Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The visitor was not an associate; it was Dominic Moretti, the younger brother of Don Silvio Moretti. Dominic stepped out of the vehicle surrounded by four heavily armed bodyguards, his coat billowing in the autumn wind.
Vincent met him in the formal foyer. The marble floors reflected the tension in the room, where Marco and six Torino enforcers stood with their coats unbuttoned, fingers hovering inches from concealed steel.
"You skipped the noon sit-down, Vincent," Dominic said, stepping forward with an arrogant smirk. "Silvio doesn't like being kept waiting at the docks."
"Silvio doesn't own my calendar," Vincent answered smoothly, stepping down the wide staircase with deliberate calm. "And your men are tracking mud onto floors that my staff just finished scrubbing."
Dominic laughed, a short, sharp sound. "You're getting sentimental in your old age, Torino. Word on the street is you've turned soft. Hiding behind these stone walls, worrying about household dust while millions of dollars slip through your fingers at the port."
Vincent closed the distance between them until he was standing less than two feet away from Dominic. His voice dropped to a razor-sharp whisper. "You have five minutes to get back into your car and drive out of my sight. Tell Silvio that if another Moretti vehicle enters this valley, you will not leave it on your feet."
Dominic’s smile vanished. He stared into Vincent’s cold, unwavering eyes, sensing the lethal certainty behind the words. He raised his hands in mock surrender, stepped backward toward the heavy oak doors, and spat onto the gravel as he exited.
"Marco," Vincent commanded quietly as the heavy doors slammed shut.
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"Yes, Boss?"
"Double the perimeter guards. Place two men on the carriage house at all times. If anyone approaches Carmen or Isabella, do not ask for identification. Shoot first."
