Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Commission
While peace had returned to the Moretti household, the ruthless realities of the criminal underworld were not so easily brushed aside. The total annihilation of the Marcone family had sent seismic shockwaves through the Five Families of New York and the East Coast Commission.
A week later, an imposing black limousine bearing New York plates rolled up the long driveway of the estate.
Don Carmine Falcone, the eldest and most conservative patriarch of the Commission, stepped out, flanked by two towering capos. Carmine had been an old friend of Lorenzo's late father, but he was a traditionalist who valued order and balance above all things. A rogue boss wiping out another family overnight was considered an unforgivable breach of protocol.
Gabriel stood near the entrance of the grand parlor, his hand inches from his weapon. Inside, Lorenzo sat behind his grand desk, perfectly composed, while Carmine took a leather seat across from him.
"You went too far, Lorenzo," Carmine began, his raspy voice laden with grave authority. "Vincent Marcone had friends in New York. You wiped out his entire line without consulting the table. The other bosses are calling for your head. They say you’ve become erratic, unhinged by your sister’s memory."
Lorenzo did not blink. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a thick stack of bank transfers and notarized confessions Gabriel had extracted from Marcone’s men, and slid them across the desk.
"Vincent Marcone ordered the execution of my sister, who was carrying my blood," Lorenzo said, each word dropping like lead. "And three years later, he murdered an innocent civilian to cover up the survival of my niece. He broke the sacred rule: families and children are off-limits."
Carmine frowned, adjusting his reading glasses as he scrutinized the documents. As he read the undeniable evidence of Marcone’s depravity, his weathered face darkened with disgust.
Before Carmine could speak, the parlor door pushed open with a soft squeak.
Lily wandered into the room, holding a half-eaten oatmeal cookie in one hand and a freshly colored drawing of a flying turtle in the other. She stopped, noticing the elderly, white-haired man in the sharp black suit.
"Lily," Lorenzo said softly, his voice instantly shedding its lethal edge. "What did I tell you about the parlor when I have guests?"
Lily looked down at her red sneakers, sheepish. "I'm sorry, Daddy. But Mommy made cookies, and I wanted to give you one."
Carmine Falcone froze. The ancient mafia boss looked at the little girl, then looked at Lorenzo, who had risen from his seat and was now gently crouching beside the child, taking the cookie from her hand with complete adoration.
"Daddy?" Carmine murmured, his sharp eyes taking in the girl's features—the distinct arch of her eyebrows, the hazel eyes that were a carbon copy of Elena Moretti’s.
Lily walked right up to the terrifying New York don, tilted her head, and offered him her drawing. "Here, grandpa. It’s a turtle with wings so he doesn't get stepped on."
Carmine looked down at the childish crayon drawing, and for the first time in twenty years, the stoic Don Falcone smiled a genuine, toothy smile. He took the paper gently between his weathered fingers. "A turtle with wings. That’s very smart, little one."
Carmine looked up at Lorenzo, nodding slowly with deep, unspoken respect. "The bloodline survived. Elena’s daughter."
"Her name is Lily," Lorenzo declared firmly. "She is my daughter now. And I will burn the entire country to the ground before I let harm come to her or her mother."
May you like
Carmine folded the drawing carefully and placed it into the breast pocket of his coat. He stood up, smoothing his lapels. "The Commission will be informed that Vincent Marcone committed treason against the code. His death was justified execution. The Moretti family has my full backing."
Carmine paused at the door, winking at Lily. "Keep drawing, little star. Your father has good taste in art."
