Page 108 of Lord of the Dark

"Hear that, Carbone? She still believes in the good in people. What do you think—are we two good men?"

Carbone let out a quiet laugh. "If we count as good, then hell must already be full."

"Probably. So be a good boy and signal your men. Now," Alessandro said, the gun digging harder into his back.

The man hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.

Alessandro pressed the muzzle deeper. "I don’t repeat myself."

Slowly, Carbone raised his right hand.

And then—movement. From the corner of my eye, I saw men who had seemed like ordinary tourists or patrons stand, casually dispersing from nearby cafés, restaurants, alleys. One by one.

My stomach twisted. A sharp wave of nausea hit me.

Alessandro spoke calmly: "Now, both of you stand up. Nice and slow. Fiona, you first. Then our friend here. And we’re all going inside together. No show, Carbone. Or this gets really ugly."

I took a deep breath. And stood. My legs trembled as if all strength had been drained from them. I looked up at Alessandro. His face was frozen—no flicker of emotion, no trace of humanity—as if he’d switched to some other mode entirely.

With a silent tilt of his head, he motioned toward the entrance. "Slow. Unnoticeable."

I gave the barest nod and began to move, each step measured, as if walking on thin ice. Behind me, I heard the stranger—Salvatore Carbone—rise, followed closely by Alessandro.

As I crossed the threshold of the restaurant, his voice came again, quiet but razor-sharp: "Right. Then straight. To the kitchen."

I hesitated. Wanted to turn, to question. But before I could even shift my head, his command cut through—hard, absolute:

"Don’t turn around. Keep walking."

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my balance from tipping as I obeyed. Straight ahead, just as ordered.

The kitchen staff turned when I entered—two men, one woman. Their eyes met mine for just a second. Then they saw Alessandro. And instantly, they looked away, as if they'd seen nothing at all. They kept working, movements stiff, gazes fixed. Pretending we weren't even there.

A shiver ran down my spine. It wasn’t just fear—it was the sudden realization. The man behind me, Alessandro—they weren’t strangers here. Far from it.

"Keep going straight," his voice came again. "Through the back exit."

I stepped outside. The sudden brightness blinded me briefly, and for a moment, everything seemed almost… normal. A few men stood smoking, chatting quietly like employees on an extended cigarette break.

But the illusion lasted less than two seconds.

The moment Carbone and Alessandro stepped out behind me, the atmosphere shifted violently. The men stopped talking. Postures tensed. One of them—broad-shouldered, in a black suit—reached under his jacket and drew a gun. Without hesitation, he leveled it at Carbone.

I gasped—and recognized Giovanni.

He strode toward me, grabbing my arm. "Come on, Fiona."

"What—?" I jerked my arm back. "No. I’m not leaving without Alessandro."

His expression was cold, resolute. "This isn’t a place for you."

"I don’t care." I stood rooted to the spot. "I’m staying."

Behind Giovanni, I saw Alessandro. His gun was now pressed directly to Carbone’s temple. His gaze flicked to me briefly before he called out: "Let her, Giovanni. If she insists on seeing this..."

My heart hammered. I could barely breathe. Every muscle in my body was wound so tight I thought I might snap. Adrenaline burned through my fingertips.

Alessandro leaned in. Whispered something to Carbone—words I couldn’t hear.

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