Chapter 4 - The Dinner of the DoomedBy morning, the news had spread through Milan’s underworld like wildfire. The Moretti boss has detained his fiancée for treason, and a mysterious housekeeper holds the key to the syndicate’s deepest secrets.
Downstairs in the grand dining hall, the twelve mafia families had gathered early. They weren’t eating; they were waiting. The tension was thick enough to start a war. If Vivian was a traitor, it meant the entire security structure of the Moretti empire was compromised, and every single family present was vulnerable.
I walked down the grand staircase holding Emma's hand. Alessandro had insisted we join them for breakfast. He met us at the foot of the stairs, offering his arm to me with old-world courtesy.
“Stay close to me,” he whispered. “Today, we find out who really runs Milan.”
As we entered the dining hall, all conversation ceased. Don Ricci glared at us from the head of the table, his milky eyes filled with undisguised hostility.
“Moretti,” Ricci rasped, leaning heavily on his ivory cane. “You’ve turned your entire estate upside down over a maid and a child’s toy. Are you losing your grip? The syndicate cannot be run on fairy tales.”
Alessandro pulled out a chair for me, seating Emma next to me before taking his own place at the head of the table. He didn’t look angry; he looked dangerously calm.
“Fairy tales, Don Ricci?” Alessandro smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Let’s talk about reality. Three years ago, when the Corvo Syndicate was first formed, you opposed me. You said a unified Milan under my banner was too dangerous. Yet, mysteriously, your territories were never touched by federal raids.”
Ricci’s face hardened. “Are you accusing me?”
“I’m not accusing anyone yet,” Alessandro replied smoothly, snapping his fingers.
Marco stepped into the hall, dragging a battered, weeping figure behind him. It was Vivian. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared across her cheeks, and her hands tied behind her back with industrial zip-ties. She collapsed onto the marble floor right in front of Don Ricci’s chair.
“Uncle!” Vivian sobbed, looking up at the old don with desperate, pleading eyes. “Tell him! Tell him I didn’t do anything!”
The entire hall erupted into chaos. Shouts echoed off the stone walls. Don Ricci slowly rose from his seat, his face turning the color of ash.
May you like
Uncle.
Vivian was Don Ricci’s blood niece. The hidden link between the venerable elder of the mafia and the traitorous Corvo Syndicate was laid bare for all twelve families to see.
