Chapter 9 - The Trial of the SavannahThe basement of the Moretti mansion was cold, smelling of damp stone and forgotten secrets.
Alessandro sat bound to a heavy wooden chair, his expensive Italian suit ruined by sweat and dirt. Around him stood four of Dominic’s most trusted capos, their faces carved from granite.
Dominic stood a few feet away, watching him with cold, clinical indifference. There was no shouting, no explosive rage—just the suffocating weight of absolute judgment.
"Federal agents are outside, Alessandro," Dominic said quietly, tossing a heavy manila envelope onto the concrete floor near Alessandro's feet. "Copies of your communications with the rival Rossi family. Your backdoor accounts in the Caymans. Everything you tried to pin on me."
Alessandro’s eyes bulged. "You set me up! You knew all along!"
"I knew you were impatient," Dominic corrected softly. "Just like a young jackal trying to steal a kill from an adult lion. You thought grief made me blind. You forgot that grief only strips away the distractions."
Dominic turned toward the heavy iron door of the basement, his expression softening just a fraction.
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"Take him to the federal drop-off point outside the city limits," Dominic instructed his men without looking back. "Let the law handle his ambition. And make sure he never steps foot in New York again."
As Alessandro was dragged away, screaming curses into the damp air, Dominic walked back upstairs into the quiet warmth of the mansion.
