Chapter 6 - The Dinner in Little Italy
While Sophie was busy sketching the bay with her new sapphire-tipped blue crayon, Dominic Romano's private convoy rolled through the bustling streets of Boston's North End.
Four black Cadillac Escalades pulled up in front of Trattoria Bellini, a famed upscale Italian restaurant owned by the Moretti family. It was closed to the public for the afternoon, but inside, Frankie Moretti—a heavyset man in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair and rings on every finger—sat at his favorite corner table, slicing into a plate of veal piccata.
The front glass doors swung open. Gavin Cross walked in first, his posture straight, scanning every corner of the dining room. Four of Moretti’s armed bodyguards reached beneath their sport coats, but Frankie raised a greasy hand, gesturing for them to stand down.
Dominic strolled in, looking completely unbothered, and took a seat opposite Frankie without an invitation.
""Dominic,"" Frankie said with a greasy grin, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. ""To what do I owe the honor? I heard rumors you were throwing a lavish gala on your yacht last night. Did you run out of champagne?""
Dominic leaned back, folding his hands over his knee. ""The yacht had an unexpected mechanical issue, Frankie. It seems a foreign object was attached to the hull. A piece of military surplus purchased through a dummy corporation in Panama.""
Frankie's smile tightened by a fraction of a millimeter. He took a sip of his Chianti. ""Is that so? Terrible thing, modern marine equipment. You can never trust those foreign suppliers.""
""Indeed,"" Dominic agreed. ""Especially when the supplier answers to your younger brother, Vincent.""
The restaurant went dead silent. The bodyguards along the wall shifted nervously, their eyes darting toward the street where another two Romano vehicles had just blocked off the entire intersection.
""Dominic, let's not make accusations we can't walk back,"" Frankie said, his voice dropping into a low, threatening rumble. ""We have a treaty in this city. Fifty-fifty on the harbor docks. You stick to international freight, I take local distribution.""
""The treaty ended twenty minutes ago,"" Dominic said calmly. He pulled a manila folder from inside his coat and tossed it onto the table, right next to Frankie's plate of veal.
Frankie frowned, opening the folder. As he flipped through the pages, the color steadily drained from his weathered face. There were high-resolution photographs of his brother Vincent handing cash to the Romanian technician at a diner in Quincy. There were bank routing slips showing the transfer of funds from Elliot Romano's Cayman account. And at the back was a signed, sworn statement from Elliot himself, detailing every phone call, meeting, and promise made between the two syndicates.
""Your nephew is a rat,"" Frankie spat, slamming the folder down.
""My nephew is currently in federal custody in Boston,"" Dominic replied evenly. ""And within the hour, FBI tactical units will be executing search warrants on your warehouses in Chelsea, your shipping docks in East Boston, and your private residence in Brookline.""
Frankie stood up so fast his heavy wooden chair scraped violently against the terracotta floor. ""You went to the feds?! A Romano went to the government?! That violates every law our grandfathers built!""
""My grandfathers didn't strap bombs under boats carrying women and children, Frankie,"" Dominic said, his eyes blazing with an icy fury that made the older gangster instinctively step back. ""You crossed the line of business and stepped into butchery. When you try to blow up my sister and my family, all rules of honor are incinerated. You have two hours to pack a single suitcase and board a private flight to Sicily. If you or your brother are still on American soil when the sun goes down, neither the FBI nor your bodyguards will be able to save you.""
May you like
Dominic stood up, buttoning his jacket. ""The North End ports belong to the Romano Foundation now. Clean up your plate, Frankie. It's the last meal you'll have in this country.""
Without waiting for an answer, Dominic turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Frankie Moretti standing alone among the ruins of his empire.
