Chapter 5 - Locking the Doors
Back inside the grand hall, the atmosphere had shifted from tense anxiety to open paranoia. The twelve mafia capos were standing in a tight circle near the fireplace, arguing in harsh, whispered tones. The sound of sniper fire had shattered whatever illusion of safety Villa Moretti once provided.
"Moretti is losing his grip!" shouted Don Moretti’s old rival, Salvatore Rossi, a silver-haired capo who controlled the southern shipping docks. "An assassin fires into his private study during a council summit, and we are trapped here like sheep in a pen!"
"Watch your tone, Rossi," Marco’s voice echoed sharply as he and four armed guards marched back into the hall, blocking the primary exit doors. "Nobody leaves this room until the perimeter sweep is complete."
"You cannot hold us here!" another capo protested, stepping forward. "We represent sovereign interests across Italy. This is an outrage!"
The heavy oak doors swung open, and Alessandro walked into the hall. His suit jacket was slightly dust-stained, his tie gone, and his hands bore the faint soot marks of someone who had just inspected a sniper’s nest. The sheer menace radiating from his frame silenced the room instantly.
"You will sit down, and you will stay quiet," Alessandro said softly, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a knife.
He walked slowly toward the center of the room, stopping directly in front of Salvatore Rossi.
"An assassin attempted to silence the man who was about to give up the syndicate's internal traitor," Alessandro said, his eyes locked onto Rossi’s face. "And the sniper left a message. He reminded me that the traitor isn't just an accountant working in the shadows. He sits at this council."
Rossi scoffed, crossing his arms. "And you suspect us? You think one of us would invite an assassin into your estate? That is paranoid madness, Moretti."
"Is it?" Alessandro reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the burning digital phone recovered from the gazebo. He tossed it onto the mahogany coffee table in front of Rossi. "This phone received an encrypted ping three minutes before the shot was fired. The signal routing address matches a private satellite relay registered to a shell company in Marseille—the exact same shell company that funded your expansion into the southern ports last month, Rossi."
Rossi’s face tightened, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. "Circumstantial garbage. Anyone can buy a proxy relay."
"Maybe," Alessandro replied, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing Rossi whole. "But let's see what else your proxy relay has been downloading."
Alessandro tapped a command into his wrist-pad. On the massive wall-mounted entertainment screen across the hall, the encrypted server logs decrypted by the subterranean lab suddenly projected in bright, glaring letters for every capo to see: bank transfers, shipping manifests, and a signed contract between Salvatore Rossi and Apex Holdings.
The room erupted into shouting. Capos backed away from Rossi as if he carried a plague.
"You sold us out to the international cartels, Salvatore?" Don Ricci asked, his voice trembling with ancient fury as he pointed his cane at the traitor. "You invited the wolves into our own house?"
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Rossi realized the game was over. His hand flashed toward his shoulder holster with terrifying speed, aiming a hidden snub-nosed revolver straight at Alessandro’s chest.
"If I'm going down, Moretti, you're coming with me!" Rossi screamed.
