Chapter 4 - The War Council
By 10:00 a.m., the sky above New York was a dull, metallic gray.
In the high-security conference room of the Moretti shipping terminal at the Brooklyn docks, twelve men sat around a massive mahogany table.
These were the captains of the Moretti syndicate—the men who controlled the warehouses, the labor unions, the trucking routes, and the underground casinos across four boroughs.
At the head of the table sat Marco Romano, smoking his signature cigar, pouring himself a cup of espresso.
"Where is Alessandro?" asked Frankie 'The Hammer' Vane, a veteran captain with a scarred face who controlled the Queens docks. "He called an emergency war council for ten sharp. It's not like the boss to be late."
"Alessandro is still mourning," Marco said smoothly, leaning back in his leather chair, a look of faux concern on his face. "The three-year memorial was hard on him yesterday. Honestly, gentlemen, I'm worried about his state of mind. He’s been spending too much time alone in that empty house. He’s losing his grip on the business."
Several captains murmured in agreement.
"If the boss can't handle the Chicago situation," another captain chimed in, "maybe it's time we re-evaluate the family leadership."
Marco smiled behind his cigar smoke. "I agree. If Alessandro steps down for his own well-being, I am prepared to assume the role of acting Don to keep this family strong."
BOOM.
The heavy steel doors of the conference room were kicked open with violent force.
Alessandro Moretti walked into the room.
He didn't wear his usual business suit. He wore a long black leather trench coat over a dark tactical vest, two high-caliber sidearms strapped to his chest. Behind him stood twenty fully armed, loyal soldiers from his elite personal security unit, their automatic rifles pointed directly at the men around the table.
The room went instantly dead silent. The captains froze, their coffee cups hovering halfway to their lips.
"Alessandro!" Marco gasped, standing up so fast his chair flipped backward onto the floor. "What is the meaning of this?! What are these guns for?!"
Alessandro walked slowly down the length of the long table. His eyes were devoid of any human emotion—cold, hollow, and lethal as ice.
He didn't say a word until he reached the head of the table, standing directly opposite Marco.
Alessandro pulled a sleek digital audio player from his coat pocket and placed it in the center of the mahogany table. He pressed PLAY.
Marco’s cold, whispered voice filled the room through the high-powered speaker system:
"The brake lines on the SUV have been cut near the lower manifold... A child is a small price to pay for an empire..."
The recording played for three full minutes.
As the recording echoed through the room, the faces of the twelve captains transformed from confusion to sheer, unadulterated horror.
Frankie 'The Hammer' stood up, his face red with fury, staring at Marco with absolute disgust. "You killed Isabella? You killed little Lily?!"
"No! It's a fake! It's an AI voice generation!" Marco screamed, his face turning ghostly white, sweat breaking out across his forehead as he backed toward the wall. "Alessandro, you have to believe me! Someone fabricated this to turn the family against me!"
"It was recorded three years ago on David Sutton's dictaphone at your dock garage, Marco," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into an icy whisper that cut through Marco's panicked screams. "The original file contains the digital timestamp and your voice encryption key."
Marco looked around the room, realizing in a single terrifying second that every captain at the table was staring at him with pure hatred. In the Italian mafia, killing another boss's wife and child was an unpardonable sin—a death sentence that no amount of money or influence could buy away.
"You're a traitor, Marco," Frankie spat, pulling his own weapon and pointing it at Marco’s head. "You ain't no consigliere. You're a rabid dog."
"Wait! Please!" Marco whimpered, falling to his knees, raising his shaking hands in total surrender. "Alessandro! We were brothers! Fifteen years! I brought you into the family! You owe me your life!"
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Alessandro stepped forward, dragging Marco up by his coat collar and slamming him against the reinforced glass window overlooking the rainy docks.
"You stopped being my brother the second you put my daughter in that car," Alessandro growled softly into his ear.
