Chapter 2 - The Serpent’s Toast
The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate was a cathedral of decadent crime.
Gold leaf detailing stretched across the high cornices, framing massive ceiling frescoes of renaissance battles. Below, men in five-thousand-dollar tuxedos clinked champagne flutes with women adorned in emeralds and mink.
Alessandro walked into the center of the room, his long stride smooth and deliberate. The crowd parted instantly, captains and associates bowing their heads in respect as the Don passed.
Near the central marble bar, Luca Romano was standing beside Salvatore Duca—Vivian’s father and the Don of the northern New Jersey syndicate.
Salvatore was a heavy-set man in his late sixties, with a thick mustache, silver hair, and eyes that held the ruthless cunning of an old wolf. He was laughing loudly at a joke, holding a tumbler of high-end scotch.
When Salvatore saw Alessandro approach alone, his laughter died down slightly. He looked past Alessandro’s shoulder, searching for his daughter.
"Alessandro, my boy!" Salvatore boomed, stepping forward with open arms. "Where is my Vivian? I thought she went out to bring you back to the floor!"
Alessandro smiled—a cold, sharp expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Vivian felt a bit nauseous from the cold air, Salvatore," Alessandro replied smoothly. "She went upstairs to rest in the guest wing."
Luca’s eyes flickered. His hand, resting against the mahogany bar, tightened imperceptibly around his champagne glass.
"Nauseous?" Luca asked, stepping forward, his pale scar flushing red under the chandelier lights. "Is she alright, boss? Should I send the doctor up?"
"She will be fine, Luca," Alessandro said, turning his gaze directly onto his chief adviser. "She just needed a moment. After all, big changes are coming to New York tonight."
Luca forced a smile, though a faint bead of sweat formed at his hairline. "Yes... big changes. The merger between our families will make us untouchable."
"Untouchable," Alessandro repeated softly.
He raised his right hand, snapping his fingers once.
The music instantly cut off. The four violinists lowered their bows. The chatter among the three hundred guests tapered into dead silence, every eye turning toward the head of the Moretti family.
Alessandro stepped up onto the bottom stair of the grand double staircase, looking down at the crowd.
"Friends, family, partners," Alessandro began, his voice echoing through the massive marble hall without the aid of a microphone. "Tonight was meant to celebrate a union. A union of blood, territory, and future."
Salvatore Duca raised his glass, nodding proudly.
"For fifteen years," Alessandro continued, his eyes sweeping across the sea of faces, "I have run this family with one absolute rule: loyalty above money. Honor above ambition. A man who breaks his word to his brother dies in the dark."
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
"Tonight, a gift was given to me," Alessandro said, holding up the crystal glass of Barolo he had brought from the terrace. "A rare vintage. Given to me by my beloved fiancée, prepared by hands I trusted."
Luca’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He took a subtle half-step backward toward the main exit.
Before he could reach the heavy oak doors, two massive Moretti enforcers stepped into the doorway, their hands folded over their waistcoats, blocking the threshold.
Alessandro looked down at the glass.
"Salvatore," Alessandro called out softly.
Salvatore frowned, stepping toward the stairs. "Yes, Alessandro?"
"Your family prides itself on its wine," Alessandro said. "Come. Taste this vintage with me. Let us drink to the health of our enterprise."
Salvatore smiled, stepping up to the first stair, reaching out his hand for the crystal glass. "Ah, the 2012 Barolo! A fine choice for a great night—"
"Wait," Luca’s voice cracked across the silent room.
Salvatore stopped, his hand hovering an inch from the glass. He turned his head, looking at Luca in confusion. "Luca? What's wrong with you?"
Luca’s face was completely ash-gray. Sweat was now pouring down his neck, soaking his crisp white collar. He knew Alessandro’s rituals. He knew that when the Don offered a gift in public, it was either an ultimate honor—or a death sentence.
"Boss..." Luca stammered, his voice shaking. "If... if Vivian is unwell upstairs, perhaps we should wait until she can join us for the toast."
Alessandro stared down at Luca with eyes of burning steel.
"Why wait, Luca?" Alessandro asked softly. "You've always been so eager to share everything I own. My territory. My supply lines. My home."
Alessandro took a step down the stairs, bringing the glass closer to Luca’s face.
"Drink it, Luca," Alessandro commanded softly.
The ballroom fell into a terrifying, suffocate silence. Three hundred mafia executives held their breath. Everyone in the room understood what was happening.
Salvatore Duca took two fast steps back, his hand darting toward his inner coat pocket.
THWACK.
A single silenced shot echoed through the hall.
Salvatore collapsed onto the polished marble floor, clutching his shattered kneecap, screaming in agony as blood pooled onto the white stone. Dante stood near the archway, his suppressed pistol still smoking slightly.
The crowd erupted into panicking gasps, but no one dared to draw a weapon. Twenty Moretti enforcers drew their firearms simultaneously, aiming at the Duca family captains scattered throughout the room.
Luca dropped to his knees on the marble floor, trembling violently, staring up at Alessandro.
"Alessandro... please!" Luca sobbed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "It wasn't my idea! Salvatore made me do it! He promised me the North River docks! He said Vivian would manage the distribution! Please, brother... fifteen years! I bled for you in Queens!"
"You didn't bleed for me, Luca," Alessandro whispered, setting the poisoned glass down on the step beside the kneeling traitor. "You bled for yourself. And you thought a deaf child and her mother were too small to be seen."
Luca blinked through his tears, utterly confused. "What... what are you talking about? What child?"
Alessandro didn't answer.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a heavy chrome-plated .45 caliber pistol, and pointed it directly between Luca Romano’s eyes.
"You took my trust, Luca," Alessandro said quietly. "Now leave my house."
May you like
BANG.
The gunshot echoed like thunder beneath the painted ceilings, shattering the glass chandeliers into a thousand dancing reflections of light.
