Chapter 8 - The Judgment
The atmosphere inside the ballroom was suffocating. Every captain at the table was on their feet, hands hovering over their holstered weapons, unsure of where the blood would flow.
"He's an imposter!" Camila screamed, her voice cracking with hysterical panic. "Santino! Kill him! He's a Calabrese assassin sent to finish the job!"
"Silence!" Lorenzo roared, his voice booming with such absolute command that even the armed guards hesitated.
Lorenzo reached the head of the table. Mateo stepped forward, placing the military laptop onto the center of the mahogany table and connecting it to the ballroom’s high-definition projection system.
With a click of a remote, the massive wall projector flickered to life, displaying the shipping manifests from Pier 42, the Cayman Island bank transfers, and the encrypted chat logs between Santino and Don Valenti in Manhattan.
"Look at your new Don," Lorenzo said, pointing to the wall. "He didn't just plan my murder. He sold Chicago to New York. He agreed to flood your neighborhoods with synthetic narcotics. He agreed to pay Don Valenti forty percent of everything this family earns!"
Gianna leaned forward, her eyes scanning the financial documents. "Mother of God..." she breathed, her face hardening into rage as she turned to look at Santino. "You sold us out to Manhattan?"
"It's fake!" Santino shouted, pulling his firearm. "It's all fabricated!"
Before Santino could raise his weapon, Lorenzo had his Beretta out. A single, deafening gunshot shattered the air.
Santino’s gun flew from his hand as a bullet severed his right trigger finger. He collapsed to his knees, screaming in pain, holding his bleeding hand against his chest.
The four guards who had accompanied Santino immediately dropped their weapons, raising their hands in total surrender. They knew when a war was lost.
Camila backed away toward the edge of the stage, her hands trembling, her eyes wide with terror as Lorenzo turned his dark gaze toward her.
"Lorenzo... please," Camila sobbed, dropping to her knees. "He forced me! Santino threatened to kill me if I didn't go along with it! I am your wife, Lorenzo! I love you!"
Lorenzo stood over her, looking down with cold, clinical detachment.
"You loved my title, Camila," Lorenzo said softly. "You loved my money. But you never understood what it meant to carry the Moretti name."
He looked over at Sophie, who stood quietly near the entrance, her chin held high, her presence calm and dignified amidst the madness.
"That girl," Lorenzo said, pointing back at Sophie, "had nothing to gain and everything to lose. She earned less in a year than you spent on shoes in a afternoon. Yet when blood and death walked into my house, she chose loyalty. You chose betrayal."
Lorenzo looked at Gianna and the captains. "Take them both to the warehouse on 14th Street. Santino will be judged by the Council according to our ancient laws. Camila will be stripped of the Viscardi inheritance and banished from this city forever. If she returns to Chicago, she dies."
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The captains moved in swiftly. Carmine himself—desperate to prove his loyalty to Lorenzo after his brief hesitation—grabbed Santino by the collar, dragging the screaming, bleeding traitor out of the ballroom alongside the weeping Camila.
The room cleared, leaving only Lorenzo, Mateo, and Sophie in the vast, quiet ballroom under the glittering chandeliers.
