Chapter 6 - The Manhattan Summit
The penthouse boardroom of Moretti Tower in Midtown Manhattan commanded a breathtaking view of the New York skyline.
Sitting around the massive mahogany conference table were twelve senior mob bosses and syndicate lieutenants who controlled the docks, real estate, and financial networks of the tri-state area.
At the head of the table sat Silvio Moretti.
Silvio was sixty-two, impeccably dressed in a double-breasted navy suit, wearing a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand. He was pouring himself a glass of expensive scotch, a victorious smirk playing across his lips.
"Gentlemen," Silvio announced, raising his glass to the silent room. "As you know, tragic news arrived from Westchester early this morning. A sudden, disastrous gas explosion at the estate took the life of my nephew, Aleandro."
A quiet murmur ran through the older lieutenants. Some looked genuinely saddened; others looked cautious.
"With Aleandro gone," Silvio continued smoothly, "and with no direct heir to the Moretti bloodline, leadership of the family naturally falls to me. I have already drafted the restructuring documents for our shipping ports—"
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
The sharp sound of crisp leather shoes echoing down the marble hallway outside cut Silvio off mid-sentence.
The heavy double mahogany doors of the boardroom were thrown open.
Silvio froze, his glass stopping halfway to his mouth.
Aleandro Moretti walked into the boardroom.
He looked untouchable. He wore a tailored charcoal three-piece suit, his hair swept back, his posture radiating lethal dominance. Beside him walked Marco and four heavy-set guards with their hands tucked inside their jackets.
The entire boardroom stood up in shock.
"A gas explosion, Uncle?" Aleandro’s smooth, icy voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "You must have bad informants. My estate is perfectly intact."
Silvio’s face turned an ashen gray. "Aleandro! You... you're alive! The radio report said—"
"The radio report lied," Aleandro interrupted coldly, taking his place at the opposite end of the long table.
Then, he turned toward the door. "Bring her in."
The lieutenants watched in complete bewilderment as Elena Rossi stepped into the boardroom. She was no longer wearing a housekeeper’s apron. She wore a stunning, sophisticated dark blue sheath dress, her dark hair elegant and polished, looking every bit like a royal presence.
And held securely in her arms was tiny Mia, wearing her red shoes and clutching her stuffed rabbit.
"Who is this woman, Aleandro?" one of the senior bosses, Don Carmine, asked in confusion. "Why are you bringing a child to a syndicate council?"
Aleandro looked around the room, his eyes burning with absolute authority.
"This woman is Elena Rossi," Aleandro announced, his voice booming across the silence. "Daughter of Julian Rossi—the man who served my father with absolute loyalty until his last breath."
Silvio gripped the edge of the table, cold sweat pouring down his neck. "Julian Rossi was a traitor! He stole twenty million dollars from the family bank twenty years ago!"
"No, Silvio," Elena’s voice rang out, strong, clear, and fearless. She stepped forward, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, yellowed journal with leather binding—a document discovered inside the estate's wall safe hours earlier. "My father didn't steal anything. This is his official ledger, signed by the Swiss central bank."
She set the book down on the center of the mahogany table.
"My father kept a duplicate record of every transaction," Elena declared, looking directly into Silvio’s panicked eyes. "Including the thirty million dollars Silvio Moretti funneled into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands to fund the Donati family’s war against the Morettis."
The boardroom erupted into chaos. Lieutenants shouted in anger, pointing fingers at Silvio, while Don Carmine glared at the old man with pure disgust.
"Silvio," Don Carmine spat. "Is this true?"
Silvio reached frantically into his coat for a weapon, but before his fingers could touch his holster, Marco stepped behind him, pressing the cold steel barrel of a suppressed pistol against the back of Silvio’s neck.
"Don't move," Marco growled.
Aleandro walked slowly down the length of the table until he was standing inches from his uncle. He didn't raise his voice. He simply leaned down, looking his traitorous relative dead in the eye.
"Twenty years ago, you killed Julian Rossi and tried to destroy his family," Aleandro whispered softly. "Today, his daughter just signed your execution order."
Aleandro signaled to his guards. "Take him to the basement. The Commission will handle his trial tonight."
As Silvio was dragged out of the room, crying and begging for mercy, the remaining eleven bosses slowly turned toward Aleandro and Elena.
Don Carmine stepped forward, raising his glass high. "To Aleandro Moretti! And to the honor of the Rossi family restored!"
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"To Moretti!" the bosses shouted in unison, raising their glasses in absolute allegiance.
Standing in the center of the world's most dangerous room, Elena looked at Aleandro. He turned to her, reaching out his hand, his eyes filled with a tender warmth that no one else in that room would ever be privileged to see.
