wasn’t feigned or bought. It was his job to care, and he did it well.

“Appreciate the sentiment, Doc,” I said, easing my tone to something less confrontational. “But the only way I heal is by getting back to business. By making sure my family’s safe.”

“Mr. Moretti,” he began again, but I cut him off with a raised hand, my decision etched in stone.

“Sign the papers. I’m leaving.”

He was about to say something else when the door swung open abruptly, and in strode Detective Rodriguez—his entrance slicing through the tension like a blade. He was an imposing silhouette against the afternoon light that fought its way through the blinds, his dark hair peppered with authority and experience.

“Doctor,” his voice boomed, leaving no room for negotiation, “I need to speak with Mr. Moretti alone.”

Rodriguez flashed the surgeon his badge briefly, just long enough for the doctor to register what the detective was asking him to do.

The surgeon hesitated, casting me a look that married concern with apology before nodding curtly and exiting the room. I watched him go, the fabric of his coat whispering farewell. Alone now with the detective, I felt the tightness in my chest ease into something resembling amusement.

“Rodriguez,” I greeted him, ignoring the dull throb at my side as I shifted in the bed to face him fully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Think about your next words very carefully, Moretti,” he said. “Because you’re in a hospital bed and I’m not.”

He was right. And just like that, the room fell silent.

The silence thickened as Rodriguez pulled out a notepad, his movements meticulous and practiced. I watched him with a mixof annoyance and curiosity, my mind racing to anticipate his next move.

Rodriguez didn’t miss a beat, his expression unreadable as he met my gaze. “I’m here to ask you about the shooting, Dante. Who was it this time? Another family dispute or something more personal?”

“I’m not speaking to you without my attorney present.”

“The choice is yours, Moretti,” Rodriguez responded with a shrug, nonchalantly flipping through his notepad. “But let me remind you, an innocent man wouldn’t need a lawyer to tell the truth.”

“I know people on the force. I can stop you.”

“Please, try,” Rodriguez retorted, his voice echoing throughout the room with a vehemence that caught me slightly off-guard. “You’re a mob boss in New York City. I know some of my coworkers can be corrupt, but we’re all itching to take you down.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the underlying truth stark and binding. I was no innocent man. My hands had been stained long before I found myself at the wrong end of a gun barrel.

“And you’re a dog chasing its tail,” I shot back, my voice low and controlled. “How long has the NYPD been trying to pin something on my family, Detective? Years?”

“That’s right,” Rodriguez replied quickly, his eyes flashing with uncharacteristic fervor. “And I won’t stop until your empire is dismantled.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Every bullet fired in this city has consequences. And sooner or later, they’ll lead back to your doorstep.”

“Is that a threat, Detective?” I challenged, but Rodriguez just shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could have been a smirk or a sneer—I couldn’t tell which.

“No threats, just facts. You know how the game is played, Dante. And this time, you’re going to tell me who’s dealing the cards.”

I pushed the wad of hospital sheets off my legs with an irritated grunt, the starchy fabric grating against my skin. The room was too bright, the hum of machines too loud, and Detective Rodriguez stood there like a damn statue, his cool demeanor only fueling the fire in my chest.

“Listen, you’ve got your badge and your gun, so why don’t you just cuff me and get it over with?” I barked, the sharp pain in my side punctuating each word.

Rodriguez’s lips barely twitched, but his eyes, those damn piercing orbs, drilled into mine. “Arresting you now would be too easy,” he said, voice steady as if we were discussing the weather instead of my freedom.

“Too easy?” I scoffed, shifting to sit up, ignoring the sear of protest from my wound. “Since when do cops care about taking the hard road?”

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