Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT THE MORETTI EMPIRE TURNED ON ME
By midnight, I had lost an empire.
Not officially.
Officially, nothing in my world existed.
There were no certificates declaring me boss of the Moretti organization. No government registry. No corporate filing that said men across Chicago obeyed me because refusing might shorten their lives.
Power existed because people believed it existed.
That night, half of them stopped believing.
Marco had planned well.
While I searched for Elena and Mia, he released carefully edited recordings suggesting I had hidden millions from senior members.
He told captains that I intended to dismantle profitable territories.
He claimed my poisoning was staged to justify murdering him.
Most importantly, he produced documents proving Mia controlled thirty-one percent of legitimate Moretti Holdings.
Then he told everyone I planned to hand the empire to Elena.
By 1:00 a.m., five captains had defected.
By 2:00, two warehouses refused our orders.
At 2:17, a bank froze an account.
At 2:40, someone shot at one of my lieutenants outside his home.
At 3:05, Marco sent me a message.
Your father built it. You lost it for a maid and a child.
I deleted it.
Across the room, Mia slept curled against Elena on my library sofa.
She still held the stuffed rabbit Marco had ripped apart.
Elena had sewn the seam closed with black thread.
Seeing them there gave me my answer.
Maybe Marco was right about one thing.
I was willing to lose the empire for them.
What he misunderstood was that willingness did not make me weak.
It made me dangerous.
Gabriel entered.
“The council meets at nine.”
“Location?”
“Moretti Social Club.”
“Of course.”
The building had belonged to my grandfather.
My father had been named boss in the upstairs room.
So had I.
Marco wanted theater.
“Who's attending?”
“All twelve surviving captains.”
“How many are ours?”
“Four.”
“Only four?”
“Five won't commit. Three are openly with Marco.”
I poured coffee.
No whiskey.
I doubted I would ever drink whiskey again.
“Elena told me there's another recording.”
Gabriel looked toward her.
“What recording?”
She had awakened.
Elena sat up slowly.
“Tomas met Antonio the night before he died.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“And recorded it?”
She nodded.
“He wanted insurance.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I laughed without humor.
“You keep saying that.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I spent four years trying to keep my daughter alive.”
“I know.”
“No, Luca. You don't.”
She stood carefully so she wouldn't wake Mia.
“After Tomas died, Marco came to my apartment.”
My anger returned instantly.
“What did he do?”
“He didn't threaten me.”
“What?”
“He brought groceries.”
That sounded exactly like Marco.
Elena continued.
“He held newborn Mia while I cried. He paid for Tomas's funeral. He told me the Moretti family would protect us forever.”
Her eyes filled with disgust.
“Then two months later I found one of Tomas's notebooks.”
“What was in it?”
“A license plate.”
“Marco's?”
“No.”
She glanced toward the window.
“Your father's.”
My breath stopped.
“Tomas wrote that Antonio had followed him the night of the crash.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Was Antonio at the scene?”
“I don't know.”
Elena rubbed her arms.
“That's when I realized Marco might not have acted alone.”
“You think my father watched Tomas die?”
“I think Tomas discovered something bad enough that both of them were afraid.”
I sat down.
All my life I had believed Antonio Moretti was ruthless but predictable.
Family first.
Always.
Apparently even that had been a lie.
At nine, I entered the Moretti Social Club alone.
Gabriel hated the plan.
So did Elena.
That was partly why I chose it.
Twelve men sat around the long table upstairs.
Several had known me since childhood.
Salvatore Greco, seventy years old, had taught me to play cards.
Anthony Bellini attended my mother's funeral.
Victor Rinaldi held my father's hand as he died.
Now they watched me enter as though I were already a ghost.
Marco's chair was empty.
Interesting.
Salvatore spoke first.
“Luca.”
“Sal.”
“You shouldn't have come.”
“It's my building.”
“Not anymore.”
I smiled.
“You've been talking to Marco.”
Murmurs.
I took my father's old chair.
Nobody stopped me.
“Let's make this quick.”
Anthony folded his hands.
“The council has concerns.”
“You voted to remove me while a traitor held a three-year-old at gunpoint. I'd call those concerns.”
Victor slammed his palm down.
“You hid an heir!”
“I didn't know she existed.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because unlike Marco, I don't need you to believe lies.”
The door opened.
Marco entered.
Bandaged shoulder.
Tailored gray suit.
Smiling.
Every man stood except me.
That told me everything.
“Brother.”
“Stepbrother.”
His smile tightened.
“Technicalities.”
He sat opposite me.
“You look healthy.”
“You look disappointed.”
“I've had worse mornings.”
“You murdered Tomas Rossi.”
The room changed.
Marco didn't blink.
“According to whom?”
“His widow.”
“Emotional testimony.”
“My father's attorney.”
“Senile.”
“And a recording.”
That hit him.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“There is no recording.”
“Are you sure?”
Silence.
I leaned forward.
“Tomas recorded everything.”
Marco's gaze narrowed.
“You don't have it.”
“No.”
Several men shifted.
Marco relaxed.
“Then this is pointless.”
“Not really.”
I looked around the table.
“Tomas learned Marco had been stealing from all of you.”
Murmurs erupted.
Marco laughed.
“Desperate.”
“Twenty-six million over six years.”
Anthony stopped smiling.
Marco looked at me.
“You're inventing numbers.”
“Am I?”
“Show proof.”
“Gladly.”
Gabriel entered.
Two men moved for their weapons.
He placed twelve folders on the table.
Copies of Tomas's partial accounting records.
Not enough for law enforcement.
More than enough for greedy criminals.
Anthony opened his.
His face darkened.
Salvatore whispered something in Italian.
Victor stared at Marco.
Marco stood.
“Fabricated.”
“Sit down,” Salvatore said.
Marco froze.
It was the first time I saw fear enter his eyes.
Then every light in the building died.
Darkness.
I heard chairs overturn.
Someone shouted.
Gunfire exploded downstairs.
Marco's voice cut through the room.
“You should have stayed at the estate, Luca.”
My blood froze.
The estate.
Elena.
Mia.
I grabbed my phone.
No signal.
Emergency lights flickered red.
Gabriel appeared beside me.
“Attack team.”
“At the estate?”
He checked his radio.
Static.
“Possibly both locations.”
I ran.
Outside, smoke rose in the distance.
Not from the club.
From the direction of my home.
My phone suddenly regained service.
Thirty-two missed alerts.
Then the estate security feed appeared.
Men in black moved through the front hall.
Bodies lay near the stairs.
“Elena.”
I called her.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed.
Incoming video call.
Marco.
But Marco was no longer inside the club.
He had vanished during the blackout.
I answered.
His face filled the screen.
Behind him stood my estate kitchen.
He had reached my house faster than should have been possible.
Unless—
The video was prerecorded.
“No,” Gabriel said.
I understood.
A distraction.
The real attack had started earlier.
Marco smiled at the camera.
Then stepped aside.
Elena appeared.
She was holding Mia.
A gunman stood behind them.
Marco's prerecorded voice spoke.
“You wanted to know where Tomas hid his final recording?”
He looked directly into the camera.
“So did I.”
Mia began crying.
Marco crouched beside her.
“But children remember more than adults think.”
He lifted Mia's stuffed rabbit.
Then he pulled something from inside its newly repaired ear.
Not the flash drive from the warehouse.
A second device.
Elena's face collapsed.
“Oh God.”
Marco held it up.
“Tomas hid two.”
The video ended.
My phone immediately received an address.
May you like
Below it was one sentence.
Come alone before sunrise, or this time the girl watches her mother die.
