Chapter 8 - The Syndicate's Judgement
Two days later.
The grand hall of the Moretti estate was filled with dozens of men in dark suits. The High Council of the Syndicate—five old men who ruled the underground world from the shadows—sat at a long mahogany table in front of the fireplace.
Dominic stood at the center of the room, wearing a tailored black suit, his hands folded calmly in front of him. Beside him stood Clara, wearing an elegant emerald dress, and between them sat me, holding Dominic’s pinky finger with my small hand.
The eldest Council member, Don Carmine, leaned forward, his heavy wooden gavel resting on the table.
“Dominic Moretti,” Carmine’s gravelly voice echoed. “You executed your own brother. You broke the blood oath. And you have brought an outsider’s bloodline into the core of this family without our consent.”
The room was tense enough to cut with a blade. Armed guards lined the walls, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
Dominic didn't flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and tossed a thick leather folder onto the table. It slid across the wood and stopped in front of Carmine.
“Read it,” Dominic commanded calmly.
Carmine opened the folder. Inside were bank records, encrypted communication transcripts, and wiretaps detailing Vincenzo’s secret alliance with rival syndicates—proving that Vincenzo had been selling out the Moretti family’s trade routes for four years.
“Vincenzo was a traitor to this Council,” Dominic stated, his voice ringing with absolute authority. “He framed my wife, poisoned her to hide his tracks, and attempted to assassinate my heir.”
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Carmine looked up, his sharp eyes moving from the papers to me. “An heir? A three-year-old girl?”
“She saved her mother’s life,” Dominic replied, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “She walked through enemy territory in the dark to find me. She has more Moretti courage in her little finger than Vincenzo had in his entire body.”
