Chapter 4 - The Commission Assembly
Friday arrived with a cold, clear winter sky over New York City.
The summit of the Five Families was held in a private, subterranean dining room beneath a five-star hotel in Midtown Manhattan. The room was heavy with the scent of hand-rolled cigars, aged barolo, and absolute power.
Around the grand oak table sat the heads of Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, and New York. At the head of the table sat Don Genovese—an old, white-haired man whose frail appearance disguised a terrifying, ruthless intellect.
Vincent Moretti walked into the room, flanked by Victor and Aldo Rinaldi.
A quiet murmur rippled through the gathered bosses. For seven years, Vincent had sent representatives to these meetings, rarely attending in person. His presence today signaled a seismic shift in the balance of power.
"Vincent," Don Genovese greeted him, his voice gravelly and slow. "It has been many years since you graced us with your presence. We were beginning to think the Moretti family had retired from city business."
Vincent took his seat at the foot of the table, pulling off his black leather gloves with calm, deliberate movements.
"I was busy putting my house in order, Don Genovese," Vincent replied, his voice carrying an icy authority that commanded instant silence.
"Ah, yes," Genovese smiled thinly. "We heard rumors of internal unpleasantness. Your brother, Dante... he seems to have vanished from the city."
Vincent motioned to Victor, who placed a heavy steel briefcase onto the center of the oak table and popped the brass locks open.
Inside were the stolen dock deeds, alongside a series of audio recordings and bank transfers detailing Dante's secret meetings with Genovese's lieutenants.
"Dante is in a safe place," Vincent stated coldly. "Where he will reflect on the consequences of treason. But what concerns this table, Don Genovese, is why your family was accepting stolen Moretti property."
The New York lieutenants behind Genovese shifted uncomfortably, their hands drifting toward their jackets. Victor didn't hesitate—he took a half-step forward, his hand resting conspicuously on his sidearm.
Don Genovese stared at the documents in the briefcase, his ancient face darkening. He knew the rules of the Commission: backing a traitor within another family without Commission approval was punishable by total isolation and economic blockade by the other four families.
"Dante assured us you were incompetent, Vincent," Genovese said flatly, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "He told us you were broken by your daughter's death. He said the Moretti family was collapsing."
Vincent stood up, leaning over the table, his shadow swallowing the old Don.
"My daughter’s memory is sacred," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper that vibrated through the floorboards. "It does not make me weak. It reminds me what I am fighting to protect. If any family at this table ever attempts to breach my borders, my family, or my home again... I will not bring documents to the next meeting. I will bring war."
The room remained dead quiet. Don Genovese looked into Vincent's eyes, saw the resurrected fire of a true king, and slowly bowed his head.
"The Genovese family respects the Moretti borders," Genovese announced formally. "Dante was an unsanctioned actor. He is yours to dispose of."
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"He has already been disposed of," Vincent said, pulling his gloves back on. "He leaves for a monastery in Sicily tonight. He will spend the rest of his life in quiet prayer, far from Chicago and New York."
Vincent turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving the most powerful crime bosses in America in stunned, respectful silence.
