Chapter 2 - Venom in the Parlor
The grand lounge of the Moretti estate was built to intimidate. Soaring cathedral ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frozen expanse of Lake Michigan, and a massive stone fireplace that roared with crackling birch wood.
My uncle Frank sat in a high-backed leather armchair near the fire, swirling a glass of thirty-year-old scotch. At sixty-five, he still carried the broad, imposing build of a street enforcer, though his tailored Italian suits and diamond ring were meant to disguise the blood on his hands.
Two armed men stood like statues behind his chair.
As my wheelchair glided across the polished marble floor, Frank didn't bother to stand. He simply raised his glass in a mock toast, a greasy, satisfied smile spreading across his weathered face.
"Adrian," Frank purred, his voice raspy from decades of cigars. "I hear the feds just seized eight million dollars' worth of electronics at the docks. Terrible tragedy. The boys on the street are starting to wonder if you're losing your grip, nephew."
"The boys on the street answer to me, Frank," I replied, stopping my chair ten feet away. Marco stood behind me, his hands folded neatly in front of his waist, his eyes tracking the two bodyguards. "And federal warrants don't materialise out of thin air unless someone feeds the U.S. Attorney an internal routing code."
Frank took a slow sip of his scotch, setting the crystal glass on the side table with a sharp clink.
"Codes change. Times change," Frank said casually, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Twenty-two years ago, this family was run by a man who understood tradition. My brother... your father. He knew when to share the pie. But when he went into that bridge, you turned the Moretti name into a fortress. You shut everyone out. You sit up here in your mountain, playing god from a chair, while the rest of us do the dirty work."
"My father died because he trusted the wrong people, Frank," I said, watching his eyes carefully. "I don't make that mistake."
Frank let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Is that right? Because I hear you've taken a sudden shine to a penniless little cleaning girl with a bastard kid. Word travels fast in this house, Adrian. The staff says she spends more time sitting in your study than wiping down the moldings."
A dark, lethal heat surged through my chest, but I kept my face entirely expressionless.
"If you ever speak about my staff again, Frank, I'll have Marco drop you into the river before the ice thaws," I said softly.
Frank’s smile vanished. He stood up slowly, smoothing the front of his jacket. "You don't threaten me, boy. I helped build this empire while you were still learning how to push yourself around in that chair. The capos are meeting tonight at the Gold Coast club. They want answers about the docks. And if you aren't there to give them... I'll be the one taking the vote."
He turned and walked toward the grand entrance, his two bodyguards falling into step behind him.
I sat in the quiet lounge, listening to the heavy front doors slam shut, before turning my eyes toward Marco.
"Put four extra men on the perimeter of the estate," I ordered. "And I want Frank’s phone tapped by nightfall. If he so much as orders a pizza, I want to know about it."
May you like
"And the Gold Coast meeting tonight, boss?" Marco asked. "It's a trap. If you go down to the city without full security, Frank’s men will have the perimeter locked down."
"I'm going," I said quietly. "Because tonight, Marco... I'm finally going to find out who cut the brakes on my father's car."
