Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Boardroom
Dismantling a criminal empire, however, is far more dangerous than building one.
Within forty-eight hours of Arthur Crane’s arrest, the underworld of New York went into violent convulsions. News that Nico Vitale was systematically liquidating his assets and shutting down his port operations sent shockwaves through the Five Families. To men who lived and died by the sword, an emperor seeking peace did not look noble; he looked weak. He looked like prey.
A special emergency meeting of the Commission was called at an abandoned meatpacking facility in Queens. Nico stood before the mirror in the penthouse master bedroom, fastening the buttons of a crisp white shirt. His face was set in granite, but his eyes carried the quiet resolution of a man walking into a firing squad with his head held high.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. My due date was less than two weeks away now. My stomach was so low and heavy that every movement required immense effort.
""Don't go,"" I whispered, clutching the silk bedsheet. ""Send a representative. Let Leo handle the transfer of power.""
Nico walked over, sinking to one knee before me. He took my swollen hands into his, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. ""If I send a proxy, they will see it as an insult, Elena. They will strike at the penthouse before nightfall. The only way to guarantee your safety—and our daughter’s freedom—is for me to look every Don in the eye, hand them the distribution keys, and make them swear on the cross that the Vitale bloodline is officially retired.""
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against my protruding belly. ""Hear that, little bird?"" he whispered softly to our unborn child. ""Your papa is going to clean the slate today. When you open your eyes, the world will be quiet.""
The baby gave a vigorous push, as if acknowledging his promise. A faint, genuine smile touched Nico’s lips—the rare, beautiful smile that had made me fall in love with him four years ago in a Florence art gallery, before I ever knew what his family name truly meant.
""Come back to me,"" I commanded, cupping his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against my palms. ""Do you hear me, Nico Vitale? You do not get to leave me alone with your daughter. You come back through that door in one piece.""
""On my life,"" he swore, kissing my lips with a fierce, lingering hunger that tasted of promises and rain.
Two hours later, Nico stood inside the cavernous, refrigerated depths of the Queens facility. Around a massive steel conference table sat four men whose names were whispered in terror from Brooklyn to Staten Island.
Don Sal Moretti, an ancient beast with scarred cheeks and yellowed eyes, tapped a heavy gold ring against the metal surface. ""So, the golden boy wants to retire. He wants to play house with his runaway bride and a bastard child.""
The room went dead silent. Nico’s hand remained flat on the table, though the muscles along his jaw leaped violently.
""Watch your mouth, Sal,"" Nico said, his voice dropping an octave into pure, lethal venom. ""My daughter carries my blood, and my wife carries my soul. The only reason your breathing hasn't been permanently interrupted is because I am offering you a gift.""
Nico tossed a black leather binder onto the center of the table. It slid across the steel, stopping inches from Moretti’s hands.
""Those are the exclusive logistics contracts for the Newark shipping terminals,"" Nico stated calmly. ""Worth eighty million annually in clean revenue, and three times that in unregistered freight. I am signing over the leases, the warehouse deeds, and the security access codes to the Commission. In exchange, the Vitale family name is scrubbed from the books. We walk away. No tributes, no calls to war, no retaliation.""
The other Dons leaned forward, their greedy eyes scanning the thick legal documents. The Newark terminals had been the crown jewel of the Vitale empire for three generations. Giving them up was the equivalent of an emperor surrendering his crown.
Moretti flipped through the pages, his thin lips curling into a predatory sneer. ""It’s a generous package, Nico. Very generous. But you left out one minor detail.""
Moretti reached into his breast pocket and tossed a photograph onto the binder.
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Nico looked down. It was a surveillance picture taken less than an hour ago. It showed the exterior of the Park Avenue penthouse building, with four black vans parked along the perimeter.
""The Crane family had more friends than you realized, boy,"" Moretti rasped, a cruel chuckle rattling in his throat. ""Arthur Crane’s brother controls the Russian docks in Brighton Beach. While you were driving out here to play diplomat, thirty armed men breached your underground garage. By now, your little wife is probably already in a crate headed for an unmarked grave in the Jersey Pine Barrens.""
