Chapter 2 - The Voice on the Dead Man's Phone
The ringing of the cell phone in the locked private dining room cut through the heavy silence like a siren.
Catherine Moretti stared at the illuminated screen resting on the mahogany table. ANTHONY MORETTI. Her husband had been buried twelve years ago in a closed-casket ceremony after his vehicle was pulled from the Hudson River. She had stood in the freezing rain, wearing black silk, holding her son’s hand while they lowered the mahogany box into the earth.
Yet, the call timer on the screen was ticking upward. 0:01. 0:02. 0:03. Someone had answered it.
Adrian’s confident smile faltered. His gun wavered slightly as he looked from the phone back to his mother. “This is a trick,” he spat, though his voice lacked its previous venom. “Raymond, secure the perimeter. Nobody gets in or out of this corridor.”
Before the traitorous head of security could move, a voice echoed from the phone’s speaker. It was deep, raspy, and carried the unmistakable cadence of the old Brooklyn neighborhoods where the Moretti family had first built their empire.
“Put the gun down, Adrian,” the voice crackled through the speaker. “You always were too impatient to check your blind spots.”
Catherine’s breath hitched in her throat. It wasn’t Anthony. It was his older brother, Dominic.
Dominic Moretti had been exiled to Sicily twenty years ago after a brutal dispute with Anthony over the family’s legitimate shipping businesses. Catherine had been told Dominic swore a blood oath never to return to American soil.
“Uncle Dominic?” Adrian sneered, recovering his composure. “You’re calling from a continent away. You have no power here. Father’s empire is mine tonight.”
“Your father’s empire never belonged to you, you arrogant fool,” Dominic’s voice reverberated with cold authority. “And I am not in Sicily.”
Suddenly, the heavy steel security shutters embedded in the ceiling of the restaurant groaned to life. Catherine had installed them ten years ago to protect the establishment from drive-by assaults. Now, they were falling with bone-rattling force, sealing the windows and doors.
A secondary iron grate crashed down right in the middle of the corridor, separating Catherine, Sofia, and the young waiter, Ethan, from Adrian and Raymond.
Adrian lunged forward, cursing violently as the iron bars slammed into the floor, missing his face by inches. He gripped the bars, his knuckles turning white, staring at his mother and sister on the other side.
“You think a metal gate changes anything?” Adrian shouted over the mechanical whirring. “I have fifty men outside! When they breach this building, I’m taking everything!”
Sofia stepped closer to the grate, her blue eyes blazing with a fierce, ancient anger. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a heavy object wrapped in dark velvet.
“You already took everything that mattered,” Sofia said softly, her voice trembling with decades of repressed grief. She opened the velvet pouch and let the object fall into her palm.
It was a heavy, solid gold pocket watch. The face was cracked, and the hands were permanently frozen at 11:42.
Catherine gasped, pressing her hand over her heart. It was Anthony’s watch. The watch he had supposedly been wearing the night his car plunged into the river.
“Where did you get that?” Catherine whispered, her mind spinning as she stared at the tarnished gold.
“Rose gave it to me,” Sofia answered, glancing at Ethan, who was watching with wide, terrified eyes. “She took it from Grandfather’s desk the night she helped me escape. Look at the back, Mother.”
Sofia turned the watch over and pressed it against the iron bars. Engraved into the gold casing was a message Catherine had never seen before: To Sofia. The only true blood of my blood.
“He knew,” Sofia said, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “Grandfather knew that Adrian wasn’t his biological son. He found out about your affair, Mother.”
Catherine felt as though the floor had completely vanished beneath her expensive heels.
Thirty-five years ago, before she had secured her place as the undisputed Queen of the syndicate, Catherine had made a terrible, desperate mistake. She had engaged in a brief, volatile affair with a rival family’s lieutenant. When she discovered she was pregnant with Adrian, she had buried the truth, forging medical records and destroying anyone who questioned the timeline. She had spent three decades believing her husband had died ignorant of her betrayal.
“Anthony knew?” Catherine’s voice broke, the iron facade she had worn for thirty years finally cracking. “He knew Adrian wasn't his?”
“He knew everything,” Dominic’s voice spoke through the phone on the table behind them. “Anthony loved you, Catherine. But he knew you would burn the world down to protect your illegitimate son. He faked Sofia’s death to hide the true heir from Adrian’s greed. He wanted Sofia to inherit the legitimate businesses, clean and free of the syndicate’s blood.”
On the other side of the grate, Adrian laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the dark corridor.
“So I’m a bastard,” Adrian mocked, wiping a speck of dust from his tailored suit jacket. “It doesn’t matter. Blood doesn’t run this city. Fear does. And I have the guns, the men, and the police on my payroll.”
Victoria, who had been standing silently behind her husband, finally stepped forward. Her elegant face was pale, and her hands were shaking as she gripped her designer purse.
“Adrian, stop this,” Victoria pleaded, her voice tight. “You said we were just forcing her into early retirement. You didn’t say anything about killing your mother.”
“Shut up, Victoria,” Adrian snapped without looking at her. He turned back to the iron bars, his eyes locking onto Sofia. “You think you’re the true heir, little sister? You think hiding for twelve years makes you safe?”
He snapped his fingers at Raymond.
The traitorous security chief keyed his radio. “Bring the package up from the kitchen.”
A moment later, heavy footsteps echoed up the back stairwell on Adrian’s side of the gate. Two armed mercenaries appeared, dragging a small figure between them.
Catherine’s heart stopped.
It was a little boy. He couldn't have been older than six. He was wearing a small blue sweater, his dark hair messy, his face streaked with fresh tears. He was clutching a small, stuffed bear tightly to his chest.
Sofia let out a raw, agonizing scream and threw herself against the iron bars.
“Leo!” Sofia shrieked, reaching her hands through the narrow gaps in the metal. “Leo, mommy is right here!”
The little boy sobbed, trying to run toward the bars, but one of the mercenaries yanked him back by his collar.
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Adrian drew his pistol and pressed the barrel directly against the back of the child's head. He looked at his mother and sister, a twisted smile spreading across his face.
“Did you really think I didn’t know you had a son, Sofia?” Adrian whispered.
