Chapter 7 - THE CONFRONTATION
Following the funeral, tradition dictated a gathering at the Moretti estate in Long Island. The sprawling mansion was filled with the scent of lilies and espresso. Thunder rumbled over the coastline, threatening a massive storm.
Alessandro invited Don Lucchese, Isabella, and his top lieutenants, including Marco, into his private study for a "security briefing."
The heavy oak doors closed. The click of the lock echoing like a gunshot.
Alessandro poured a scotch, his back to the room. “We have a problem of trust in this city, Don Lucchese.”
The older mafia boss puffed on his cigar. “Tragedies happen, Alessandro. We must stand together against these unseen enemies.”
Alessandro turned. He pressed a button on his desk. The large painting on the wall slid back, revealing a massive flat-screen monitor. It flickered to life, showing the alleyway behind Il Cielo. It showed Isabella slipping. It showed Marco’s arm and the platinum watch.
The silence in the room was absolute, suffocating.
Don Lucchese’s cigar fell from his mouth. Marco reached for his holster, but he was far too slow. Alessandro’s loyal guards, hiding in the adjoining library, stepped out with suppressed weapons leveled at Marco and Lucchese.
“Isabella,” Alessandro said softly. “You always were clumsy in the rain.”
Isabella broke down weeping, falling to her knees. “He forced me! My husband forced me to do it, Alessandro! He said if I didn't drug your cake, he would kill my children!”
Alessandro looked at Marco, the man he had treated as a brother. “And you, Marco? What was your excuse? Greed?”
May you like
Marco spat on the Persian rug. “You went soft, Alessandro. Playing house with that civilian girl. The Luccheses offered me fifty percent of the docks. You offered me scraps.”
“I offered you my trust,” Alessandro said, drawing his own sidearm. “You put my Siena in a hospital bed. You made me swap the plates. You made me poison my own heart.”
