Chapter 4 - A Feast of Wolves
💀 CONFRONTING THE DEMONS: THE DINNER PARTY WHERE EVERY SMILE IS A DEATH SENTENCE! 💀The ballroom of the Moretti Plaza Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, expensive silk, and hypocrisy. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the wealthy elite of Chicago’s underworld.
At the head of the main table sat Marcello Moretti, a silver-haired man in a bespoke tuxedo, raising a glass of champagne to the crowd. He smirked, basking in the congratulations of men who, just yesterday, had sworn fealty to his nephew.
"To the future of the Moretti Syndicate!" Marcello proclaimed. "May we grow stronger, and may we honor the memory of my dear sister-in-life, Isabella, and my tragic nephew, Lorenzo, who was lost to us so suddenly in a tragic fire last night."
The crowd raised their glasses.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open with a resounding bang.
The music stopped. The laughter died.
Walking down the center aisle was Lorenzo Moretti. He was dressed in a flawless, midnight-black tuxedo, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the ruthless monarch he was. But it wasn't just his survival that shocked the room.
On his arm was Elena.
She was breathtaking. Lorenzo had had his personal stylist prepare her. She wore an emerald-green silk gown that clung to her curves, her chestnut hair falling in elegant waves around her shoulders. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat. She walked with her head held high, though her hand gripped Lorenzo’s arm with quiet intensity.
Marcello’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The color drained from his face. "L-Lorenzo...?"
"Uncle Marcello," Lorenzo said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
The guards in the room reached for their jackets, but Lorenzo’s loyalists—men who had infiltrated the security detail under Leo's command—instantly drew their weapons, pointing them at Marcello’s men. The tension in the room was a spark away from an explosion.
"Lorenzo, my boy! This is... a miracle!" Marcello stammered, trying to regain his composure. "We heard your estate was attacked! We thought you were dead!"
"I know you did," Lorenzo said, stopping at the base of the VIP stage. He looked around at the heads of the other crime families. "My uncle is a very generous man. He wanted to throw a celebration. But I think we should talk about the guest of honor."
Lorenzo gently guided Elena to step forward.
"This is Elena Vance," Lorenzo announced. "She is a former nurse at St. Jude's. And she is the woman who watched my uncle’s personal physician inject my mother with potassium chloride."
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"That's a lie!" Marcello roared, slamming his hands on the table. "This girl is a nobody! A street rat! You're bringing a waitress to accuse me of treason?!"
"It's not just her word, Marcello," Lorenzo said coldly. He snapped his fingers.
Leo stepped forward, holding a tablet. He pressed play, and a video began to broadcast on the massive screens around the ballroom. It was a secure recording from St. Jude’s security office—a file Marcello thought he had deleted. It showed Marcello entering Dr. Thorne’s office, handing him a duffel bag of cash, and pointing to Isabella's room on the map.
But that wasn't all.
"And here," Lorenzo continued, pulling a document from his jacket, "is the financial audit of the syndicate's port accounts. Over twenty million dollars funneled directly to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. An account under the name of Marcello Moretti. My mother discovered this. She was going to hand it to me the day she was discharged."
The heads of the other families looked at Marcello with disgust. In the mafia, killing a boss’s mother was a line you did not cross. It was a violation of the old codes.
"You're done, Marcello," Lorenzo whispered.
May you like
Marcello’s eyes darted around the room, realizing he was surrounded by wolves who had just smelled his blood. Desperate, he lunged forward, pulling a gold-plated revolver from his waistband and aiming it straight at Elena.
"If I'm going to hell, I'm taking your little pet with me!" Marcello screamed.
