Page 24 of Hacker Beloved

Kat nodded as she took a deep breath. "From that day forward, Vincenzo or his men would regularly check on me. Vincenzo personally took me to the hospital on the night Antonio Jr. was born. He even brought us back home from the hospital. The Russo family became a part of my life and our son’s, watching over him when I had to work, especially when we were in New York. Vincenzo became Ant’s godfather."

The room fell into an even deeper silence as the weight of Kat's words settled upon them. Antonio hadn't uttered a single word, his gaze fixed on his wife, a whirlwind of emotions swirled across his face. "Our son's godparent is the Don of the most dangerous mafia family in New York?" he finally asked, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and disbelief.

"Technically, I think he's feared all over the world," Asher chimed in.

Antonio's eyes narrowed. "Two months ago, we were in New York. Ant was with us, along with the twins. You took them to an Italian restaurant, but you knew I had a meeting. Did you have dinner with Vincenzo?" he asked, his voice holding a hint of accusation.

Kat pushed back slightly against Antonio's chest, attempting to create some distance, but he didn’t release his grip. "I feel like you've worded that sentence as a trap, Antonio. I also remember inviting you to join us," she replied, her tone a delicate balance between defense and affection.

"No, you asked when my meetings were. Then later came back with a scheduled dinner during the said time."

"Honestly, this works out for us," I chimed in, breaking the tense atmosphere. "I feel better about the meeting now. I'm sure there were a few times we could have used information from the Russo family, but you never offered any contacts."

Kat opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a word, a loud, commanding knock reverberated against the door. Asher, ever alert, rose from his chair and crossed the room to the door. His hand instinctively rested on the grip of his gun as he cautiously opened it. Standing in the doorway was a towering figure, easily six and a half feet tall, with dark brown hair. It was Paolo, a member of the Russo family. He stepped into the luxurious hotel room, his presence demanding attention.

With a few swift strides, Paolo crossed the room and brazenly pulled Kat away from Antonio's lap. The room fell into stunned silence as Antonio immediately reacted, forcefully tugging Kat back toward him. His eyes burned with anger as he confronted Paolo. "Get your hands off my wife," Antonio growled, his possessiveness evident. "And you, Kat, you didn't think to tell me you know this guy?"

Paolo nonchalantly shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his worn leather jacket. Ignoring the tension in the room, he calmly lit a cigarette and took a long, deliberate drag. "I figured you already had the inside scoop," he responded, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Especially considering Vincenzo agreed to this sit-down."

"Does this mean I will finally get the answers I've been searching for about my family?" Zayla asked, her voice tinged with hope.

In his hands, Paolo held a collection of black hoods, a visual representation of the clandestine nature of the upcoming meeting. The unexpected sight elicited a loud outcry from Asher. "Are you fucking serious?" he yelled, his frustration and disbelief echoing through the room.

Paolo simply took another deliberate puff of his cigarette, displaying cool indifference. "No sense of humor," he commented dryly, his tone unyielding.

Zayla, determined and resolute, rose from my lap. Instinctively I stood by her side. Asher positioned himself on her other flank, forming a protective barrier. Together, we followed Paolo, Asher, and Kat as they led the way out of the room and down to the hotel's foyer. Outside, a sleek Rhino GX SUV idled, its imposing presence hinting at the dangerous path ahead. It was a custom vehicle I had only seen a few times on television, the kind that suggested we were about to enter a war zone.

Climbing into the vehicle, we settled into our seats, bracing ourselves for the journey ahead. Paolo handed each of us a hood to put over our heads. Asher grumbled, but grabbed a few and slipped one over Zayla's head and handed one to me. In this moment I remembered a story about how Asher had recounted a time he was blindfolded during a mission. Despite having their heads covered, between Kat, Asher and Antonio, they could. Paolo started the SUV. Zayla held my hand as Paolo maneuvered through the New York traffic.

10

CJ

Tension swirledaround us as the car turned off. A hand grabbed the hood and ripped it from my head. I blinked a couple times and scanned the area. We were in an underground parking garage. Kat and Antonio filled out of the car and we followed Paolo to an elevator. We all barely fit in the small space, but we only went up one floor before the doors slid open to reveal a hall with black and white family portrait. In the photo six men sat around a table, eating family style.

“This way,” Paolo’s voice pulled my attention from the picture and I followed everyone down the narrow walkway. When he reached the end, he opened the door, and ushered us in. He didn't follow; instead, he shut the door of the dimly lit room, and a hushed aura settled over the room. The atmosphere crackled with tension and anticipation, as the scent of freshly cooked pasta wafted through the air. At the center of it all stood Vincenzo Russo, a young and incredibly handsome man, his presence commanding attention.

With a warm smile on his face, Vincenzo attempted to pull Kat into a hug, a gesture of familiarity and fondness. However, Antonio's grip on her hand remained firm, refusing to let go. The subtle power struggle between the two men was evident, their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

"Welcome, my friends," Vincenzo greeted us. "Take your places 'round the table." He gestured toward a large, ornate table where Liu Wei, the leader of the Chinese Syndicate, flanked by his second in command sat, along with Vincenzo's own trusted associates. Three imposing figures stood against the wall, their presence silently reminding us of the potential danger that lurked in the shadows.

Zayla, her voice filled with both hope and trepidation. "Vincenzo, I have questions about my parents," she inquired, her eyes searching his face for any sign of answers.

Vincenzo's expression softened for a moment as he met Zayla's gaze. "Patience, my dear," he responded gently. "All in due time. But for now, let's indulge in this fine spread. Allow us to become better acquainted, my esteemed associates."

As if on cue, a procession of steaming pasta dishes emerged from the kitchen, carried by waiters with practiced precision. The delicious food’s aroma filled the air, tempting my senses. I knew that Zayla and the rest of us wanted answers, but Vincenzo insisted that we partake in the feast before delving into deeper matters.

With a graceful wave of his hand, Vincenzo signaled for everyone to begin, emphasizing the importance of shared moments and camaraderie amidst the dangerous world they inhabited. The pasta dishes were served family-style, encouraging a sense of unity and solidarity among those gathered.

Amidst the clinking of silverware and the murmurs of conversation, Vincenzo turned his attention to Antonio. "Ah, Antonio, it's a pleasure to meet the man who won Kat's heart. Since I've known Kat, she's always spoken highly of you. Let us hope this marks the beginning of a fruitful alliance. It seems fitting that I should spend more time with my godson as well," he said.

“Let’s take it one meeting at a time,” Antonio replied.

As the meal progressed, we savored the flavors of the carefully prepared dishes, each bite a testament to the culinary mastery of the restaurant. Around the table, a delicate dance of conversation unfolded, filled with cautious diplomacy, veiled intentions, and the unspoken knowledge that the secrets held within these walls could shape our destinies.

As the last bites of pasta were savored and the clatter of silverware subsided, Zayla delicately placed her fork down and glanced between Vincenzo and Liu. A mix of determination and vulnerability was evident in her eyes. Clearing her throat, she spoke up, her voice carrying the weight of longing and frustration.

"For twenty-five years, I've tirelessly searched for the truth about my parents' death," Zayla began, her voice tinged with a blend of determination and sorrow. "Everyone kept telling me I was wrong, that my memories were mistaken. But recently, a stranger showed me a picture of my sister's crib. She wasn't killed. I was right all along. But why did everyone insist that I had remembered things incorrectly?"

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