Dark Horse (A Mafia Story)

4. The Rivera Residence

All was fair in love and war. And business was war.

Of course, it's entirely fair to make one choose between the father who raised them and the mother who took them in years later, Elena thought bitterly as she stepped on the accelerator and cruised down the highway. With every speed breaker, her car picked up speed, until the breeze outside was reduced to a shrill wind grazing the streamlined Audi A8 exterior.

Elena had assumed that Takumi would call in one last favour before she allowed her to resign, but the accountant had never guessed that the Yakuza Queen's eyes were on her old Spanish clan.

Whether or not she still worked with Los Caballos, Elena Moretti was a mafia woman whose ethics did not permit her to break omertà with any of her employers. And to hand over the Caballos financial data on a platter to the Yakuza CEO would be a serious instance of breaking that code.

Then why do it? Why go halfway through all that trouble?

Her mind had been flooded with doubts, suspicion, and even the faintest hint of guilt after she had entered the situation. But now, cruising down the deserted highway with a clearing mind, she realised that she hadn't betrayed Los Caballos. Nor had she gone entirely against Akira Takumi. At this point, Moretti had made her move to benefit solely herself and draw a temporary safety net around her. Neither the Caballos clan nor Takumi had caught wind of what she had done.

Yet.

When her mind finally veered away from work, Elena realised that she had been driving for almost an hour, and the quiet, lonely expanse of highway had given way to the bustling commuters of the city. Usually, the din of a dozen vehicles on the road would have given her a mild headache, but considering she had urgent business at hand, the chaos outside was treated with a controlled indifference.

An additional ten minutes later, the sleek Audi A8 cruised down a sun-filtered boulevard, halting at its destination.

The long residential street was lined with bicycles and cars – some that had disappeared over the last three years and others that had taken their place. But the one thing that stood unchanged ever since Elena had moved out four years ago was the grey BMW 5 series parked outside the Rivera residence. Despite Hector's law firm's business growing steadily across his career, her husband had sentimentally retained the car for years.

Ex-husband, to be precise.

Turning off the ignition, Elena stepped out of the car and reluctantly climbed the small steps leading up to the heavy oak-panelled front door. It was strange how she felt like a stranger in a house that had remained her home for more than a decade of happy married life. Her new ultra-modern apartment near the city outskirts seemed to stand in stark contrast to the manorial house; another reflection of her change in personality, from a familial to a career woman.

She rang the doorbell after a short pause, before turning her gaze at the residential name board – The Rivera Residence. Moretti no longer identified with the surname.

The door swung open after what seemed like an eternity. The lady was left on the top of the steps gazing at a man with greying hair and an intellect that reflected in his temporarily weary onyx eyes. A weariness brought on after a day of court hearings and defending wealthy clients. Hector didn't seem to have aged a bit despite it all.

"Elena," the man spoke up as his eyes fell on the unexpected visitor. His ex-wife managed a small wave that was accompanied by a casual smile.

"I'm sorry for dropping by so unexpectedly," she began slowly, seeing the slight frown that had creased Hector's forehead. He shook his head, beckoning her to follow him inside.