Chapter 8 - BLOOD AND CHAMPAGNE
The Orpheum Theater in Brooklyn had been abandoned for decades, its velvet seats rotting and its grand stage covered in dust. Tonight, it was illuminated by dozens of harsh halogen work lights. The five Dons of the New York Commission sat in a semi-circle of leather chairs placed center stage. Don Alberto sat in the center, looking smug and victorious, with Silvio flanking him like a loyal attack dog.
The heavy wooden doors of the theater groaned open.
Silence fell over the room as Luca Moretti walked down the center aisle. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, a long cashmere overcoat, and an expression of absolute, terrifying calm. Marco walked two steps behind him, carrying a heavy briefcase.
"Luca," Alberto called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "How bold of you to show your face. We were just discussing your... abdication."
Luca stopped at the edge of the stage. He looked at the other Dons—men of power and tradition. "There will be no abdication, Uncle. I am here to report a violation of our most sacred law."
Alberto scoffed. "You are the one who violated our laws! You abandoned an alliance, brought shame to our operations, and nearly got yourself killed acting like a lovestruck teenager."
Luca ignored him. He looked directly at Don Carmine, the oldest and most respected head of the Commission. "Six years ago, a man ordered a hit on a pregnant woman. He threatened to kill an unborn child if the mother did not disappear. That child was my son. A true-blooded Moretti heir."
A murmur rippled through the Dons. To threaten a boss's bloodline was a crime punishable only by death.
Alberto's face flushed. "Lies! The desperate lies of a man trying to hold onto power. You have no proof!"
"Marco," Luca said quietly.
Marco placed the briefcase on the stage, opened it, and pressed play on a digital recorder. The voice of Silvio echoed through the silent theater, drunkenly boasting to Frankie the bookie.
“...yeah, Alberto played him like a fiddle. Told me to corner the broad. I told her the baby wouldn't survive the week if she didn't pack her bags. Luca never knew a thing. He's been building an empire for the Don ever since. A genius move, right?”
The recording clicked off. The silence that followed was deafening.
The blood drained from Alberto's face. Silvio instinctively reached for his weapon, but Marco was faster, drawing his gun and aiming it squarely at Silvio's head. The guards of the other Dons drew their weapons, aiming them at Alberto and Silvio. The verdict in the room was instant and unanimous.
"He threatened my son," Luca said, stepping onto the stage, drawing his own weapon. "He orchestrated my misery for his own gain."
Don Carmine looked at Alberto with absolute disgust. "You have broken the omertà of the blood, Alberto. You have brought a curse upon this table." Carmine nodded at Luca. "The right of vengeance is yours, Don Moretti."
Alberto lunged forward, drawing a hidden derringer from his cane, aiming wildly at Luca.
Gunfire erupted. Silvio fired at Marco, catching him in the shoulder, before Marco put two bullets through Silvio’s chest. Luca sidestepped his uncle's wild shot, raising his Glock. He looked into the eyes of the man who had stolen six years of his life, who had made Elena cry in the dark, who had tried to murder a five-year-old boy.
Luca fired once.
May you like
Alberto collapsed to the dusty stage, a bullet hole perfectly centered in his forehead.
The war was over. The theater smelled of cordite and copper. Luca lowered his weapon, breathing heavily. He looked at the remaining Dons. "The Moretti family remains strong. But from this day forward, anyone who comes near my family will meet the exact same fate."
