Chapter 4 - The Brooklyn Summit
The Brooklyn Navy Yard was cold, cavernous, and smelled of rust, salt water, and old diesel fuel.
Four dark luxury sedans were parked in a circle inside Building 77. Forty armed men stood in the shadows, their hands resting near hidden holsters under their heavy overcoats.
At the center of the floor stood Salvatore Lucchesi—a fat, gray-haired man with heavy jowls, wearing a fur-collared coat and leaning on an ivory-handled cane. Surrounding him were six of his most senior capos.
The heavy steel doors rolled open with a loud metal screech.
A single black armored Maybach drove slowly into the building, followed by two security SUVs.
Dante Moretti stepped out of the Maybach alone, leaving Vincent and his security team near the vehicles. He wore a flawless navy wool coat, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, walking toward the center of the room with the effortless grace of an emperor entering a minor province.
"Dante," Salvatore barked, his voice raspy from decades of cigars. "You come here alone, acting like you own the five boroughs! You destroyed Tony Russo’s operation, stole his ledgers, and drove him out of town! That was Lucchesi territory!"
Dante stopped ten feet from Salvatore, ignoring the six capos who subtly moved to surround him.
"Tony Russo was a cancer, Salvatore," Dante said smoothly. "He ran illegal extortion rings, abused civilians, and stole from his own workers. He was sloppy, greedy, and stupid."
"He was my earner!" Salvatore roared, slamming his ivory cane against the concrete floor. "You don't get to execute captains without a vote of the Commission! You broke the treaty over a pathetic, low-class girl and her degenerate gambling brother!"
The temperature in the building seemed to drop twenty degrees in an instant.
Dante took his hands out of his pockets.
"Say that again," Dante requested softly.
Salvatore sneered, taking a step forward. "I said you sacrificed thirty million dollars in revenue over a worthless Castellano whore—"
BANG!
Before Salvatore could finish the sentence, Dante drew a sleek, suppressed pistol from his coat with blinding speed and fired a single round directly through Salvatore Lucchesi’s right knee!
Salvatore let out a horrific shriek, dropping his cane and collapsing onto the concrete, clutching his shattered leg as blood gushed through his trousers!
Instantly, the six Lucchesi capos drew their handguns, but before they could raise their barrels, red laser sights appeared on every single one of their foreheads! From the high steel rafters of Building 77, twelve of Dante’s elite snipers, who had been positioned two hours prior to the meeting, held the room in absolute, inescapable death-locks.
"Drop your weapons," Vincent’s deep voice boomed from the security lineup behind Dante.
The capos looked up at the rafters, saw the red dots dancing on their foreheads, and slowly dropped their guns onto the floor.
Dante walked over to where Don Salvatore lay sobbing and writhing in agony. He placed the polished leather toe of his boot onto Salvatore’s chest, leaning down until his dark eyes were inches from the old man’s terrified face.
"Listen to me very carefully, Salvatore," Dante whispered, every word sharp as a razor. "Elena Castellano is my future wife. If you, or any man associated with your family, so much as speaks her name again, I will not shoot your knee. I will erase the Lucchesi family tree from the history of New York City."
Salvatore gasped for breath, his eyes wide with absolute, primal horror. "Wife... she’s your wife...?"
May you like
"She will be," Dante said coldly, stepping back and re-holstering his weapon. "And as of tonight, you are retiring from the Commission. Transfer your harbor contracts to my corporate desk by noon tomorrow, or the snipers won't miss."
Dante turned his back on the bleeding Don and walked back toward his Maybach without looking back once.
