Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Siege
By 2:30 PM, the rain had cleared, leaving the glass skyscrapers of Manhattan gleaming under a cold, brilliant sky.
On the fortieth floor of the East River Financial Tower, the executive board of Moretti Enterprises had gathered for an unscheduled session. Twenty high-ranking mob lieutenants, union bosses, and corporate directors sat around a sixty-foot glass table, talking in hushed, nervous tones.
At the head of the table sat Vittorio Moretti—a frail-looking seventy-year-old man with thin silver hair, cold gray eyes, and a golden walking cane resting against his chair.
Vittorio was smiling inwardly. Even though Lorenzo’s team had failed at the mansion, Vittorio believed he still held the upper hand. He had spent three months bribing twelve of the twenty board members, assembling enough votes to strip Alessandro of his executive authority under the pretext of "unstable management."
The heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open.
Alessandro walked in.
He was flanked by Marcus on his left, but to everyone’s absolute shock, he wasn't carrying weapons or legal documents.
In his right arm, held securely against his chest, was my three-year-old daughter, Emma.
She wore a cute yellow dress with white socks, her dark curls bouncing as she looked around the massive, marble-lined room with wide, curious eyes.
A collective gasp swept through the room.
Vittorio’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the child in his nephew’s arms. "Alessandro... what is the meaning of this theater? You bring a servant’s child to a high-level board meeting?"
Alessandro walked calmly to the foot of the long glass table, setting Emma gently down on top of a plush leather chair. He placed a glass of apple juice in front of her before turning his full attention toward his uncle.
"I brought her," Alessandro said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent room, "because she is the reason six of your hitmen are currently in federal custody, Vittorio."
The board members shifted uncomfortably, murmuring among themselves.
Vittorio scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. The boy has lost his mind! Members of the board, as you can see, Alessandro’s recent emotional instability renders him unfit to manage the harbor routes—"
"Marcus," Alessandro interrupted smoothly. "Show them the laundry slip."
Marcus stepped forward, placing a high-definition document scanner onto the center of the table. A second later, a giant projection appeared on the wall behind Vittorio.
It displayed the original laundry receipt, complete with Vittorio’s handwriting, the chemical inventory receipts for the toxins used in my cottage water supply, and bank transfer records linking Vittorio’s private Panama accounts to Mrs. Gable.
The room exploded into furious shouting.
Union leaders stood up, pointing fingers at Vittorio; corporate lawyers looked down at their papers in utter horror.
"You poisoned a domestic worker and targeted a three-year-old child to stage a hostile takeover?" Victoria Sterling, a senior board member, spat, looking at Vittorio with pure disgust. "You broke the first rule of the syndicate charter!"
Vittorio stood up, his face red with rage, slamming his golden cane onto the floor. "This is a setup! The girl is nothing! The mother is a nobody! I built this family!"
Alessandro took three slow steps forward, leaning over the glass table until he was inches from Vittorio’s face.
"That 'nobody'," Alessandro whispered softly, "is the woman I am taking as my wife."
Vittorio froze. The board went dead silent.
"And that child," Alessandro added, turning his head to smile warmly at Emma, who was happily drinking her juice, "is now under the absolute protection of the Moretti name. Any man who looks at them with bad intent answer directly to me."
Two federal marshals stepped through the rear doors of the boardroom, holding an arrest warrant for corporate conspiracy and attempted murder.
Vittorio looked around the table, searching for support among the twelve board members he had bribed. Every single one of them looked away, refusing to catch his eye.
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As the marshals cuffed Vittorio and led him out of the room, Alessandro walked over to Emma, lifting her back into his arms.
"Come on, little angel," Alessandro murmured, kissing her cheek softly. "Let's go home to your mother."
