Chapter 4 - The Sit-Down
The private banquet room on the top floor of the Grand Midtown Hotel was steeped in decades of blood-soaked history. For fifty years, the Five Commission—the leaders of the five ruling crime families of New York—had gathered here to carve up territories, settle blood feuds, and decide who lived and who died.
Tonight, the air was suffocatingly thick with tension.
Around the grand mahogany conference table sat the Dons of the Genovese, Lucchese, and Bonanno families. To the left sat Donato Valenti, a heavily built, arrogant man in his late fifties with a cruel smile and diamonds on his fingers.
And sitting at the far end of the table, looking smug and calm, was Julian Moretti. Julian was thirty-five, dark-haired, and possessed the sharp, handsome features of the Moretti line, but his blue eyes were completely devoid of soul—cold, calculating, and sociopathic.
The heavy double doors swung open.
Aleandro Moretti entered the room alone. He wore an all-black suit, his coat unbuttoned, his gait deliberate and powerful. Marco stood outside the doors with ten heavily armed Moretti enforcers, blocking the hallway.
Aleandro walked to the head of the table and took his seat. He didn't offer greetings. He didn't pour a drink. He simply rested his hands on the table and locked his dark eyes onto Donato Valenti.
"Aleandro," Donato began, his voice dripping with fake warmth. "So nice of you to join us. We were beginning to think you were too busy playing babysitter in Brooklyn to attend family business."
A few quiet chuckles echoed from Valenti’s capos standing against the wall.
Aleandro didn't laugh. "Donato. Last night, four armed men attacked a tenement building in my territory. Two of them were identified as your soldiers. A sniper tried to murder a sick elderly woman. Care to explain why you're invading my territory and trying to kill helpless civilians?"
Donato’s smile faltered slightly, but he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't know what you're talking about, Moretti. Maybe someone was conducting private business. But we aren't here to discuss slum housing. We're here to discuss family."
Donato gestured toward Julian.
Julian leaned back in his leather chair, a sickening, smug grin spreading across his face. "Hello, brother. It's been too long."
"You were exiled, Julian," Aleandro said, his voice dropping into a register that made the room grow cold. "You step foot in New York without my permission, and the punishment is death."
"I am here under the protection of the Commission!" Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. "I have a formal grievance against you, Aleandro!"
Don Carmine of the Lucchese family—the oldest boss at the table—cleared his throat. "Speak, Julian. The Commission hears all grievances."
Julian stood up, smoothing his designer jacket. "Three years ago, my former assistant, Elena Bennett, fled New York while carrying my child. She hid her from me. Recently, Elena died, leaving my biological daughter, Annie, in the care of an unstable, dying old woman. Last night, Aleandro abducted my daughter from her home and is keeping her hostage at his estate!"
The table went quiet. The other Dons looked at Aleandro with raised eyebrows. In the code of the Cosa Nostra, blood and lineage were sacred. A father had absolute right over his child.
"I am here to demand my daughter back," Julian declared dramatically, slamming his hand on the table. "Aleandro is using my child as leverage to keep me out of New York and steal my legal share of the Moretti inheritance!"
Donato Valenti grinned. "Sounds to me like Aleandro is overstepping. A boss cannot hold a man's child against his will. It violates the sacred code."
Aleandro sat quietly, listening to their theatrical performance. He didn't move. He didn't interrupt. He simply waited until Julian finished speaking.
Slowly, Aleandro pulled a black leather folder from his jacket and placed it on the center of the table.
"Are you finished, Julian?" Aleandro asked quietly.
Julian sneered. "The Commission will vote, brother. You have to hand her over to me tonight."
"Let's talk about the code, then," Aleandro said calmly, opening the folder. "The code says a father protects his blood. The code says a man who hurts innocent women and children is a coward and a traitor to the family."
Aleandro slid a stack of medical reports across the table toward the senior Don.
"These are the medical records of Elena Bennett from four years ago," Aleandro said, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "They document severe physical abuse inflicted by Julian Moretti when she refused to abort the pregnancy. Julian didn't want a child—he wanted to eliminate evidence of his cruelty."
Julian’s face turned red. "That's a lie! Fabricated documents!"
"And these," Aleandro continued, sliding another document toward the bosses, "are financial wire transfers from Julian’s offshore accounts in Switzerland to a hit squad operating under Donato Valenti’s payroll. Last night's hit on the Brooklyn apartment wasn't a territorial dispute. Julian hired Donato’s men to execute Ruth Bennett—the child's grandmother—so there would be no living witness to his past crimes!"
The senior bosses leaning over the documents gasped. In the mafia world, violence was business, but plotting to murder an old woman and abusing a pregnant woman crossed every line of honor that the old-guard bosses respected.
Donato Valenti’s face turned pale. "Those transfers mean nothing!"
"They mean you conspired with an exiled traitor to commit murder on my territory," Aleandro roared, standing up slowly. His massive presence dominated the room. "Julian didn't come back for his daughter! He came back because he learned that my father’s original will left thirty percent of the Moretti holdings to any legitimate grandchild! He wants the child so he can control her inheritance money!"
Julian panicked. He reached into his coat for a hidden firearm. "You bastard—"
BANG!
Before Julian’s gun could even clear his holster, Aleandro pulled his suppressed SIG Sauer and fired a single shot.
The bullet struck Julian precisely through his hand, shattering his fingers and sending his gun flying across the polished floor. Julian fell to his knees, screaming in agonizing pain, clutching his bleeding hand.
Donato Valenti gasped, pulling his own weapon, but Aleandro was faster. He leaped across the conference table, grabbing Valenti by the throat with his left hand and slamming the heavy boss onto the hardwood table, pressing the hot barrel of his gun directly beneath Valenti’s jaw.
"Move," Aleandro whispered to Valenti’s terrified capos, "and your boss’s brain will decorate this ceiling."
The room was in utter chaos, but the old Don of the Lucchese family raised his hand, signaling his own men to stand down.
"Aleandro," the old Don said gravely. "Julian has broken the code. He tried to murder a family elder and abused a child's trust. His blood is no longer protected by the Commission."
Aleandro looked down at Julian, who was grovelling on the floor, weeping in pain and terror.
"You are not a father, Julian," Aleandro spat, his voice filled with burning disgust. "You are a plague. And you will never see that little girl again."
Aleandro looked down at Valenti, pressing the gun deeper into his skin. "As for you, Donato... you have twenty-four hours to liquidate your assets and leave the country. If I see your face in New York after tomorrow's sunset, I will hunt down every man who wears your name."
Aleandro released Valenti, who slumped onto the table, gasping for air and nodding frantically.
"Marco!" Aleandro called out.
May you like
The heavy double doors flew open. Marco and his squad marched into the room.
"Clean up this mess," Aleandro commanded, walking toward the exit without looking back. "I have a bedtime story to read to my niece."
