Chapter 8 - The Cleansing of the Bloodline
The storm over the Lake Michigan cliffs raged with biblical fury.
Inside the Moretti mansion, Luciana sat in the grand parlor, sipping red wine, while Marco paced back and forth, a bandage wrapped around his bloody, shattered nose.
"They couldn't have survived that drop!" Marco yelled, clutching a glass of whiskey. "The laundry chute drops three stories onto hard concrete!"
"Quiet yourself, Marco!" Luciana barked. "Even if the girl survived, she has no money, no connections, and no way to reach Dante. In two hours, we will announce that the Camorra attacked the house and kidnapped the child. Dante will be destroyed by grief. He will hand the Syndicate over to you within a month."
BOOM!
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion were blown completely off their hinges by a explosive charge.
Fire and smoke billowed into the grand foyer.
Through the burning doorway walked Dante Moretti, flanked by fifty tactical operatives dressed in black gear, their laser sights sweeping through the grand hallway like red cobwebs.
Luciana dropped her wine glass. It shattered against the marble, red liquid pooling like a dark omen.
Marco panicked, reaching for the pistol at his belt.
BANG!
Before Marco’s hand could even touch his holster, a high-caliber round tore through his right knee. He collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony, clutching his shattered leg.
Dante walked into the parlor. He didn't rush. He walked with the slow, terrifying cadence of an executioner. He kicked Marco’s gun across the floor, then stood over his cousin, looking down at him with utter disgust.
"Dante... please!" Luciana shrieked, throwing herself at her nephew's feet, her arrogant facade completely shattered. "It was Marco! He forced me! He wanted the power! I loved you like a son, Dante!"
Dante didn't even look at her. He gestured to two of his tactical commanders.
"Take them to the docks," Dante commanded, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen. "Put them on a cargo ship bound for the Siberian labor camps. Stripped of their names. Stripped of their money. Let them spend the rest of their miserable lives breaking ice in the dark."
"NO! DANTE, PLEASE! HAVE MERCY!" Luciana screamed as the soldiers dragged her and her weeping, bleeding son out into the raging storm.
Dante stood alone in the quiet parlor. The betrayal that had festered inside his home for years had finally been cut out, leaving the air clean once again.
He walked over to the shattered front doors, looking out into the rain.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.
"Dante?" my voice came through the speaker, soft, warm, and anxious. "Is it over?"
Dante looked at his reflection in the dark window glass. For the first time in eight long, agonizing months, the shadow of death was gone from his eyes.
"It's over, Mara," Dante said softly. "The house is clean."
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"Is it safe for Leo to come home?" I asked.
Dante took a deep, clear breath. "Yes. Bring my family home."
