Chapter 13 - The Meeting of the Remnants
Three days after Marcus Vance’s disappearance, the subterranean tactical bunker beneath the library played host to a very different kind of gathering.
The remaining leaders of the New York syndicate—Viktor, Salvatore, and Mateo—sat around the stainless-steel conference table. They weren't whispering behind closed doors anymore, nor were they eyeing each other with suspicious sideways glances. The destruction of Vincent Colombo and the sudden, unexplained vanishing of Marcus Vance had sent a shockwave through the upper echelons of the underworld.
They knew who pulled the strings. They knew what happened to men who crossed the threshold of the Moretti family.
I sat at the head of the table, my hands resting flat on the cold steel, my eyes sweeping slowly across the three men.
"The eastern seaboard is secure," Viktor broke the silence first, his deep, rumbling voice echoing off the concrete walls. "The Canadian shipping lanes are clean. No federal interference, no rival syndicates poking around our docks."
"And the financial restructuring?" I asked, my gaze shifting to Mateo.
"All offshore shell companies tied to Vance's trust have been liquidated and redirected into legitimate commercial real estate portfolios across Manhattan and Connecticut," Mateo answered quickly, adjusting his tie. "Clean money, boss. Untraceable by federal investigators."
"Good," I said, leaning back in my chair. "I called this meeting not to discuss territory or profit margins, but to establish a new baseline for how this family operates."
The men exchanged subtle glances. In the brutal economy of the mafia, a boss talking about change usually meant blood was about to be spilled.
"For twenty years, this syndicate was built on fear, isolation, and absolute paranoia," I continued, my voice carrying a quiet, commanding weight that commanded total silence. "We believed that attachments were liabilities. We believed that keeping our enemies close meant trusting the rats hiding in our own walls."
I leaned forward, locking eyes with each of them in turn.
"That era is over. From this day forward, loyalty isn't bought with silence or maintained by terror. It’s earned through protection. Anyone who thinks they can sell out a member of this household to foreign syndicates or corporate rivals will not just be executed—their name, their bloodline, and their memory will be wiped from the history of New York."
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Salvatore, the oldest and most hardened veteran of the council, nodded slowly, his weathered face showing a rare flicker of profound respect. "The family survives because the core holds strong, Dominic. We understand."
"Meeting adjourned," I said, standing up from the table.
