Chapter 10 - The Conclave of Wolves
The basement of the Bella Vista Social Club in the North End was thick with the stench of expensive cigars, espresso, and treason.
Around the long mahogany table sat twenty men. The elders of the New England underworld, flanked by two capos sent from the five families of New York to oversee the transition of power. At the head of the table sat my uncle Salvatore, dressed in a sharp gray three-piece suit, sipping twenty-year-old scotch with an arrogant grin on his weathered face.
Beside him sat Senator Harrington, looking pristine, furious, and impatient.
"Dominic has broken the sacred trust," Salvatore was saying, his voice booming off the exposed brick walls. "He abandoned the Harrington contract. He disgraced our name. He has no wife, no children, and no future. The Moretti line ends with him unless we transfer the seat tonight."
"And who takes the seat, Salvatore?" one of the New York capos asked, tapping his cigar against an ashtray. "You?"
"By right of blood and seniority," Salvatore smiled. "I will finalize the Harrington merger by dawn."
"The hell you will," a voice rang out.
The heavy oak doors to the basement were kicked open with such force that the iron hinges squeaked in agony.
I walked into the room.
I was not alone. Behind me marched twenty of my personal vanguard, heavily armed with tactical carbines, taking positions along the perimeter of the room. The elders froze, their hands hovering near their jackets, but Marcus stepped forward with a combat shotgun leveled directly at Salvatore’s chest.
"Dominic," Salvatore sneered, though a flicker of panic darted through his eyes. "You dare bring loaded weapons into the conclave? This is consecrated ground!"
"You surrendered your rights when you sent eight hitmen to murder children in Dorchester, Salvatore," I said, walking slowly toward the head of the table.
Senator Harrington stood up, his face red with indignation. "Moretti, you listen to me! You ruined my daughter’s reputation tonight! You threw a fifty-million-dollar alliance into the dirt! You are finished in this town!"
I reached Harrington in two strides. Without breaking my stride, I grabbed him by the throat, lifting the grown politician off his feet, and slammed his head into the mahogany table. Glasses shattered. The Senator choked on blood and broken teeth, whimpering on the floor.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
"Anyone else want to speak on behalf of the Harringtons?" I asked, looking around the room.
The New York capos sat back, raising their hands in neutral surrender. They were businessmen; they knew which way the wind blew.
Salvatore stood his ground, though his hands shook. "Violence doesn't change the law, Dominic! You have no heirs! The commission requires a secure bloodline for a family to hold the port territories! You have nothing!"
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out four glossy photographs, slapping them down in the center of the table right in front of the New York representatives.
The elders leaned forward.
The photographs showed Clara standing on the balcony of my Manchester estate, surrounded by Mateo, Luca, Nico, and Leo. Their faces were clear under the morning sunlight—four identical boys, carrying the unmistakable steel-gray eyes, the Moretti jawline, and the royal blood of our family.
The New York capo stared at the photographs, his jaw slumping open. "Madre de Dios..."
"Four sons," I said, my voice echoing like a death sentence through the cellar. "Four legitimate heirs. All carrying my blood. All carrying my name."
Salvatore’s face turned from gray to an ash-white mask of pure terror. "No... that's impossible. She... you were supposed to—"
"You told my father she was dead to me," I snarled, stepping up to Salvatore until our noses were an inch apart. "You told her I was going to kill her. You tried to wipe out my legacy so you could steal my throne."
"Dominic... nephew... listen to me—"
I drew my Sig Sauer and pressed the cold muzzle against the center of his forehead.
May you like
"The council is adjourned," I announced to the room, never taking my eyes off the traitor. "The Moretti family is under my sole command. And anyone who looks toward Manchester-by-the-Sea will die screaming."
***
