Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Takeover
By morning, news of the Moretti heirs had leaked through the grapevine of Chicago's elite. Vincent refused to let the children out of his sight, which meant that at 9:00 AM sharp, the executive boardroom of Moretti Enterprises was turned into a makeshift kindergarten.
Vincent sat at the head of the conference table, reviewing acquisition documents for a major port terminal. On his right, Ethan was sitting on a booster seat, carefully coloring inside the lines of an anatomy book. On his left, Lily was using Vincent’s custom Montblanc fountain pen to draw smiling faces on a sixty-page non-disclosure agreement.
Marco entered, looking exhausted. ""Boss, Lorenzo DeLuca is here. He’s demanding to renegotiate the territory splits on the South Side docks.""
Vincent’s expression turned to stone. Lorenzo DeLuca was an old-school rival—vicious, unpredictable, and ruthless. ""Send him in.""
DeLuca strutted into the room flanked by two heavies, a cruel sneer on his weathered face. ""Moretti, I heard rumors you'd gone soft, but I didn't think you’d opened a daycare.""
Lily immediately looked up from her scribbling, her big brown eyes widening. ""Daddy, who is that ugly man?""
A collective intake of breath sucked the oxygen out of the room. Marco turned pale.
DeLuca’s sneer vanished, replaced by an ugly scowl. ""Watch your mouth, little girl, before someone teaches you manners.""
In less than half a second, the sound of a gun racking echoed sharply through the room. Vincent was on his feet, his Beretta pointed with lethal precision straight between DeLuca’s eyes. The air dropped below freezing.
""Say another word to my daughter,"" Vincent whispered, every syllable coated in venom, ""and you won't walk out of this tower alive. Marco, disarm his men.""
Before DeLuca could react, Marco and three guards had weapons pressed against the necks of DeLuca’s bodyguards.
""Now,"" Vincent continued, lowering his gun slightly but keeping his finger on the trigger. ""The terms for the South Side docks just changed. You take fifteen percent. I take eighty-five. If you don't like it, I will wipe your family off the Chicago registry by midnight.""
DeLuca swallowed hard, his arrogance evaporating into cold sweat. ""Fine. Eighty-five fifteen.""
""Get out.""
As the rival boss practically tripped over himself to leave, Ethan looked up from his coloring book, completely unbothered by the drawn weapon.
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""Good negotiation, Dad,"" Ethan remarked casually. ""Mom usually just takes away my dessert when I'm bad, but the gun works too.""
Vincent stared at his son, slowly putting the weapon back into his holster, an unexpected warmth rising in his chest. For the first time in five years, he didn't just feel like a boss. He felt like a father.
