Chapter 10 - The Man at the Head of the Table
By eight-thirty that morning, every Moretti captain in Chicago had been ordered into Lorenzo Moretti’s old conference room.
No excuses.
No representatives.
No weapons beyond the front security checkpoint.
Adrien stood at the head of the long walnut table while fourteen men took their seats.
Some were old enough to remember Lorenzo’s rise.
Others had grown up under Adrien.
Every one of them understood something terrible had happened.
None knew how terrible.
Dante stood near the door.
Lucian sat despite the stitches in his thigh.
Eleanor remained upstairs under medical supervision.
Isabella sat beside Adrien.
That alone drew uneasy looks.
Tradition said wives did not attend operational councils.
Adrien no longer cared about tradition.
“My home was invaded last night,” Adrien began.
Nobody moved.
“Victor Salvatore entered with armed men. Marcus Vale opened the gates.”
Shock traveled around the table.
One captain cursed.
Another crossed himself.
Adrien continued.
“Carlo Donati then attacked one of our convoys.”
Frank DeLuca, an old-school captain who had served Lorenzo for twenty-eight years, slammed his palm against the table.
“Then Donati dies.”
“Sit down, Frank.”
DeLuca sat.
Adrien looked around the room.
“Both attacks were financed by Stefano Bellini.”
Silence.
This time nobody reacted loudly.
That was worse.
Bellini’s name carried a different kind of weight.
Not fear exactly.
History.
Stefano Bellini had spent forty years acting as mediator between Chicago’s surviving families.
He settled disputes.
Approved territorial transfers.
Prevented wars.
He was the man supposedly standing above petty ambition.
Isabella placed photographs on the table.
Wire transfers recovered from Victor’s phone.
Encrypted messages.
Account summaries.
Not enough to prove the entire conspiracy.
Enough to make denial difficult.
Lucian looked sick.
“Why would Bellini move against us?”
Isabella answered.
“Because Lorenzo kept records.”
DeLuca frowned.
“What kind?”
“The kind that could bury half the men who built their careers beside him.”
Several captains shifted.
Adrien noticed.
Isabella continued.
“My father preserved a legal folio showing hidden trusts, offshore transfers, and evidence concerning the Salvatore family. Someone believed there was more.”
“There is more,” Adrien said.
Now every eye turned toward him.
“Last night someone entered my father’s study and removed a key hidden behind his portrait.”
DeLuca looked confused.
“What key?”
“I don’t know.”
A younger captain named Matteo Caruso leaned back.
“So we’re searching for something without knowing what it opens.”
Adrien looked at him.
“Yes.”
Matteo shrugged.
“Could be nothing.”
Isabella watched him carefully.
“Then why steal it?”
Matteo smiled.
“Maybe whoever took it didn’t know either.”
Adrien heard the answer.
Not in the words.
In the confidence.
Everyone else was tense.
Matteo was performing calmness.
Too much of it.
Adrien changed direction.
“Victor claims Bellini knew Isabella possessed the folio before Donati’s ambush.”
More silence.
“That information existed inside my estate for less than four hours.”
Now several men looked at one another.
Adrien let the discomfort build.
“Someone communicated with Bellini.”
DeLuca stood halfway.
“You think one of us betrayed you?”
“I know someone did.”
Matteo scoffed.
“Careful, Adrien. Paranoia destroys families faster than bullets.”
Adrien turned toward him slowly.
“Interesting.”
Matteo’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“I didn’t say the traitor was in this room.”
Nobody breathed.
Matteo realized his mistake.
Too late.
Dante moved first.
Matteo kicked his chair backward and reached toward his ankle.
Lucian tackled him before he could draw the small pistol taped beneath his pant leg.
The table erupted.
Captains jumped aside.
Dante drove Matteo face-first onto the wood.
A phone skidded from his jacket.
Isabella picked it up.
The screen was still unlocked.
A message had been typed but not sent.
They know about Bellini. Send extraction.
Adrien stared at Matteo.
“You entered my father’s study.”
Matteo spat blood.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“What does the key open?”
Matteo laughed.
“You think Lorenzo trusted you?”
Adrien’s jaw tightened.
“He trusted Bellini more.”
Eleanor’s voice came from the doorway.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Adrien’s mother stood with one hand against the frame.
She looked exhausted but steady.
“Lorenzo never trusted Stefano Bellini.”
Matteo’s expression changed.
Eleanor entered slowly.
“He feared him.”
Adrien walked toward her.
“Ma, you should be resting.”
“I’ve rested enough while men decide the future around me.”
She faced the table.
“Twenty years ago, Lorenzo told me if anything ever happened to him unexpectedly, there were three men I should never trust.”
“Who?” Isabella asked.
Eleanor looked at Matteo.
“Dominic Salvatore.”
Then toward Adrien.
“Peter Donati.”
She took another breath.
“And Stefano Bellini.”
The room went dead quiet.
Adrien asked the obvious question.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
“That promise nearly got you killed.”
“I know.”
For the first time, Eleanor looked ashamed.
“He believed keeping you ignorant would keep you outside old wars.”
Adrien gave a bitter laugh.
“Apparently every man in this family thought secrecy was protection.”
Isabella gently touched his hand.
Eleanor continued.
“Lorenzo said Bellini built his power through information. Judges. Union officials. Police commanders. Business owners. He collected weaknesses the way other men collected art.”
Adrien looked at Matteo.
“And the key?”
Matteo smiled through his split lip.
“You’re too late.”
Adrien stepped closer.
“For what?”
“Bellini already knows where it goes.”
May you like
Matteo’s smile widened.
“He’s been waiting twelve years for someone foolish enough to open the door.”
