Chapter 9 - The Spider’s Web
Julian Moretti's face drained of color until he was the shade of skim milk. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying frantically to reassemble his fractured mask of charm.
"Godmother..." Julian stammered, stepping forward, his hands trembling slightly before he forced them behind his back. "We... we were told your motorcade suffered a fatal accident on the Dan Ryan Expressway. The police reports—"
"The police reports were written by men on Marcus Vane’s payroll," Carmela interrupted, stopping five feet from him. The entire ballroom stood frozen; billionaires and mafia captains alike held their breath, instinctively backing away to give the Madam a wide berth. "And Marcus Vane is currently having his assets seized by the federal authorities, thanks to an anonymous dossier delivered to the Justice Department an hour ago."
Julian's eyes darted frantically across the room.
I followed his gaze. Just as Carmela had predicted, panic made him predictable. His eyes didn't sweep the room at random. They snapped directly to a corner alcove where two older men in charcoal tuxedos stood near an emergency exit.
One of them was tapping his watch. The other was slipping a hand beneath his jacket.
"Carmela," I whispered sharply, leaning slightly toward her ear. "The alcove by the east terrace. The man with the silver signet ring. He’s reaching."
"Victor Falcone," Carmela murmured back, not breaking eye contact with Julian. "My chief financial officer. How disappointing."
Matteo didn't need an order. With a subtle flick of his fingers, four plainclothes Romano operatives who had blended into the catering staff moved like striking vipers.
Before the man named Falcone could draw his weapon, two waiters tackled him into a dessert cart, sending silver platters, chocolate mousse, and a suppressed Glock crashing to the floor. The second man was pinned against the wall with a forearm crushing his windpipe.
Screams erupted from the high-society guests. The illusion of civilized luxury shattered instantly. Women in ballgowns scrambled for the exits, and men in tuxedos shoved each other out of the way as the Romano enforcers sealed every door in the Grand Ballroom.
Julian backed away, his hand flying to the inside pocket of his tuxedo. "Carmela, listen to me! It was Marcus! He forced my hand! He said the council would purge the Moretti family if I didn't cooperate—"
"You sold my blood for a throne you didn't earn," Carmela said, her voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm that froze Julian in his tracks.
Matteo stepped forward, his pistol pressed firmly against the back of Julian's neck before the young man could pull his weapon. With a swift, practiced twist, Matteo disarmed him, kicking a pearl-handled Beretta across the floor.
Julian collapsed to his knees, sobbing. "Please. Godmother. You raised me. My father died for you!"
"Your father was a man of honor," Carmela said, looking down at him with cold disgust. "You are merely a coward who mistook my patience for weakness."
She glanced at Matteo. "Remove him. The basement of the docks. Let the council decide his fate by dawn."
"Yes, Madam."
As Julian was dragged away, kicking and screaming into the service corridors, Carmela turned her attention back to me. The ballroom was empty now, save for her loyal guards and the shattered glass on the floor.
"You have sharp eyes, Riley," Carmela said, a genuine warmth returning to her eyes. "You saved my life twice in twenty-four hours. First with a pot of coffee, and second with a whisper."
"I did what anyone would do to protect their family," I said quietly, feeling the adrenaline finally begin to recede, leaving me exhausted.
"No," Carmela countered softly. "Most people run. Most people look away. You run toward the fire to save those you love."
May you like
She reached out and took my hand. "Come. Let us return home. Toby is waiting."
***
